Mr. Accidental Cowboy_Jet City Matchmaker Series_Dylan

by Gina Robinson

  “Eleven.” Cam pointed. “Another one just walked in.”

  “Damn.” I sized up the newcomer. “Does he look about my height to you, too?”

  Cam nodded and made a frame in the air with his fingers around space cowboy number eleven. “If my estimate is right—to within an eighth of an inch.”

  I squinted and set my jaw. “Suspicious.”

  “Merely suspicious?” Cam clasped my shoulder. “It’s condemning.”

  “What do you think Ashley’s game is?”

  “Ashley’s game?” Cam shot me a surprised look. “This reeks of Lazer.”

  “Yeah. What was I thinking? You’re right.” I nodded. “And after all the times we helped him with his love life, this is how he repays me.”

  “I’m sure he thinks he’s helping, whatever he has up his sleeve.” Cam slapped me on the back. “Fortunately for me, I seem to be the only camo warrior here. Whatever game they’re playing is with you, bud. I’ve escaped their evil clutches.”

  “Don’t get cocky, kid,” I said. “Your attendance here was mandatory too. I wouldn’t drop my guard just yet.”

  “Right.” He watched the ladies arriving with obvious interest. “Do these masks annoy you? They hide the most important part of the face—the windows to the soul. How the hell am I supposed to tell whether the ladies are flirting with me with their eyes or not?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Count your blessings, bud. They can’t see your full ugly mug and run.”

  He gave me a playful shove. “Shut up. I have nice eyes.”

  “You’d prefer a veil?”

  “I prefer a naked face.”

  “Who doesn’t prefer naked?” I laughed.

  He held his hand out. “Let me see your clue again.”

  I handed him my phone.

  “Not a pen to ink a deal. Not a pen to hem you in. To sing. To sing! A mate for life. Don’t let loneliness be your swansong.” Cam pursed his lips. “Poetic, sort of. Do you think Lazer wrote this?”

  I rolled my eyes as if an answer was beneath me. “We know Lazer’s mind like the back of our hands. If he’d written it, we would have figured it out by now. My money’s on Lottie.”

  Cam nodded. “Good point. She’s a poet and we didn’t know it.”

  A waiter came up to my shoulder behind me. “Appetizer, sir?”

  I turned and examined his tray, selecting an appealing bite of something fancy on a toothpick. Cam grabbed three.

  “What?” he said to my raised eyebrow. “I’m hungry.”

  “Ashley taught you better.”

  “She’s not looking.” He winked and popped an appetizer in his mouth.

  In that momentary tasty bite of diversion, the room filled considerably. I frowned as I looked around and started sputtering. “Damn. Fuck.”

  “What?” Cam looked around, trying to see what I saw.

  “Swans. Tall female swans everywhere.” I shook my head. “In the space of a second, they’ve filled the room. There must be as many swans as there are space cowboys.”

  Cam looked innocently around. When his gaze returned to me, he grinned. “I don’t see what you’re complaining about. Lots of hot swans. This is good news. You like tall women.” He was still holding my phone.

  I grabbed it from him and shook it at him. “Don’t you see?”

  “See what?”

  “This.” I pointed to my screen. “My clue. Swansong? It makes sense now. Perfect sense.”

  He looked at me like I was a crazy person. “What’s all the BS about pens, then? That might help you narrow it down to a particular swan.”

  “A pen is a female swan.” I swept my arm around the room. “My perfect match here tonight is a swan.”

  He nodded. “Good job, pal. You have a jump on everyone else. Your list of potential matches is down to a dozen, and they all stand out in the crowd.” He paused and frowned. “You don’t look happy. And how the hell did you know what a female swan is called?”

  The answer to his second question was easy—swans were Laura’s favorite animals. Because she was intrigued with them, I’d learned everything I could about them. The stupid things chubby boys do to impress girls who are out of their league.

  “An adult male is a cob, a fucking mate-for-life cob,” I said.

  “Interesting, Mr. Encyclopedia, but not the answer to the question I asked.”

  My attention was momentarily diverted by the arrival of a yet another swan by the main entrance. “Laura.”

