Читать книгу Christmastime Courtship - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 10

Chapter One

“Ladies, we have work to do,” Theresa announced the moment she entered Maizie Sommer’s house.

She strode into Maizie’s family room with the vigor of a woman half her age. Matchmaking projects always got her adrenaline going, creating a level of enthusiasm within her even greater than her usual line of work did—and it went without saying that she dearly loved her catering business.

“We certainly do,” Cecilia Parnell agreed.

Already seated at the card table—their usual gathering place whenever they were discussing their newest undertaking in the matchmaking arena—Celia turned to look at her. “This one is going to be a real challenge for us.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Theresa protested, gracefully slipping into the chair that was set up between Celia and Maizie. “I don’t think it’ll be that hard finding someone suitable.”

Taken aback, Celia looked quizzically at her old friend, who hadn’t called ahead with any details about the person she felt should be their latest project. “Wait, how would you know?”

“How would I know?” Theresa repeated incredulously. “Because I’ve known Miranda Steele ever since she was a little girl. She has this incredibly huge heart and she’s always trying to help everyone. Fix everyone,” Theresa emphasized, which was why she had come to think of the young woman as “the fixer” in recent years.

“Miranda?” Celia echoed, decidedly more confused than she’d initially been. “Maizie and I were talking about Colin when you walked in.”

It was Theresa’s turn to be confused. “Who’s Colin?” she asked, looking from Maizie to Celia.

“Police Officer Colin Kirby,” Celia clarified, adding, “our latest matchmaking project. His aunt Lily is a friend of mine and she came to talk to me on the outside chance that maybe I—actually we—could find someone for him.”

Without pausing, Celia launched into a brief version of the police officer’s backstory. “Lily took him in when her sister, Vanessa, a single mother, died in a car accident. Colin was fourteen at the time. She said that he’s a decent, hardworking young man who just shut down when he lost his mother. He enlisted in the Marines straight out of high school. When his tour of duty overseas ended, he was honorably discharged and immediately joined the police force in Los Angeles.”

Maizie appeared a little dubious. “Los Angeles is a little out of our usual territory,” she commented. “But I guess—”

“Oh no.” Celia quickly cut in. “He’s not in Los Angeles anymore, he’s in Bedford now. Lily talked him into moving back down here. Her health isn’t what it used to be and he’s her only living relative, so he made the move for her, which, in my book, shows you what sort of a person he is.

“The problem is,” Celia continued, “Lily says he’s really closed off, especially after what he saw during his tour overseas and as a police officer in one of the roughest areas in Los Angeles. To put it in Lily’s own words,” she concluded, “Colin needs someone to ‘fix him.’”

Smiling, Maizie shifted her gaze from Celia to Theresa. It was obvious that, in her estimation, they needed to look no further in either case. “You just said you have someone who likes to ‘fix’ people.”

But Celia was more skeptical than her friend. She needed more to work with. “Fix how?”

Theresa gave them Miranda’s background in a nutshell. “According to her mother, Miranda’s a pediatric nurse at Bedford Children’s Hospital who volunteers at a women’s shelter in her free time. She also volunteers at the city’s animal shelter and occasionally takes in strays until they can be placed in a permanent home.”

Maizie’s smile widened. “Ladies, maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, but this sounds to me like a match made in heaven. I’m assuming you both have a few more pertinent details that we can work with—like what these two look like and how old they are, for openers,” said the woman whose decision to find her daughter a suitable match had initially gotten what turned out to be their “side business” rolling eight years ago.

“Miranda’s thirty,” Theresa told them, producing a photograph on her smartphone that Jeannie had sent her, and holding it up for the others to see.

“Colin’s thirty-three,” Celia said. “And I’ll ask Lily to send me a picture.”

So saying, she texted a message to the woman. In less than a minute, her cell phone buzzed, announcing that her request had been received and answered.

“Here we go,” Celia declared. “Oh my,” she murmured as she looked at the image that had materialized on her smartphone. Colin’s aunt had sent her a photo of her nephew in his police uniform.

Maizie took Celia’s hand and turned the phone around so she could look at it.

“Definitely ‘oh my,’” she agreed wholeheartedly. Pushing the deck of cards aside, she gave up all pretense that they were going to engage in a game of poker this evening, even a single hand. Her gaze took in her two lifelong friends. “Ladies, let’s get down to work. These two selfless servants of society need us. And from what I’ve heard, they also need each other,” the successful Realtor added knowingly. “We’ll require more information to bring about the perfect subtle ‘meet’ to get this particular ball rolling.”

Filled with anticipation, the three old friends got busy.

