Looking for a cowboy, p.1
Looking for a Cowboy, page 1
LOOKING FOR A COWBOY
A SWEET ROMANTIC COMEDY
UNDERGROUND GRANNY MATCHMAKERS
BOOK 4
TAMIE DEAREN
Copyright © 2023 by Tamie Dearen
Baden House Books
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue #1
Epilogue #2
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by Tamie Dearen
1
Joy
“The answer is no, Gramma.” Phone pressed to my ear, I tap my foot, waiting for the signal to change so I can cross the street. “You can’t spring this on me at the last minute. You should have called me weeks ago.”
I still would have turned her down, of course. But I’d have had more time to think of a good excuse.
“You need to calm down, Joy. You see, we just got the contract last night. And by the time I talked it through with Bette when she came home from dancing—”
“GeeBee went dancing?”
“I’m sure we mentioned Bette’s been seeing Michelangelo Carbone off and on for the last year or so. He’s big into ballroom dancing.”
I hurry down the deserted sidewalk in downtown Sage Valley. “Do you approve of this Michelangelo guy? Are you sure he isn’t after GeeBee’s money?”
“Michelangelo Carbone is one of the top producers in Hollywood. He’s the reason Sage Valley Ranch was chosen as the film location for Looking for a Cowboy. Remember?”
Gramma uses a conciliatory tone, as if speaking to a simple-minded child. I swear that’s still how she sees me—like an eight-year-old. Maybe that’s why she’s never tried to find a husband for me, even though she and GeeBee head up the most famous matchmaking agency in the country—the Underground Granny Matchmakers, commonly known as UGMs.
“You must’ve been talking to Cyan. You know how you get us confused all the time.”
It’s a joke, and we both know it. Gramma’s sharp as a tack. She not only doesn’t get me confused with any of my three sisters, but she also remembers every conversation verbatim.
“If I’d told Cyan, she would’ve remembered.”
“Fine. I admit I probably wasn’t paying attention. But in my defense, I’ve been grading a lot of essays. My brain is mush. So refresh my memory. Is GeeBee serious about this man?”
“It hard to say. I think she likes him, but she complains that he’s as old as Beverly Hills.”
“Is that older than you and GeeBee?” I tease.
“We’ve decided we won’t be old until we turn ninety. We’re still middle-aged.”
“If you two are middle-aged at eighty-eight, what would you call me at thirty?”
“Thirty years old is a spring chicken.”
Laughing, I trip over my own feet. “This spring chicken is a clumsy clucker. I almost fell down just now.”
“Walking and talking at the same time was never your forte.”
“Well, I don’t have time to stand still and talk to you. I’m trying to run my last errands before I head out to the ranch for the entire summer. My suitcases are already loaded in my car.”
“It’s not like a concentration camp,” Gramma says. “You could always drive back into town if you need something.”
“Only if I can prove it’s an emergency. And even then, I’d have to sign my life away. These movie people are really worried about someone leaking stuff to the press. None of the employees are even allowed to use our cell phones or computers. I had to sign a non-disclosure agreement.”
“Yes, I know. That’s why I contacted you this morning. Since you’re going to be there all summer, you’re in the perfect position to help Clover. It should be a cinch for someone who’s matched fifty of her best friends with their husbands.”
Blood rushes to my face. Gramma’s hit on a sore spot. “I admit, I’ve fixed up a couple of my friends with my exes, but—”
“Exactly how many of your friends are now wed to one of your ex-boyfriends? Ten? Twenty?”
“You can’t count every guy I ever dated who married someone else.” My throat is suddenly parched. “I was only personally responsible for matching six of my friends with my old boyfriends.”
Gramma chuckles. “Six is quite a number, dear. And all those couples are happily married, thanks to you.” Her congratulatory statement carries a hint of sarcasm.
Her implication hangs in the air—I’m still alone. What’s wrong with me? I’ve always wanted to get married and have kids. It’s one of the reasons I became a teacher instead of pursuing a degree in finance. Yet every time I meet a great guy, I find some reason we’re incompatible and pass him off to a friend.
“Why would Clover Randall listen to me? She’s a famous movie star. Surely every guy she meets falls in love with her. All I can teach her is how to fail at dating.”
Arriving at the drug store, I go inside in search of my special sunblock. It's the only brand I've found that works without making me break out. I wasn't lucky enough to get the striking red hair that my three sisters have, but I still inherited the MacIlheron fair and sensitive skin.
“Granted, Clover has dated a lot of men,” Gramma says, “but she claims none were the marrying type. Think about it. You have a unique talent for finding awesome marrying-type men for other women. Usually, all you get out of the deal is another bridesmaid dress. This time, you’ll get a salary, thanks to the UGMs. Plus, I’ve heard Clover is a generous tipper.”
