The Matchmaker's Happy Ending: Boardroom Bride and Groom

by Shirley Jump

  “That’s where you’re wrong. Bobby does need you. You specifically.”

  “Me? Why? He’s barely said three words to me since we met.”

  “You know why,” Nick said quietly. His gaze met hers, and a beat passed between them. “Because Bobby’s father was murdered, just like yours. You are the only one, Carolyn, the only one who can truly understand what it’s like for him.”

  The words slammed into Carolyn, words that she thought would have no effect on her, not anymore. She’d been over that for so long, but now she glanced out the door, at the little boy spinning in the chair a few feet away, his head downcast, his shoulders hunched with a weight that only a few, a select group that Carolyn was part of, none of them by choice, could recognize. Her eyes blurred and then she no longer saw Bobby.

  She saw herself.

  Her mind rocketed back to that day—that day in the convenience store, when she’d cowered, sobbing, by the milk, thinking if she could make herself really, really small, maybe the bad man wouldn’t notice her and he’d just go away. He’d leave, leave her and her father alone. He’d stop yelling, stop asking for money no one had.

  But he hadn’t stopped. And when her father had tried to stand up to him, tried to make him go away, because he’d been scaring Carolyn—telling her to shut up, shut the hell up—his gun in her face, and then her father was there, and the gun had gone off, the explosion so loud Carolyn thought she’d never hear again.

  And her father falling, falling, falling, so slow, she had run forward, trying to catch him, thinking if she could catch him, she could stop it all. But she hadn’t been able to stop him from falling. Stop the blood. Stop his life from leaking onto the tile floor, into a sticky, copper-smelling puddle beside her. Even when the policemen had come and taken away the bad man, and then her father, Carolyn hadn’t wanted to believe it was over. Hadn’t wanted to leave. She’d just stared at that crimson spot on the floor, willing it to go away, for all of it to disappear.

  She sucked in a breath, tried to steady herself again, clutching her desk, the scent of copper so strong again in her nose she thought she might be sick. But no, it was over. It was over. Breathe. Breathe.

  She had been nine. Bobby had been four. Was there ever a good age to hear that someone had stolen your father?

  “He needs you, Carolyn,” Nick repeated.

  She shook her head and spun away from Nick, away from the sight of Bobby, the memories his presence evoked, to face the window, her gaze going to the sunny view of Lawford below her. The city was quiet, the downtown area empty as a cemetery. “Not me, Nick. Please, not me.”

  Nick came up behind her, his hands going to her shoulders, a light touch, but so heavy inside her. “I think you need him, too. Mary says you work all the time. You have no life. This might be exactly the right thing for you.”

  She wheeled around, out of his grasp. “How do you know what I need?” she whispered, keeping her voice low, so Bobby didn’t overhear. “We were only married four days, Nick. Knew each other for, what, three weeks? You think you really got to know me in that time? You didn’t. Not really. Let’s not kid ourselves.”

  “No, I guess I didn’t.” A shadow dropped over his face and he took a step back. Then it was gone, and he cleared his throat. “This isn’t about us anyway. This is about him. It’s one weekend. A fair, some fireworks. Let’s put our differences aside for two days, for Bobby’s sake. And maybe, just maybe, we can make a difference in his life.” Nick’s gaze met hers. “You used to tell me how awful it was living with your aunt Greta. How cold she was. How would things have been different for you when you were a kid, if someone had stepped in and played mom and dad—or simply played fairy godparents like we would be—for you, just for a weekend?”

  Aunt Greta. She’d tried to forget the icy aunt who had raised her after Carolyn’s father’s death, a woman so devoid of emotion she might as well have been a stone.

  Tears sprang to Carolyn’s eyes, and a lump wedged so thick in her throat, she didn’t think she’d ever get it dislodged. She shook her head, her fists clenched together. “That’s not playing fair, Nick.”

  “I’m not playing anything, Carolyn.” He reached up and cupped her jaw, his touch tender and gentle. “I’ve made my case, Counselor. While I await your verdict, I’m going to go join the rest of the jury in the outer office before he turns into the Tasmanian devil on a serious sugar high.”

