Doug and Carlie's Love Conspiracy (Doug & Carlie Series Book 2)
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Doug and Carlie’s Love Conspiracy
By Lisa Smartt
To Mom and Dad,
for loving wounded souls.
www.lisasmartt.com
Copyright 2013
ISBN 978-0-615-79367-2
Front and back cover photo by Shutterstock
Copyright: Paul Rich Studio
Back cover photo by Portrait Innovations
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 CARLIE: Matchmaker, Matchmaker
Chapter 2 CARLIE: Where Should We Look First?
Chapter 3 CARLIE: Getting Clara on Board
Chapter 4 CARLIE: Executing the Pigs and the Plan
Chapter 5 CARLIE: Lighting the Matchmaking Fire
Chapter 6 CARLIE: Bachelor #1
Chapter 7 CARLIE: Christmas Conniving
Chapter 8 CARLIE: Southern Book Tour
Chapter 9 CARLIE: Catching Up with Dave and Shannon
Chapter 10 CARLIE: New Year, New Bachelor
Chapter 11 CARLIE: The Smoke-free Marlboro Man
Chapter 12 CARLIE: Preach On, Brother Jake
Chapter 13 CLARA LOUISE SPEAKS: Accidental U-Turn
Chapter 14 CLARA LOUISE: Dusty McConnell on My Mind
Chapter 15 CLARA LOUISE: Cars and Scars
Chapter 16 CARLIE: Redneck Writer Meets Hollywood
Chapter 17 CLARA LOUISE: The Joys of Routine, Sheer Boredom
Chapter 18 CARLIE Two Weeks Later: CALIFORNIA CARLIE
Chapter 19 CARLIE: Ashley Auditions
Chapter 20 CLARA LOUISE: Preachers and Car Thieves
Chapter 21 CARLIE: Alabama Ashley and the Georgia Peach
Chapter 22 CLARA LOUISE: Determined Dusty
Chapter 23 CLARA LOUISE: Marching Onward
Chapter 24 CARLIE: First Date and A Felon
Chapter 25 CLARA LOUISE: Faith and Mary Kay
Chapter 26 CARLIE: Whomp Biscuits and Straight Teeth
Chapter 27 CLARA LOUISE: Blowing the Dust Away
Chapter 28 CARLIE: Trials and Bad Pork Chops
Chapter 29 CLARA LOUISE: Conquering Mountains of Stone
Chapter 30 CARLIE: Aunt Charlotte’s Rural Detective Agency
Chapter 31 CLARA LOUISE: Pushing Forward or Pulling Back
Chapter 32 CARLIE: Burnt Tuna and Bad Drugs
Chapter 33 CLARA LOUISE: Confession is Good for the Soul
Chapter 34 CARLIE: Cheering for the Home Team
Chapter 35 CLARA LOUISE: Freedom, Sweet Freedom
Chapter 36 CARLIE: Throwing Baby Bird Out of the Nest
Chapter 37 CLARA LOUISE: Perfect Family Dinner
Chapter 38 CARLIE: Love On the Run
Chapter 39 CLARA LOUISE: Don’t Wimp Out at Wimpy’s
Chapter 40 CARLIE Three Days Later: Here Comes the Judge
Chapter 41 CLARA LOUISE: A Family Gone Bad
Chapter 42 CARLIE: Funeral Pizza
Chapter 43 CLARA LOUISE: The Road to Recovery
Chapter 44 CARLIE: The Cocoa Bean Has Healing Properties
Chapter 45 CLARA LOUISE: Tater Tots and Tears
Chapter 46 CARLIE: Roman Holiday in Sharon, Tennessee
Chapter 47 CLARA LOUISE Five Weeks Later: Learning to Love
Chapter 48 CARLIE: Praise the Lord and Pass the Pickles
Chapter 49 CLARA LOUISE: Dark Corners and Cobwebs
Chapter 50 CARLIE Two weeks later: Movies and Moms
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1 CARLIE: Matchmaker, Matchmaker
I’m a married woman now. I know. It’s shocking to me and everyone else I’ve ever known. I still remember what happened six months ago when I went to the post office in my hometown of Commerce, Georgia. Agnes Robertson said she was so proud to see my wedding picture in the local newspaper. Well, those weren’t her words exactly. She said, “Carlie Ann, now don’t you fret none ‘cause everybody knows pictures add at least 30 pounds to a girl’s physique.” I didn’t tell Agnes that the word “physique” hadn’t been used since 1958 exercise shows on black and white TV.