  “What?”

  “Laura, the girl from school that Ashley was trying to match me with? Swans are her favorite. She dressed like a swan every Halloween.”

  Cam, good friend that he was, broke out laughing. He laughed so hard that he had to wipe his eyes beneath his mask. “Props to Ashley. We knew she wouldn’t give up so easily.”

  I swore beneath my breath. “One of those swans has to be Laura. I’d bet my life on it.”

  “For all you know, all of those swans could be a match for you. There’s only one way to find out—you have to go get yourself some swan tail, buddy.”

  “Or kill Lazer.”

  “Don’t kill the golden goose. Bad plan. Just get out there and flirt with some swans. Process of elimination until you find one who suits you.” He paused, his lips twitching. “How do male swans attract their mates, Mr. Ornithologist?”

  “Singing, intricate dance rituals, feeding the pen bites of food, the usual methods.”

  “Then you got this.” He grabbed me by the shoulder. “Get out there, cowboy, and start singing some swansongs.” He waggled his eyebrows and smiled at someone across the room. “A beautiful kitten is calling my name.”

  *

  Laura

  Men who are six-foot-four or over make up only about one percent of the population. How do I know that? Because I looked it up—when I was a teenager weighing my odds of finding a date, and possibly, at some point, my Prince Charming. What’s special about six-foot-four? To the average person—nothing. To me? It’s four inches taller than I am. Four inches is the ideal height difference between a man and woman, according to the average woman. And in that regard, I’m average.

  Why do short women have hotter boyfriends? Because they have more men to choose from. More men in the category of being at least four inches taller than they are. Another fun fact—in fewer than two percent of couples is the woman taller than the man. I was at so much of a disadvantage. Tall women, like short men, have the odds stacked against them and have to work harder.

  These facts also explained why all throughout school, I was paired with the only guy in my school who fit the bill—Dylan Wayne. He and I were always side by side in the back row of any class picture. Which made hurting him inevitable, I guess.

  As I looked around the ballroom and spotted a dozen cowboy-hatted heads above the crowd, I shook my head at Ashley. This crowd was salted with cowboys, space cowboys. My clue may have been clever, but solving it only took eyes. Steph was right—I hadn’t been randomly selected. I’d been chosen. But what was the point of so many cowboys? Lots of choices for me.

  My hopes were quickly dashed. There were also nearly a dozen tall female swans wearing variations of costumes I’d worn before. I was being haunted by swan costumes of seasons past. And I was damned if I was going to let one of those imposter swans steal my Mr. Cowboy—Dylan. He was a match for certain.

  I smiled to myself, thinking of my wishful comment to Ashley that I was meeting Dylan for the first time now. I hesitated. My heart raced. If fate in the form of Ashley was taking control, if this was my opportunity for wish fulfillment, I was taking it. If this was my chance to meet another tall space cowboy who just might be my match, I was grabbing that, too. The game, whatever it was, was on. At least spotting my marks was easy—they stood a head above. The question was—did I make a move? Did I approach Dylan or wait for him to come to me?

  *

  Ashley

  From backstage, I peeked around the curtains at th
e edge of the elevated stage, my Queen of Hearts skirt sweeping seductively enough to elicit a lecherous grin from Lazer.

  He came up beside me and slipped his large, hot hands around my waist. “The room has filled nicely. Our diabolical plan is working.”

  “Is it?” I whispered in his ear, breathily enough to give him ideas. He liked it when I blew in his ear.

  “Our swans and cowboys are drawing attention from both interested parties.” He pulled me to him.

  “How can you be sure?” I leaned into him. “I thought I saw a look of consternation cross Dylan’s face. Too many swans and cowboys for his tastes, I imagine.”

  Lazer whispered in my ear, “I have spies everywhere. They’re reporting some confusion, some consternation, but more importantly, determination to beat us at our own game.”

  “Delightful,” I said. “Totally delicious.” I peeked back out at the crowds. “It looks like pretty much everyone is here. I think it’s time the hostess welcomed her guests. Shall we get this party started?”

  He held his hand out. “After you.”