  * * *

  Nick told himself not to be disappointed. That Carolyn had every right to say no. He’d sprung the idea on her at the last minute, when she’d had a stack of work on her desk and—

  And damn it, he could give a thousand reasons why she might be justified in saying no, but that didn’t mean he liked a single one of them.

  “How’s come Miss Duff didn’t want to go?”

  “She had a lot of work to do,” Nick said. He and Bobby wandered the noisy, brightly lit midway of the Lawford Fourth of July Weekend Festival, a stack of tickets for rides in one hand and the remains of a sticky cotton candy poof in the other. Little blue sugar crystals coated Bobby’s lips and dotted his T-shirt, but he had a smile on his face and a belly that looked full enough to burst.

  “Can we ride the Roaring Dragon ride next?” he asked, taking the cotton candy from Nick and devouring the rest. “Dragons are my favorite thing in the world.”

  “Why don’t we let that candy settle first? I don’t think we want your snack to make a reappearance.” He might not know a lot about kids, but he did know enough to know mixing sugar and fast movement too soon would be a disaster.

  “Okay.” Bobby tossed the empty cotton candy stick into the trash then stopped in front of one of the carney stands. Stuffed animals in a range of sizes marched across the front of the stand, swinging tantalizingly in the light breeze.

  “Come on up, take your chances!” A skinny man, dressed in jeans and a bright-red T-shirt advertising the fair sat on the edge of the booth, leaning out, waving at all who passed. “Throw the balls into the basket, win a prize. Get in all three, win your choice.”

  “Can we do it, Nick?” Bobby tugged on his sleeve, practically jumping up and down. “Can we? I really want that stuffed dragon. Dragon Tales is like my favorite show ever. And I really love dragons. Only not the kind that breathe fire. Fire is kind of scary, but dragons are cool.”

  Nick chuckled. How could he resist that? Earlier this morning, Bobby had been morose, worried about his mother, who had been so sick, Jean said, that she’d still been in bed when Jean had picked Bobby up and brought him to meet Nick at Carolyn’s office. That had had Nick worried. He was good when a kid was bubbly. Full of energy. Ready to play. But dealing with an emotional, moody child—

  Not his best suit. Which was why he’d called on Carolyn. She was the one he’d hoped could handle the tough stuff. Thankfully, once he and Bobby had reached the fair, the somber mood had lifted, and now Bobby seemed to have left all his troubles behind. He and Nick had had a blast so far, riding tons of rides, stopping in at some of the exhibits and wandering through the petting zoo. If it meant keeping Bobby in the good humor Nick was comfortable with, Nick would play any game at the fair.

  “Think you can win it, Nick?” Bobby asked again.

  “Sure, I can try. But I have to warn you, this one is not my area of expertise.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s mine.”

  Nick turned, sure he’d imagined the voice. But no, there she stood, a smile on her face, wearing shorts and a T-shirt, her blond hair back in a ponytail, looking so much like the Carolyn he used to know back in college that he couldn’t believe she was the same woman he’d seen in the office a couple hours earlier. It was as if stepping outside the doors of the county prosecutor’s office had made her shed the skin of the strict, tough Carolyn and brought her back to the woman he had fallen in love with all those years ago.
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  “Miss Duff!” Bobby exclaimed. “You came.”

  “Call me Carolyn,” she reminded gently, then bent down to his level. “And yes, I came, because Nick here is no good at winning these games and I couldn’t let you go home empty-handed.”

  She glanced up at Nick and their eyes met, held. For one long heartbeat, Nick knew. She was here for more than giving this boy a stuffed animal. It was about giving him the experience he was missing because he’d lost that half of his family so critical to normalcy.

  Because despite all her worries about safety, just like Nick had thought, she understood what Bobby was going through, and didn’t want him to miss out on what she had in her childhood. For once, Nick had read Carolyn right, and he wondered whether if he had done it once, he could do it again.

  “So,” Carolyn said, rising and brushing her hands together, “shall we do this?”

  Bobby nodded. “Can you get the dragon?”