“Oh Mrs. Robertson, I’m not worried about the picture ‘cause I’m so deliriously happy being physically intimate with my good-looking husband every night. It doesn’t give me much time for fretting.”
I shouldn’t have said it. That’s my problem. You know those things people think in their minds but know not to say out loud? Yeah, I tend to go ahead and say them out loud. Sometimes it gets me in a lot of trouble too. Other times it makes me endearing.
Most people in Commerce, Georgia, thought I wasn’t going to get married because I was 32 and experiencing a crisis in confidence. I tend to speak my mind without proper filtering. Plus, I’m 5’11” with a really big behind. Believe it or not, that’s not every man’s description of the ideal woman. But Doug Jameson is different. He’s handsome and kind. He laughs at my jokes. And he loves me. Miraculous.
Getting married is not the most important thing in life. But it’s not unimportant either. If you really want to be married, it hurts not to be. And I think it’s really dumb when people act like it doesn’t hurt or that marriage doesn’t matter. That’s why I’m a matchmaker now. Because I care a lot about marriage and mostly I care about women like me who think they’ll never meet someone wonderful. I also help women re-define “wonderful.” And gosh, there are a lot of women out there who need that kind of help.
I don’t mean I’m a matchmaker for my job. I’m a writer by trade. I don’t make money matchmaking. I’m kind of like Mrs. Grissom. She’s a woman in Commerce who’s an excellent baker even though she doesn’t own a bakery. She bakes because she loves to hear my dad say, “Jolene, this chocolate pie will make you slap your grandma.” Yeah, I understand Mrs. Grissom’s baking now ‘cause that’s the way I feel about introducing single people to each other. I just can’t wait until a newlywed comes up to me one day and says, “Carlie Ann, this beautiful woman you introduced me to is so wonderful. She makes me wanna slap my grandma.” Yeah, that will be a banner day.
My name is Carlie and I got married to Doug six months ago. It’s a long story how we met. Doug’s Uncle Stanley wanted me to meet him even though he lived seven hours from Commerce in a tiny town called Sharon, Tennessee. But I didn’t think it was such a great idea. I acted like it was because I thought there might be something wrong with Doug. But the truth is…well, the truth is…I thought there was something wrong with me. So that’s why it scared me to meet Doug. I was in college (ten years late) and working at the dollar store when we met. But then I got a book published and I went on TV so I stopped working at the dollar store. But Doug’s career has been gloriously consistent throughout our entire relationship. He’s a bank loan officer. That whole journey is recorded in a book called, “Doug and Carlie.”
Sometimes there is a certain grace extended to people like me who believe they are beyond help in the relationship department. I now live with my husband in a beautiful old farm house in Sharon, Tennessee. I’m 33 years old and Doug is 29. I love it when his Uncle Bart says, “Carlie, you done came up here to Tennessee and robbed the cradle.” Then he always laughs real big and we’re all scared he’ll lose his dentures. His laugh speaks a lot of words into my heart. Those words are, “Carlie, we love you very much. We’re glad you’re in our family.” Maybe that feeling right there is why I’m willing to devote a lot of spare time to matchmaking.
My first victim…uh, I mean, non-paying customer is my old roommate, Clara Louise Johnson, from Commerce, Georgia. She doesn’t know she’s getting ready to be a customer. I thought it best not to share that information quite yet. Clara is 32 years old
and a kindergarten teacher at Commerce Elementary. She’s really pretty but I think she believes she’s ugly. This is a very common feeling among women. If you don’t know that, you don’t know much about women. Look out, Clara. A big, determined, happily-married woman in Sharon, Tennessee, is on the lookout for your future husband. Oh, and all you wonderful single men in Sharon need to be on your guard. I’m watching, boys. I’m watching.
The real question was whether Doug was going to join me in my sideline business of matchmaking. I decided to carefully broach the subject at supper one night.
“So, Doug, what’s news at the bank today?”