* * *

Every year, the holiday season seemed to begin earlier and earlier, Miranda Steele thought.

Not that she was complaining. Christmas had always been her very favorite time of year. While others grumbled that the stores were putting up Christmas decorations way too soon, motivated by a desire to increase their already obscene profits, Miranda saw it as a way to stretch the spirit of Christmas a little further, thereby making the true meaning of the season last a little longer.

But sometimes, like now, the pace became a little too hectic even for her. She had just put in a ten-hour day at the hospital, coming in way before her shift actually began in order to help decorate the oncology ward, where she worked. She felt particularly driven because she knew that for some of the children there it would be their last Christmas.

As harsh and sad as that thought was to deal with, she chose to focus on the bright side: bringing the best possible Christmas she could to the children and their families.

At times, she felt like a lone cheerleader, tirelessly attempting to drum up enthusiasm and support from the other nurses, doctors and orderlies on the floor until she had everyone finally pitching in, even if they weren’t all cheerful about it.

She didn’t care if the rest of the staff was cheerful or not, as long as they helped out. And as was her habit, she worked harder than anyone to make sure that things were ultimately “just right.”

If she were a normal person, about now she would be on her way home, having earned some serious bubble bath time.

But soaking in a hot tub was not on this afternoon’s agenda. She didn’t have time for a bubble bath, as much as she longed for one. She had to get Lily’s birthday party ready.

Lily Hayden was eight today. The little girl was one of the many children currently living with their moms at the Bedford Women’s Home, a shelter where Miranda volunteered four days a week after work.

The other two or three days she spent at the city’s no-kill animal shelter, where she worked with dogs and cats—and the occasional rabbit—that were rescued from a possible bleak demise on the street. Miranda had an affinity for all things homeless, be they four-footed or two-footed. In her opinion there never seemed to be enough hours in the day for her to help all these deserving creatures.

She had been working in all three areas for years now and felt she had barely been able to scratch the surface.

Agitated, Miranda looked at the clock on her dashboard. The minutes were flying by.

She was running the risk of being late.

“And if you don’t get there with this cake, Lily is going to think you’ve forgotten all about her, just like her mom did,” Miranda muttered to herself.

Lily’s mother had left the little girl at the shelter when she’d gone to look for work. That was two days ago. No one had heard from the woman since. Miranda was beginning to worry that Gina Hayden, overwhelmed with her circumstances, had bailed out, using the excuse that the little girl was better off at the shelter, without her.

Stepping on the gas, Miranda made a sharp right turn at the next corner, reaching out to hold the cake box on the passenger seat in place.

Focused on getting to the homeless shelter on time, Miranda wasn’t aware of the dancing red and blue lights behind her until she heard the siren, high-pitched, demanding and shrill, slicing through the air. The sound drew her attention to the lights, simultaneously making her stomach drop with a jarring thud.

Oh damn, why today of all days? Miranda silently demanded as, resigned to her fate, she pulled her car over to the right. Even as she did so, something inside her wanted to push her foot down on the accelerator and just take off.

But considering that her newfound nemesis was riding a motorcycle and her car was a fifteen-year-old asthmatic vehicle way past its glory days, a clean getaway was simply not in the cards.

So she pulled over and waited for her inevitable ticket, fervently hoping the whole process was not going to take too long. She was already behind schedule. Miranda didn’t want to disappoint Lily, who had already been disappointed far too often in her short life.

* * *

This wasn’t his usual route. For some unknown reason, the desk sergeant had decided that today, he and Kaminski were going to trade routes.

Sergeant Bailey had made the switch, saying something about “mixing things up and keeping them fresh”—whatever that was supposed to mean, Colin thought, grumbling under his breath.

As far as he was concerned, one route was as good as another. At least here in Bedford the only thing people shot at him were dirty looks, instead of bullets from the muzzles of illegally gotten handguns. He had to admit that patrolling the streets of Bedford was a far cry from patrolling the barrio in Los Angeles, or driving on the roads in Afghanistan. In those situations, a man had to develop eyes in the back of his head to stay alive.

Here in Bedford, those same eyes were in danger of shutting, but from boredom, not a fatal shot.

He supposed, after everything he had been through in the last ten years, a little boredom was welcome—at least for a while.

But he didn’t exactly like the idea of hiding on the far side of the underpass, waiting to issue a ticket to some unsuspecting Bedford resident.

Yet those were the rules of the game here, and for now, he wasn’t about to rock the boat.

First and foremost, he was here because of Aunt Lily. Because he owed her big-time. She had taken him in when no one else would, and to his discredit, he had repaid her by shutting her out and being surly. It wasn’t her fault he had behaved that way; the blame was his.