  “Anything you want, Bobby.”

  Nick slapped down a five-dollar bill and the man placed three balls before Carolyn. He explained the game, then stood to the side and demonstrated with one swift throw how easy it was to land a wiffle ball in the wooden basket, the kind usually used for gathering fruit. “He makes it look easy,” Nick whispered to Carolyn.

  “They always do, but if it were easy, everyone would win and the fair wouldn’t make any money.” She bent down next to Bobby. “Okay, I’ll share the secret with you on how to win, but you have to keep it a secret. My father told it to me and now I’ll tell it to you.”

  Bobby’s eyes widened with excitement at being let in on a secret. He nodded solemnly. “Okay.”

  Keeping her voice low, Carolyn demonstrated with the ball in her hand. “You need to get as close as you’re allowed to, according to the rules. You want to toss underhanded, put a little spin on it and don’t throw too hard. The basket isn’t very deep and your goal is to aim for the lip of the basket, where the sweet spot is.”

  “What’s a sweet spot?”

  Carolyn smiled. “The best spot to hit, so that the ball will drop right into the basket.” She rose, juggling one of the balls in her right hand. “Watch.”

  Nick watched, amazed, as Carolyn stepped up to the booth, leaned forward, but not so much that she extended over the counter, and tossed the ball. The white sphere rose upward in an arc, spinning as it arched toward the basket, pinging off the rim, then dropped lightly into the basket and settled in the bottom.

  “You did it!” Bobby jumped up beside her. “You did it!”

  Several people who had stopped by the booth to watch Carolyn shoot applauded her success. Nick, however, wasn’t impressed so much with her aim as he was with the change that had come over Carolyn when she’d leaned down and talked to Bobby. Her entire demeanor had relaxed, and she had become someone else. Someone who reached out, extended a thread, then knotted that connection into a rope.

  It was an entirely new side of her. A side he realized he liked. Very much.

  “Do it again,” Bobby said. “All three gets to pick any toy.”

  Carolyn shot Nick a smile. “Nothing like a little pressure.”

  “You can do it,” he said, taking a step closer.

  Carolyn wavered for a moment. Nick’s breath, warm against her neck, sent a wave of desire rushing through her. She forgot all about the carnival game. The fairgoers. Why she was there. All she wanted to do was lean into Nick’s touch and see where that particular game of chance got her.

  Then Bobby tugged at her sleeve and brought her back to reality. “Can you do it again?”

  “Sure, sure.” Carolyn shot the second ball, then the third, sinking both of them into the basket. Around them, the crowd erupted into applause, the bell was rung announcing a winner, and Bobby sported the largest smile a child could. He chose a bright-green-and-red stuffed dragon that was nearly half his size and thanked Carolyn several times as they walked away.

  “Wow! You are really good at that. Did your daddy win you a dragon, too?” Bobby clutched the dragon to his chest, as proud of the stuffed animal as a new parent.

  “No, a bear. I still have it.”

  Bobby plucked at the dragon’s scales, his fingers pulling at the yellow triangles, his gaze downcast. “Is your father still alive?”

  “No, Bobby, he isn’t,” Carolyn said. She drew in a breath. This was harder to talk about than she expected—because she never talked about it. She’d put it behind her after that day, moved forward—charged forward, really, determined not to let one day become the moment that defined her life.

  Yet, there had been moments when she’d been growing up when she had wished someone would have talked to her. Mentioned her father. Told her a story, told her it was okay to talk about what had happened. Aunt Greta had refused to mention the death of her brother, had buried the topic along with him at the cemetery. Leaving nine-year-old Carolyn to stuff those feelings inside, with nowhere to vent that volcano of fear, worry and hurt.

  What Carolyn had needed most back then was a friend. A friend who understood. And as she looked down into Bobby’s eyes, his fingers clutching that dragon as if the stuffed animal could ward off all the rest of the evil in the world, she knew he, too, needed a friend. “My father—” she swallowed “—he was killed by a bad man when I was nine.”