  I pulled the party planner aside. She said something to the band. The music stopped. The crowd went silent as I stepped onto the stage on Lazer’s arm.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, swans and cowboys, masqueraders all, and seekers of soul mates…”

  The crowd laughed.

  “It’s my pleasure to welcome you to our very first masquerade ball. This is Pair Us’ first large-scale singles event—the first of many, we hope. We also hope that you will all enjoy yourselves and that many of you will make a true love connection here tonight. Lazer, our staff, and I are all here to help. We’re recognizable by the interlocking hearts on the sleeves of our costumes. If you need help figuring out your clues, want an introduction, need some coaching, or even directions to the restroom, we’re your humble servants tonight.

  “You’ve all read the rules for the evening. There are only a few more.”

  Someone in the audience groaned.

  I laughed. “If you don’t like rules, I’m clearly not the matchmaker for you. But as you’re here, I think you protest too much.” I received both polite and enthusiastic applause. “Everyone here loves the rules; you can’t fool me. I know you do. The new rules are simple—the tables set for two are for guests who have met their match, or believe they have, to sit at, dine at, and get to know each other. The other tables set for four or more are for any guest to enjoy. Dinner will be served in an hour. Cocktails, wine, and beer are currently being served at the bar.

  “Dancing will begin as soon as I leave the stage and continue throughout the evening. If you’d like lessons, or just need to brush up your skills, we have dance instructors waiting to give you pointers and the basics in studios A and B across the hall.

  “Thank you all for coming. Enjoy yourselves tonight. Our hope is that this will be an evening to remember.”

  Lazer spontaneously pulled me into a deep, sensuous kiss. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how it’s done. Go find the one. Let’s get this party started.”

  He took my hand and led me across the stage, down the steps, and into the center of the dance floor. He nodded to the bandleader. The music began.

  “Shall we?” He opened his arms to me.

  “My pleasure.”

  *

  Dylan

  The woman with the padded swan head over one shoulder and the frilly skirt was completely vapid. Beautiful, but unable to grasp even blatant humor. The right physical package, the wrong IQ, the wrong mind. The second swan, wearing a very similar costume, talked my ear off. She was clearly intelligent, and pretty. But the personality was a definite mismatch. I felt like the Goldilocks—too hot, too cold, but where was just right? And I looked more like the bears. I had to signal Jeremy to come rescue me. It took me three tries to catch his attention. He was too busy dancing with Crystal.

  Damn, I already missed the days when we were all single and played wingman for each other. Jeremy had always been good for the save. Cam liked to lounge and watch my distress. Lazer always wanted to coach me on how to extricate myself. His motto was: Save a man and you’ll always have to save him. Teach a man to flirt and he’ll catch his own mate. And Austin was good for a save when he wasn’t being mobbed by the ladies. That kilt he wore was a turn-on. Though, I had to admit, I didn’t get quite the same reaction when I wore mine.

  The next three swans—no chemistry. None.

  I’d been avoiding the swan in the costume from Swan Lake. She was tall—taller than me, even in ballet shoes. At my height, I had no experience with women who towered over me. Game for anything to avoid Laura, I screwed up my courage, gave it a go, and asked Swan Lake to dance.

  “I was wondering when I’d get my turn.” She had a beautiful, deep, throaty voice. Creamy, smooth complexion. Large, sultry eyes. Killer sense of humor. Knew how to make conversation and listen. Knew what men liked, at least, as far as I could tell from a pleasant and entertaining conversation. And had mannish enough features to be androgynous.

  Though I had no physical chemistry with her, I liked her best of the half a dozen swans I’d met so far. I toyed with idea of spending the evening with Swan Lake, if for no other reason than to avoid Laura. I would have done it, too. Except I couldn’t get Laura out of my mind, no matter how much I tried.

  Yes, I knew which swan Laura was. I’d known from the moment she walked in when I was talking with Cam. She thought she was cleverly camouflaged as a steampunk swan—talk about a hot concept for a swan. If I had been designing one, her costume would have been what I aspired to. Laura and I had always thought more alike than not. If I hadn’t been such a nerd…

  If peer pressure hadn’t been what it was.