Relief floods my veins. At last, Gramma provides the perfect excuse.
“Oh, I could never take a side paying job when I’m working a full-time job at the ranch as a hospitality hostess. That would be dishonest.”
My welcome relief is short-lived.
“I already cleared it with Sharon,” says Gramma.
“You talked to my boss?” Why am I surprised? Sharon and Gramma have been friends for over sixty years.
“She’s excited to help. In fact, she’s decided to join the UGMs. She’s got a match or two under her belt already.”
“Great.” My tone says the opposite.
“This will be easy for you.” Gramma ignores my suggestion. “Bette and I have already chosen a man we think will be a perfect match. Unfortunately, he isn't one of our clients, so we can't put a bug in his ear about Clover the way we ordinarily would.”
“My job is to convince this guy that he wants to marry Clover?”
“Not at all. You see, Clover is a lovely girl, but in her past dating life she's always played a role. She would determine what she thought a guy wanted in a woman and try to be that person.”
“That's a terrible idea.” I finally find my sunblock on the bottom shelf below the more popular brands and return to the front of the store. At the empty counter, I dig in my purse for my wallet. “You don't want to spend the rest of your life pretending to be someone you aren't. You have to find someone who loves you for who you are.”
“Exactly!” Gramma says, triumphantly. “That's what we want you to teach Clover.”
Me and my big mouth. Why do I always speak before I think? I walked right into her trap.
The cashier arrives, a tall, thin boy with braces. He looks familiar, but I can’t place him.
“Hang on for a minute, Gramma. I'm checking out.”
“Hi, Ms. MacIlheron,” he says. “I'm Dusty Perkins. I've got you for AP English class next year.”
“Oh. Do you have an older brother named Carter?”
“Yes.” He grins. “But don’t hold it against me. I’m a better student.”
“Carter and I got along just fine.” I give him my teacher smile—the one that hides any frustration I might be feeling in my personal life. “Be sure to do your summer reading assignment. I always give a pop quiz the first day.”
“Carter told me.” He grins. “Don’t worry. I'll be ready.”
He hands me my receipt, and I exit the door, heading back down the street toward my car, parked on the street by my favorite coffee shop, my second destination of the morning. If I hurry, I’ll have time for a quick breakfast.
“Gramma, this will never work. I'm anxious enough at the idea of being around all these famous people. I almost told Sharon to find someone else to work in my place this summer. A big star like Clover Randall is going to turn her nose up at me.”
“Clover isn't the biggest star. Matthew Lawrence is bigger, don’t you think?”
“I try not to think about Matthew Lawrence. He’s only the hottest guy in Hollywood.” I don
“Sounds like you’ve thought about him plenty.” Gramma lets out a mocking chuckle.
“Sure I have, like every other woman in America. Which is how I know, if I ever have to speak to him, I won’t be able to get a single word out of my mouth. It will be so embarrassing.”
“Or your mouth will start running, and you won’t be able to turn it off,” Gramma says.
“Ughh!” My stomach flips like it’s on a thrill-ride at the fairground. I do have that problem, especially when I’m nervous. “That would be even worse.”
“Listen, Joy—” Gramma gets cut off, and I hear GeeBee in the background. “Put her on speaker so I can talk to her.”
“Ah, so you're pulling out the big guns now.”
“I'd describe myself as more of a cannon,” GeeBee says.
“I won't argue with you.”
“Your Gramma Loretta didn't want to tell you this, but I think you deserve to know.”
“To know what?” My pulse ramps up to warp speed. Whatever these two have up their sleeves, I have a feeling I won't like it.
“That we believe one of the men from the cast and crew of Looking for a Cowboy could be your perfect match.”
I choke on my own spit. “Me with a movie star? Are you out of your minds?”
Stupid question. Of course, they're out of their minds. What do you expect from two eighty-eight-year-old women who regularly post fashion videos on TikTok and Instagram?
“I never said he was a movie star. He could be one of the crew.”
“What's his name?”
“Ah-ha!” says GeeBee. “Then you admit you're interested in getting matched up.”
“Was this a test? To see if I’m interested? You don't really have a guy in mind for me, do you?”
I try not to sound disappointed. I mean, just because they matched up my two older sisters with two of GeeBee's grandsons doesn't mean they can find a match for me.
“Maybe we do and maybe we don't,” GeeBee says cryptically. “Loretta tells me you're particularly stubborn, even more so than your sisters.”
“She is!” Gramma yells in the background. “Even worse than me, and I used to be a redhead before it turned white.”
“I'm not that bad.” I scour my memory for an example of me not being stubborn. “Gramma, remember when I let you talk me out of ballet lessons. And thanks to you, I turned out clumsy.”
“Hmmm,” says GeeBee. “Are you actually clumsy? Or is inattentiveness the issue?”