  Bobby bit his lip, clutched the dragon tighter. “A bad man hurt my daddy, too,” he said, the words slow in coming. His teeth tugged at his lip some more, then he went on. “My daddy is in heaven now. And my mom, she has to go to the hospital a lot, sometimes for a long time. My grandma’s too old to watch me, so when my mom is gone, I have to live with other people. Did you have to do that, too?”

  Carolyn nodded, her voice lost in a swell of emotion. Oh, how she knew that life. Knew it too well. Poor Bobby. Carolyn’s heart squeezed so tight she thought it might never beat properly again. Her throat closed, her breath caught, then she forced out a gust, extended a hand and—

  Reached out. Tentative, she captured Bobby’s free hand in her own. He hesitated, then the little palm warmed hers, fingers curling between her own, tightening into her grasp, holding on to her as firmly as he did the dragon. Now her heart swelled to bursting with compassion and she whispered a single wish to the heavens. That this boy would be safe forever, that the road ahead would be easy for Bobby Lester, because the one he was on had already been too hard. “I’m sorry, Bobby. I’m so sorry.”

  He looked up at her and nodded, understanding extending between them like a web. “Me, too.”

  Nick’s arm stole around Carolyn’s waist, strong, secure, there, and she let herself lean into his touch, needing him right then as much as Bobby needed her.

  Then the three of them stopped and simply stood there, pretending they were watching the Ferris wheel make its slow spin. But really, not seeing anything at all but a blurry circle of lights.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JEAN MET NICK and Carolyn, along with Bobby, outside the fair at nine that night, on the dot. She looked harried and overwhelmed, but grateful to see Bobby sporting a smiling face and arms full of prizes. “I take it you had a good time?”

  Bobby nodded. “Uh-huh. It was really fun,” he said. “Can we go every day?”

  Jean laughed. “Sorry, Bobby, but the fair moves on to another town tomorrow.”

  The little boy swallowed, and accepted that information without complaint, disappointment clearly something he was used to. Nick’s chest tightened. Once again Bobby’s world and the one he’d grown up in were a thousand miles apart. He may not have been rich or spoiled, but he sure had been privileged, and indulged with happiness and family. Guilt rocketed through Nick, and in a weird way he wanted to give some of those years back, if only so that Bobby could have them instead.

  Bobby shrugged, as if he didn’t care, the bravado back in
place. “That’s all right. The fair was just okay anyway.”

  It wasn’t okay, not by a long shot, not in Nick’s book, but he was powerless to make the fair stay in town. To change the circumstances of one boy’s life.

  Carolyn met Nick’s eye and he saw her bite back a sigh, just as he did, at the sound of Bobby’s too-old speech. “Bobby won this mirror all by himself,” Nick said, clapping the boy on the shoulder with the change of subject, hoping it would restore the child’s good humor. Not really knowing what else to do. “He hit three balloons with the darts. He’s got some seriously good aim. Probably see him in the Major Leagues someday.”

  That earned a smile. Hurrah.

  “Good job, Bobby,” Jean said.

  “Thank you.” Bobby, however, still didn’t seem much happier. Nick looked to Carolyn for help.

  “Tomorrow, Bobby, will be quite the adventurous evening. We’ll be reconvening and attend the fireworks celebration.”

  Nick sent Carolyn a sidelong glance. Reconvening? Celebration? Bobby also gave her a baffled look. Carolyn just stood there, stiff as a board. What was wrong with her? It seemed like every time the boy got close to her, she put up this wall of formality.

  She did it with Bobby; she did it with Nick. Here he’d thought they were making such great progress and that he could finally read her, understand what made her tick.

  Obviously, he’d gotten it just as wrong this time as he had three years ago. Maybe she was right. Maybe he didn’t understand her.

  Or maybe he just needed to try harder.

  “We’ll have fun tomorrow, Bobby, I promise,” Nick said, ruffling the boy’s hair.

  Bobby’s smile spread so far across his face, Nick was sure it reached from one ear to the other. “You mean it? You’re not just saying that? A lot of people make promises and then they have to break them. And...well, I’ll understand if you can’t come.” He toed at the dirt beneath his worn sneakers, then looked up again. “I bet you’re real busy.”