A Match Made in Heaven (2 page)

The Arizona sun beat down on her head, but she barely noticed. Why was it so hard to remember where she parked? She was twenty-eight years old, but the simple task of remembering where she parked had eluded her ever since she’d started driving. She bit her lip and castigated herself for being so bubble-headed.

There was no choice but to stroll up and down the rows in the hot sun. Sighing, she tucked the lamp under her arm and trudged down the first row. Her car wasn’t in that row or the next. She went around a white Jeep and barreled into a hard chest.

Strong fingers gripped her forearms. “Ouch! You stepped on my foot,” a deep voice exclaimed.

Callie looked up into eyes as blue as the Arizona sky and just as piercing. The man’s head towered over hers. Those arresting eyes gazed out of a face that was too craggy to be handsome, but too strong to be forgotten. He wore a cowboy hat and jeans that looked as if they’d been made for him. The cowboy boots he wore looked as battered as the one that had been used to create the lamp in her hands.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I didn’t see you.” Men like this one made her nervous. She knew better than to allow herself to be attracted to someone like this guy. The handsome ones always went for the petite cheerleader, not an Amazon like her.

“That was obvious.” He frowned down at her. “I saw you two rows over when I was parking. You lost?”

Her face burned, but not from the sun. “I can’t find my car,” she mumbled.

“What was that?” His firm lips twitched.

She could tell from the amusement on his face that he’d heard her the first time. “I said I can’t find my car,” she snapped.

“Ah. What’s it look like?” His gaze never left her face.

“I don’t need your help,” she said with exasperation. “It’s here somewhere, and I can find it by myself.” She didn’t need the Lone Ranger’s help to find her car.

“I can see that.” His lips twitched again, and he plucked the lamp from her hands. “Let’s try over here.” Before she could protest any further, he led the way down the next row of cars.

Just past a big dually truck she saw the sunflower she’d put on her radio antenna. “There it is! That big truck was hiding it.”

He eyed the flower on her car with obvious amusement. “You don’t look like a flower child. Too starchy and proper.”

She snatched the lamp from his hands. “I didn’t ask for an opinion on my appearance.” Fishing the remote out of her blazer pocket, she pushed the button to unlock the doors. She stashed the lamp in the back then went to the driver’s door.

“You’re welcome,” he called as she slid into the seat, started the van, and backed out of the parking space.

“I could have found it by myself,” she muttered as she pulled away with a screech of her tires. And her grandmother wanted to hook her up with a species like that. She hoped this Nick Darling wasn’t so crude and obnoxious. He probably wouldn’t be as cute either. She made a face at herself in the rearview mirror. Not that she was interested in the neanderthal type anyway.

She parked in the garage and went inside. Ty, her border collie, greeted her at the door. She took him for a walk then rushed back home to shower and get ready for the evening. As the water coursed through her hair, she considered what she should wear. She didn’t want to send the wrong message to this guy. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was a spinster out to attract any eligible man. A suit would be a good choice, but she rebelled at the idea after what her grandmother had said. Surely she could find something in between making a fool of herself and looking as attractive as possible.

She pulled on a robe and dried her hair. Scrunching up her face in the mirror, she rolled her dark red hair in its usual French twist. She turned her face to the side and considered it. High cheekbones, dark brown eyes, nothing that seemed so very different from any other woman. What was it about her that drove the men off? Just her height? Or maybe Gram was right, and her attire sent out the wrong signal. But she was comfortable in her business attire. She felt more in charge and focused when she wore a suit.

She went to her closet and riffled through her clothes. Nothing seemed right. The green dress Gram had mentioned was too pretty to waste on a guy she never intended to see again. Her black suit was too severe for a dinner date. Her hand hovered over an orangish-red silk pantsuit. It was too dressy, but it made her feel almost as confident as a suit but had feminine detailing. With determination she yanked it off the hanger and slipped it on. A touch of makeup, and Callie thought she looked presentable. She slipped her feet into matching pumps and went to the living room.

An overstuffed sofa in soft yellow and blue flowered chintz made for lounging was splashed with yellow pillows. A brightly patterned rug in blues and yellows covered most of the nondescript tile in the living room. Coordinating chairs juxtaposed against the other wall added balance. She’d color-washed the walls in three tones of yellow, and the color filled the room with warmth. Too bad she spent so little time here.