In his defense—if he could call it that—he hadn’t wanted to risk forming another attachment, only to have to endure the pain that came if and when he lost her. Lost her the way he’d lost everyone else in his life that ever mattered. His mother. Some of the men in his platoon. And Owens, his last partner in LA.

Colin’s method of preventing that sort of pain was to cut himself off from everyone. That way, the pain had no chance of ever taking root, no chance of slicing him off at the knees.

At least that was what he told himself.

Still, he reasoned, playing his own devil’s advocate, if there wasn’t some part of him that cared, that was still capable of forming some sort of an attachment, however minor, would he have uprooted himself the way he had in order to be here because Aunt Lily had asked him to?

He didn’t know.

Or maybe he did, and just didn’t want to admit it to himself.

Either way, it wasn’t something that was going to be resolved today. Today he needed to focus on the small stuff.

Right now he had a speeder to stop, he told himself, coming to life and increasing his own speed.

Because the woman in the old sedan was obviously not looking into her rearview mirror, Colin turned on his siren.

There, that got her attention. At least she wasn’t one of those foolhardy birdbrains who thought they could outrace his motorcycle, Colin observed, as the car began to decrease its speed.

Watching the vehicle slow down and then come to a stop, Colin braced himself for what he knew was about to come. Either the driver was going to turn on the waterworks, attempting to cry her way out of a ticket by appealing to what she hoped was his chivalrous nature, or she was going to be belligerent, demanding to know if he had nothing better to do than to harass otherwise law-abiding citizens by issuing speeding tickets for offenses that were hardly noteworthy, instead of pursuing real criminals.

After parking his motorcycle behind her vehicle, he got off, then took his time walking up to the offending driver. Because the street was a busy one, with three lanes going in each direction, Colin made his way to the passenger side, to avoid getting hit by any passing motorist.

As he approached, he motioned for the driver to roll down her window.

She looked nervous. Well, the woman should have thought about this before she’d started speeding.

“Do you know why I pulled you over?” he asked gruffly.

Miranda took a breath before answering. “Because I was speeding.”

A little surprised at the simplicity of her reply, Colin waited for more.

It didn’t come.

The woman wasn’t trying to talk her way out of the ticket she obviously knew was coming. He found that rather unusual. In his experience, people he pulled over in Bedford weren’t normally this calm, or this seemingly polite.

Colin remained on his guard, anticipating a sudden turn on the driver’s part.

“Right,” he said, picking up on her answer. “You were speeding. Any particular reason why?”

He was aware that he was giving her the perfect opportunity to attempt to play on his sympathies, with some sort of a sob story. Such as she’d just gotten a call from the hospital saying her mother or father or some other important person in her life had just had a heart attack, and she was rushing to their side before they died.

He’d heard it all before. The excuses got pretty creative sometimes.

He had to admit that, for some reason, he was mildly curious to hear what this driver had to offer as her excuse.

“There’s this little girl at the homeless shelter. It’s her birthday today and I’m bringing the cake. The party starts in ten minutes and I got off my shift at the hospital later than I anticipated. I work at Children’s Hospital and we had an emergency,” she explained, inserting a sidebar.

“Where at Children’s Hospital?” Colin asked, wondering just how far the woman was going to take this tale she was spinning.

“The oncology ward,” she answered.

He should have seen that one coming. “Really?” he challenged.

Was he asking her for proof? That was simple enough, she thought. Because she’d been in such a rush, she was still wearing her uniform, and she had her hospital badge around her neck.

Holding up her ID, she showed it to him. “Yes, really, Officer,” she answered politely. “Now if you’ll please write out the ticket and give it to me so I can be on my way, I can still make the party on time. I don’t want Lily to think I forgot about her, today of all days.”

About to begin doing so, Colin looked up sharply. “Lily?” he questioned.

“That’s her name,” Miranda answered. “Lily.”

Colin stared at the woman, a stoic expression on his face as he tried to make up his mind if she was actually serious, or trying to con him.

She couldn’t possibly know about his aunt, he decided.

“My aunt’s name is Lily,” he told her, watching her face for some telltale sign that she was making all this up.

“It’s a nice name,” Miranda responded, waiting for him to begin writing.

Colin paused for a long moment, weighing the situation.

And then he did something he didn’t ordinarily do. Actually, it was something he’d never done before. He closed his ticket book.

“All right, I’m letting you off with a warning,” he told her. Then added an ominous “Watch yourself,” before he turned on his heel and walked back to his motorcycle.