“Sad news. Maxine fell and broke her hip at the ballpark last night. Her grandson, Bubba Junior, hit a triple and Maxine started jumping up and down with tremendous enthusiasm. Chester was there and he thinks she forgot about the grandstand bein’ kinda dry-rotted. And Maxine, well, she isn’t exactly a featherweight. She’s still at Volunteer Hospital. They think she’ll be gone from work till after Christmas.”
“That’s sad. I hate that for Maxine.”
“How was the conference call about the book?”
“It went well. Everything is ready for release. It’s just that now I have to start writing the next book. And that means work. And you know what they say about work? Work is always best accomplished tomorrow.”
He bowed his head slightly and smiled because he isn’t rude or judgmental or harsh. Doug is a faithful worker. He isn’t sporadic or overly-creative. He can be counted on. He likes me even if it is hard for me to get stuff done. He knows I’ll write the next book. He knows someday the barbecued chicken won’t be as tough as it was tonight. He knows I care about Maxine and Chester and his Uncle Bart and Aunt Charlotte. He is the definition of gracious.
“Doug, I have a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Well, I’m worried. I’m worried about Clara. I was wondering if we could invite her for the weekend sometime?”
“Sure. But what’s the worry? Has she been sick or something?”
Okay. Now here’s a difference between most men and women. Doug assumed something was physically wrong with Clara. He never even thought about the fact that Clara was living in our dingy old apartment and that she might be dying of loneliness and that the Kindergarteners might be a daily reminder of the fact that she didn’t have children or a man or even any prospects. Whew! Doug was handsome but he needed enlightenment.
“Well, she called yesterday. She got a new cat and now I’m really worried.”
“She got a cat? And that’s what you’re worried about?”
“Oh, absolutely. I think it’s the beginning of the end. See, when a shy lonely woman gets a cat, the universe begins to work against her in so many troubling ways. First, it’s the cat hair on the furniture and then it’s the wanting to get a ‘cat friend’ for the current cat. Doug, within a year, Clara could have 20 cats and be operating a failed recycling business out of her backyard. I’m serious. These things happen. We’d better intervene.”
Doug smiled really big and started laughing. I knew what his laughter meant just like I knew what Uncle Bart’s meant. Doug’s laugh was saying, “Oh Carlie, you’re so overly-dramatic and funny and obsessive…and I love you.”
“Y’see, Clara wants to be loved. She needs to be loved. But she doesn’t know how to start the process.”
“And you think you’re the person who can help her?”
“Oh, I know I can. I mean, we can.”
“So I’m in on this too, huh? What role could I possibly play in keeping Clara from becoming a cat lady with a failed recycling business in the backyard?”
“I’m so glad you asked! You’re from here and would know the available men and how we could work out the introductions.”
“But don’t people usually end up hating the ones who try to fix them up?”
“Hate? No one could ever hate you, Doug. I’m asking you to step out and take a risk with me the way Uncle Stanley took a risk when he introduced us. He helped us find true love, remember? I think we owe it to Clara to do the same.”
I had him and he knew it. Oh, I don’t mean I was controlling him. Doug wouldn’t be controlled nor would I even try. No, I had him with the love part. And Clara Louise Johnson, a shy Kindergarten teacher from Commerce, Georgia, who was frightfully embarrassed to talk about pork chops with the pleasant-looking butcher at Pic Pac, was getting ready to be our first official beneficiary. Roll up those shirt sleeves, Doug. This won’t be easy.
Chapter 2 CARLIE: Where Should We Look First?
I decided to do some of the preliminary matchmaking work without Doug. Christmas was only two weeks away and he was busy down at the bank. Plus, I know enough about men to know that he only had a limited amount of emotional matchmaking energy. So the morning after our conversation about Clara I decided to wisely talk to him about other subjects. But don’t worry. I had a plan cooking on the back burner. A great plan.
I poured a second cup of coffee and rubbed his back a little while he ate his ham biscuit. “Tell Maxine I want to bring a meal when she gets home from the hospital.”
“Will do. I’m sure she’ll appreciate that. What are your plans for the day, Carlie? Working on the book?”