  She thought her mask, which hid her eyes, was enough to conceal her identity from me. She didn’t know the depths of my adolescent obsession with her. How I’d memorized the curves of her body and the way she moved. I knew the shape of her face and the lovable quirks of her smile. The way one corner of her mouth lifted higher than the other. I thought that time would have erased my awareness of her. But my body still reacted to her presence. Something about her always drew my attention. I was aware of her in an instant, even from across the room.

  I’d been avoiding her all night, trying out all the other swans in the hopes that Ashley had thrown me a few other good matches. Maybe she had. Maybe she’d tried. Maybe it was my fault none of them matched up to Laura. Maybe I was being pigheaded and stubborn.

  Swan Lake sensed my preoccupation with Laura. I was dancing with Swan Lake, but my attention was elsewhere. “Don’t tell me, darling—I’m not the one. I’m heartbroken.” Swan Lake’s deep voice was tinged with regret.

  “Sorry?”

  “You keep looking at the corseted swan across the room. I’m envious of that corset and her tiny waist. It really is small for a girl our size.” She sighed. “She’s dancing with the awful cowboy. He doesn’t hold a candle to you. She’s trapped, poor darling.”

  She looked me in the eye, which meant she was looking down at me. “What are you waiting for, my luscious? Loath as I am to let you go, I’m a hopeless romantic. You must go to her and sweep her off her feet.”

  “I didn’t think I was so obvious.” I felt sheepish. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be! The heart wants what it wants. I’m sure another cowboy will come along to whisk me away.” Swan Lake glanced around the room, staking her claim on another cowboy. “I think that one is more my type, anyway.”

  The song ended. She gave me a gentle shove in Laura’s direction. “Go. Ask her to dance. Make your move.”

  8

  Laura

  I knew exactly which cowboy Dylan was. He’d gone more old school than high tech. The duster he wore was brown leather and weathered as authentically as a real cowboy’s. It fell to mid-calf and flared out as he walked. I recognized it—it had been his Uncle Dan’s. Dan had been Dylan’s idol when he was young. I remember Dylan trailing around after Dan a
ll over town. Dan was a character, a real rancher as weather-beaten and handsome as his coat. Women of my mom’s generation and older used to swoon when he walked by. Dan had been a real heartbreaker. Now Dylan was, too, in Dan’s coat and a tan cowboy hat. In cowboy boots that gave him another couple of inches, he was an impressive, and intimidating, sight.

  Besides having an uncanny resemblance to his uncle, he looked like a famous space cowboy from a cult classic sci-fi/Old West mashup TV show. One of my favorite shows, too. It had been a shame it only lasted a season.

  My steampunk rendition of a swan was a perfect match for Dylan’s costume, completely by accident. Great minds. He could have loaded me onto his spaceship and whisked me away and no one would have thought anything odd about it—that was how much we looked like a matched set. That would have been a plan if he hadn’t been avoiding me. He’d danced with every other swan in the room. Every time I even thought about approaching Dylan, he made a move on yet another swan.

  Me? I had the pleasure of meeting eleven attractive space cowboys, each with a unique take on the costume. The highest-tech one with the fancy space armor was a very nice, but boring, banker. He clearly had money but very little personality. Another admitted he was hired to attend the ball and his costume was rented. Wasn’t it awesome? Now there was a guy who wasn’t going to get a sweet gig like this again.

  One was too full of himself for me. He spent our time together bragging about his accomplishments. It may have been insecurity that made him spout his achievements, but I wasn’t the woman to tame him and teach him modesty. Another was a pretty boy without much substance behind his high cheekbones, but he sure was nice to look at. Cruising around on his arm as the envy of other women would only be fun until the novelty wore off. Once pretty boy lost his looks, life would just be sad. One was really witty, but he was too artsy for me. He would have made a great friend, but not a love match. And that was the really diabolical thing that Ashley had done—she hadn’t brought in complete duds, caricatured villains to blatantly point to my one true love. Each one, except the hired one, had something beyond his height to recommend him. But none of them were the complete package, at least not for my tastes.