Her home was the antithesis of the Callie Stevens most people thought they knew. Where she was formal and reserved, her house radiated warmth and relaxation. It was a place that invited her to kick off her shoes and eat pizza straight from the delivery box. And that was precisely the effect she had designed for it because that was the real Callie. Would her life be any different if she allowed more people to see that side of her?

The phone rang, and Callie picked it up. She wished briefly it would be Mr. Darling calling to say she needn’t bother. But it was her cousin Chelsea’s voice on the other end.

“I just put some chicken enchiladas in the oven. Want to come over for a pool party? Our new pool is crying out for us to jump in,” Chelsea asked.

“I wish I could. Gram’s on her matchmaking kick again.”

Chelsea laughed. “Kyle, Gram has turned her sights on Callie,” she called to her husband of two months.

A click sounded in Callie’s ear as Kyle picked up the other phone. “Don’t knock it, Cal. Your grandma knows what she’s doing. Chelsea and I are living proof.”

Callie groaned. “Don’t you two start. I want to be left alone to live my life the way I want it. I don’t need Gram setting me up with some stranger. And this guy’s an
architect.
”

“You work with architects all the time,” Chelsea said. “What’s wrong with dating one?”

“He’ll be self-opinionated and want to talk about buildings and codes all through dinner. Pray for me—it’s going to be a long, boring evening.”

“Give him a chance,” Kyle urged. “Look what happened with us. You never know.”

“I know—believe me,” Callie said. “I know that no architect is ever going to appeal to me. Besides, there’s news you don’t know.”

“Oh?” Chelsea’s voice was breathless with anticipation.

“I’m thinking of moving to New York. I even found a building to put my business in.” The silence on the other end of the phone was heavy with disapproval. “It makes sense, Chelsea. The good fabrics and designers are out East. It’s just a matter of time. Besides, there’s nothing to hold me here.”

“Only because you won’t open yourself up to other people,” Chelsea said. “Someone’s going to knock down that wall you’ve erected in a big way. All men aren’t like Bart. You can’t live your life in fear that a man is only interested in your money.”

“Sure I can. It’s the truth. Look—just pray for me tonight. I don’t want Gram’s friend telling her I was unfriendly. I’ll get through it somehow.”

“We’ll pray, but promise me you’ll give him a chance,” Chelsea said.

“All right, but don’t hold your breath.” The doorbell rang, and her heart sped up. “He’s here. I gotta go. Don’t forget to pray for me.”

She hung up the phone and smoothed the silk over her thighs as she went to the door. When was the last time she’d gone out with anyone? Two years ago, she decided. That’s why she was so nervous.

It had been a fiasco too. Bart Wilson, a lawyer who specialized in accidents, had been just as smarmy as the TV ads she’d seen for personal injury suits. This guy was probably going to be worse. She sighed and opened the door.

Nick drummed his fingers on the doorjamb. He sighed and turned his wrist over to look at his watch. “Come on—come on,” he muttered. He should have arrived fifteen minutes ago; but his younger sister, Erin, had called, and he’d talked longer than he realized.

The door opened, and he found himself staring into the eyes of the woman he’d helped in the parking lot. She looked good, he realized. The orangish-red pantsuit she wore made her look even taller and slimmer than she had in the suit she’d been wearing earlier. He didn’t normally go for tall women, but she literally glowed with color from the top of her auburn hair to the golden hue of her skin. Her hair was still up off her neck, but the severe style failed to hide the striking color. Its hue reminded him of autumn leaves, red and gold all mixed together. He pulled himself together and realized suspicion radiated from her dark eyes.

“Did you follow me home?” she demanded.

He lifted one eyebrow. “Why would I do that? Your grandmother gave me your address. You’re Callie, aren’t you? Callie Stevens?”

Callie groaned and slapped a hand to her forehead. “You must be Nick Darling. My date.” She said the last word as though it were an unpleasant mess left by the border collie he saw at her feet.

“That would be me,” he said. He leaned down and patted the dog. The animal practically smiled at the attention. “We should be going. I don’t want to keep my clients waiting.”