If you’re a disheveled, easily distracted person, it’s always scary when someone asks what your plan is for the day. We don’t know our plans. Distracted people make plans “in transit.” We get ideas for great projects while we’re supposed to be doing other great projects. I wasn’t sure how to address Doug’s question. So I played it safe. “Well, yeah. At some point I’m definitely going to do some writing. But this morning I thought I’d drop in on Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Bart for a while. Both parakeets have been sick and I need to check on them.” Did I also tell you that distracted people sometimes say really stupid things that give them away completely? That’s a constant problem for me. Several times a day.
“The parakeets? You’re going to visit the parakeets?”
“Busted. Okay, not really. I mean, I am going to visit Uncle Bart and Aunt Charlotte but you’re right. I’m not checking on the parakeets. I think Aunt Charlotte can help me, help us, with our little project.”
“Wait a second, Carlie. You’re not telling me you’re letting Aunt Charlotte help you find a man for Clara? Are you serious? You think MY Aunt Charlotte, who has a raccoon in the house and washes out Dixie bathroom cups, knows where the right guy is for Clara Johnson?”
“Yes. I mean, maybe. Stranger things have happened, Doug. Here’s the deal. She knows every person in town. She knows people in the county. She’s a resource. I’m not saying she’s the only resource. I’m saying it’s a place to start.”
“Have you even talked to Clara about this? Does she even know you’re on this matchmaking project?”
“Well, no. I need to have a real game plan first. She needs to know I’ve done my homework and I’m serious. I need to have my first introduction all ready and waiting.”
He stood up and put on his coat. “I hope you’re not getting over your head here, Carlie. These things can get messy fast.”
He was right and I knew it. Y’see, there are two kinds of people in life. There are cautious people, like Doug, and there are people like me. If you’re a cautious person, you should marry someone a little more adventurous. Oh, and if you’re a person like me, you should definitely marry a cautious person. If you don’t, well, all kinds of bad things could happen. Those bad things include, but are not limited to: talking with Agnes Robertson about the joys of marital intimacy, saying you care about the health of parakeets, or matchmaking without permission.
“Doug, you need to trust me on this one.”
He smiled and leaned in for a good-bye kiss. “I do trust you. Have a good day.” He winked and added, “Tell Aunt Charlotte I hope those parakeets get better soon.”
I smiled and said, “Oh, I think life for those parakeets is looking up.”
I loved going to Aunt Charlotte’
s house. It was one part “crazy” mixed with another part “fun” and then there was, well, there was this foul-smelling element that no one was able to identify. But it had to do with cats and coons and strange casseroles. Oh, and you never had to call before you went to Aunt Charlotte’s house. You know how some people would be mortified if someone dropped by and there was laundry all over the floor. Yeah, Aunt Charlotte wouldn’t be mortified if there was laundry on the floor, dishes in the sink, and a coon doin’ his business in the potted hydrangea. Dropping in on her and Uncle Bart is like opening a box of Cracker Jacks and digging for the prize.
One day we dropped by and she was making homemade sausage on the front porch. You don’t want to know the meat source and neither did we. Another day she was cutting pictures out of an old women’s magazine for framing. Then there was the time she and Uncle Bart were in the backyard castrating a calf for Chester and Ida. We chose not to ask questions. When Aunt Charlotte hears a car drive up, she always comes out onto the creaky wooden porch for a loud and welcome greeting.
“Carlie Ann Jameson, get your big purdy self in this house right now! Glad you came by. I’ve got biscuits and gravy, if you’re hungry. I was jes gettin’ ready to give the leftovers to the coons”
“This is the coons’ lucky day, Aunt Charlotte. I’ve already eaten. But I do need to talk you. Do you have a few minutes?”
“Of course I do, Honey. Come sit down.”
I knew to avoid the powder blue recliner. It was broken and crooked and I didn’t want to be the source of its final breath. I chose the old lime green vinyl couch which I knew would still be around when humans travel by jet pack.
“Aunt Charlotte, I need your help. You remember my old roommate, Clara Johnson? Kinda plain but pretty? The redhead? You met her at the wedding.”
“Yes, I remember. She looked like she lost her best friend that day. Also looked like she needed to eat a little more too, poor thing.”
“Well, I think God wants me to help Clara. Maybe he even wants you to help her.”