“Ms. MacIlheron! Ms. MacIlheron!” I turn to find Dusty Perkins running down the sidewalk waving his hand in the air. When he reaches me, he bends over, panting for air. “Here,” he straightens, gasping as he extends his hand. “You left your credit card.”
“Oh.” I'm sure my face is crimson. “Thank you, Dusty. I really appreciate it.”
“You're welcome.” He gives me an impish grin. “Does this mean I get extra credit?”
“I'd get in trouble for doing that. How about if I give you a heads-up before the first time I call on you to answer a question so you can be prepared?”
“Cool!” He pumps a hand in the air like I've given him a hundred bucks. “And maybe you could ask Alison Cowry a really impossible question on the same day?”
I bite back a smile. “Maybe. I can't make any promises.”
“Thanks, Ms. MacIlheron. You're the best.”
I'm still chuckling, when I hear a throat clearing in my ear.
“Eh-hem. As I was saying,” GeeBee's tone is teasing. “Perhaps you have a tendency to be inattentive.”
“It's called ADHD,” says Gramma.
“It's not attention deficit. It's demand-overload. I've got too many things to think about. Besides, I refuse to be defined by an arbitrary set of letters.”
I check the time on my phone and set off for the coffee shop, determined to get one last cup of Joe and Jacks’ amazing coffee before my summer seclusion begins.
“See what I mean,” Gramma says with a hmph. “Stubborn.”
“Maybe I am stubborn,” I say. “So what?”
“Well,” GeeBee says, “Loretta claims if we pick someone for you, you'll find some reason to dislike him. So instead of telling you who we think could be a good match for you, I'm simply suggesting you should keep your eyes open.”
“We'll see.” I make my tone nonchalant, though my heart is thrumming. Is it really possible I might meet the guy of my dreams this summer?
Gramma pipes up. “And if you do find a good one, don't give him away to one of your friends.”
“No worries about that, Gramma. My last single girlfriend got married a couple of months ago.”
The bride was lovely, but the bridesmaids’ dresses were a shade of pink that made each of us look like a walking neon sign.
I suddenly realize I still have my credit card in my hand. Fumbling my purse open, I balance my phone between my right ear and my shoulder, continuing to walk as I retrieve my wallet.
“Anyway,” GeeBee says. “Thank you for helping Clover. She should arrive at Sage Valley Ranch Monday morning. And she knows all about you.”
I dig deeper in my purse, still searching for my wallet, as I stride along, my peripheral vision keeping me headed straight.
“But I haven't agreed to do this.” Where is my wallet? I can't feel it anywhere. “How does Clover already know about me?”
“I told her because I knew you couldn't say no to me.” Gramma's cackling laughter rings through the phone. “I’m going to hang up before you change your mind.”
It's the last thing I hear before I slam into a solid wall. My momentum is so strong that I spin as the wall wobbles. Legs tangled, arms flailing, I fall backwards.
“Hey!” Someone calls out a low-pitched yelp of surprise.
I splat down with a thunk, partially cushioned from the concrete sidewalk by something lumpy. Trying to catch my breath, I lie still and wait for a spasm of pain to indicate one of my bones snapped in two. It doesn’t come.
“And that's why I should've taken ballet lessons,” I mumble, blinking at the sky as a small boy's face comes into view, peering down at me with wide curious eyes. I probe my tender elbow. “What on earth did I land on?”
The boy tilts his head as my landing pad groans and shifts beneath me. “My dad.”
2
Matt
My backbone throbs, but luckily nothing feels broken. That’s the good news.
The bad news is that the person who tackled me seems inclined to keep me pinned on the sidewalk for an indefinite period of time, with something sharp jabbed into my ribcage and compressing my lungs. A blanket of long brown hair obscures my sight. I hear my son's voice explaining to the pinner that his dad is the pinnee.
Remind me to buy my four-year-old an ice cream if he manages to save me from suffocating to death.
“Oh, my stars!” A feminine voice cries out with anguish that sounds genuine. She jerks and wriggles, her bones jamming into my gut. At last, she shifts her weight and rolls off, and the air rushes into my lungs.
With the blindfold of hair gone, I glare up at the woman who is kneeling beside me. At least, I intend to glare at her. But the sight of her makes my insides fluttery—something I haven't felt in so long I can’t remember.
Her hazel eyes are a swirling mixture of greens, blues, and browns. Captivating in their complexity, they invite closer inspection to explore their subtleties and depths. The irises hold a light that dances inside them, as if I can see her thoughts and emotions sparkling.
Her brown hair flows past her shoulders in thick waves. She has a heart shaped face with full lips, her nose freckled and cute. She's not beautiful in the perfect, made-up way of most Hollywood actresses, yet she draws me to her like a magnet. I can barely keep my hand from rising to touch her face and see if her skin is as soft and smooth as it looks.