Callie sighed. “I’ll get my purse. “

She turned to grab her purse, and Nick glanced inside the house. A country French decor, it almost made him wish this was a real date and he’d get a chance to lounge on that comfy sofa while they ate popcorn and watched a movie. Almost.

Callie joined him on the front stoop. “Where are we going?”

“Pedro’s. It has the best Mexican food I’ve ever eaten. You like Mexican, I hope?” Somehow she looked more the type to enjoy French food with a maitre d’ hovering over her shoulder.

“I love it,” Callie said. “Pedro’s has the best chili relleno I’ve ever eaten.”

Okay, so he was wrong. He slid his palm under her elbow and escorted her to his vehicle, a Dodge Ram pickup 4 x 4. He opened the door, and she eyed the running board then clambered onto the seat. At least she didn’t complain like his sister.

He shut the door once she was seated then strode around to his own side and climbed in. When he started the truck and pulled into the street, he became conscious of her stare. “What?” he asked.

“You don’t look like an architect,” she said. A blush touched her cheeks, and she looked away.

“Well, you look every inch a designer, right down to the perfectly matched shoes and purse,” he said. “What’s an architect look like? I thought we were all different breeds.”

“For one thing, you’re too–too
cowboy
to be an architect,” she said.

The way she said it made Nick think of pickles, and he hid a grin. He liked a challenge, and this woman revved up his adrenaline like facing an opponent at the Cowboy Action Shoot. What would she think if he asked her to come along on the next shoot? He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

“This
is
Arizona,” he reminded her. “It’s allowed out here. Besides, you have something against cowboys?”

“Of course not.” The starch crept back into her voice, and the color on her cheeks heightened. “I’m surprised you get much business if you go to meetings in that getup.”

“This
getup
, as you call it, is comfortable. I have all the business I can handle. People hire me for my expertise, not my attire.”

“I’m sure,” she said, but her tone dripped with irony.

Nick lost the battle to contain his amusement and let loose with a rumbling laugh. “Are you trying to make me mad so you don’t have to come?” He grinned at the pink in her cheeks. “Too late. You’re stuck with me just as I’m stuck with you. I’m not sure what your grandma was thinking to pair us up, but at least we won’t be bored.”

He didn’t give Callie a chance to answer but stomped his foot to the accelerator and gunned the truck down the street. She thought she was out with a cowboy, so he wouldn’t disappoint her. He reached over and punched the button on the stereo to turn on the CD player. Marty Robbins’s voice blared out, and Nick chimed in and sang “El Paso” along with the CD. The music reverberated through the truck cab.

He glanced over at Callie. Her color was high, and she was staring straight ahead. Then her lips twitched, and a dimple appeared in her cheek. He was sure it was against her will, but her left foot began to tap in time to the thump of the music.

She caught his gaze, and the wattage of her smile turned on full force. He nearly rocked back in the seat with the power of it. No wonder she was so successful in her business. All she had to do was smile and a man would do anything for her. Wonder why she wasn’t married? She was a real looker with that wonderful hair and contrasting eyes. The way she carried herself impressed him. Most tall women slouched, but Callie walked with her head held high as if daring life to try to keep her down.

“Now
you’re
staring,” she shouted over the sound of the music. “Hadn’t you better keep your eyes on the road?”

Nick came out of his trance to the blaring of a horn, and he jerked the wheel and guided the truck back into his own lane. “Sorry,” he yelled.

Callie reached over and turned the music down a notch. “You’ve successfully put me in my place, so let’s have a little peace.”

He grinned. “I don’t think I’ve met anyone like you, Callie Stevens. Maybe your grandma was right after all.”

Her dark eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. She recovered quickly and looked away. “Don’t get any ideas, Mr. Darling. Gram doesn’t know it, but I’m moving to New York. The last thing I’m looking for is a reason to stay here. For my business to grow, I need to be where the action is. And that’s New York.”

Nick was surprised at the disappointment that tightened his stomach. He inclined his head and kept his voice calm. “Well, we can at least be friends while you’re here. Call me Nick. If I ever hear the word darling out of you, I’d rather it be in another tone of voice.”