Excerpt of Between the Covers/The Matchmaker's Mistake by Jane Sullivan, Cathie Linz

BETWEEN THE COVERS

by Cathie Linz

"You want me to find you a wife?"

Paige asked in amazement.

"Just hear me out." Shane squirmed in his seat. "My father went ballistic when I refused to go into the family business. I come from a long line of proctologists, and I just didn't want to go there, if you know what I mean? My family hates the fact that I'm a cop, and little has changed. Until I got this letter."

He'd forgotten about the trust fund coming due from his deceased grandfather. He'd just left his family's lawyers and come directly to the library. Directly to Paige Turner.

"There must be plenty of women who'd be thrilled to marry you to help you receive your inheritance," Paige was saying.

"I can't marry just any woman. She has to fulfill the five requirements of the Huntington list."

"Five requirements?" she teased. "I can hardly wait."

Shane wasn't amused.

She sighed. "Okay, I'll help you find Ms. Right." She knew it was wrong, but she was also human and very tempted. And that was very bad.

THE MATCHMAKER'S MISTAKE

by Jane Sullivan

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Mark muttered as he strode through Simon's parking lot alongside Liz, berating himself with every step. "What if somebody catches us?"

"That's why you're going to be my lookout," Liz said. "Just tell me if somebody comes."

"What if a cop drives by?"

Liz rolled her eyes. "A cop's not going to drive by. You're not going to jail, and you're not going to hell. Didn't you ever do this when you were a teenager?"

"God, no."

"Did you ever toilet paper a house?"

"Nope."

"Egg a few windows?"

"Of course not."

"What did you do?"

Mark shot her an irritated look. "Where I went to school, vandalism was not a prerequisite for graduation."

"Yeah. That's the problem with education these days. They don't teach real-world skills."

Mark had always wondered what teenage vandals were like when they grew up. Now he knew. They grew into adult vandals.

"There it is," Liz said, pointing toward a dark blue Beemer at the back of the parking lot.

"You're sure it's her car?"

"I'm sure."

Mark was glad Gwen had arrived late this evening. She'd been relegated to the back of the lot next to a very large Cadillac, which thankfully would help shield them from sight. Little did she know, though, that while she sat inside sipping a glass of wine, her car was becoming a crime statistic.

When they reached the car, Liz looked left and right for witnesses, then ducked down beside the rear tire. A few seconds later Mark heard the hiss of air escaping.

"This is crazy," he whispered.

"Will you lighten up? I'm letting air out of a tire, not bombing a major metropolitan airport."

The hissing seemed to go on for hours, but the only people Mark saw were on the other side of the lot, filtering in and out of the club. Her mission finally accomplished, Liz stood up and gave Mark a big grin. "It's a perfect plan, isn't it? No woman can ignore a man who comes to her rescue. Even Gwen."

As they hurried back across the parking lot, Mark had to admit Liz's plan had possibilities. Gwen would find her flat tire, become understandably distressed, and then he'd just happen to come along to change it for her, thereby rescuing her, thereby earning her gratitude and goodwill, and--

"Wait a minute!" Mark grabbed Liz's arm and pulled her to a halt. "This is never going to work. She's going to remember me from last night!"

Liz dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand. "Nah. Guys hit on her all the time. She won't remember."

"I think she will."

"If you're worried, just take your glasses off. She won't recognize you then." "If I can't see, I won't recognize her either."

Liz held out her hand. "Give them to me."

"No! I'm not going to--"

"You're right, Mark. She might recognize you. Do you want one strike against you before you even get started?"

Mark glared at Liz, then yanked his glasses off and put them in her hand. She stepped back five paces and held up two fingers. "How many?"

Mark squinted. "Two."

"Right."

"Plus the two beside them makes four."

Liz folded his glasses and tucked them into her apron pocket. "No problem. Whatever you see, just divide it in half. You're an accountant. You can probably do the math in your head."

He stared at her, dumbfounded. "Don't take this wrong. Liz. But you're nuts."

"Now, I resent that," she said, a smile playing across her lips. "I'm not nuts. Sometimes I just...think out of the box."

No kidding. This woman was so far "out of the box" that no force in the universe could stuff her back inside.

"Now, do you remember what I told you to do?" Liz asked.

"I can handle it, Liz."

"I know you can." She smoothed his jacket lapels, then gave his cheek a friendly pat. He blinked with surprise, then reminded himself that Liz was just one of those overly friendly, touchy-feely types and it didn't mean a thing. Still, he noted how warm her hand felt, and he had the fleeting thought that he wouldn't mind it staying there a little longer.

"But it might be a good idea to get that uptight look off your face," Liz added.

Mark closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to relax. Why was this so hard?

Because you're from the Lucky Seven Trailer Park in Waldon Springs, Texas--a place women like Gwen would see only in their worst nightmares. And she's going to know right away, just as she did last night, that you're not the kind of guy for her.

"How many psychologists does it take to change a lightbulb?" Liz asked.

Mark blinked. "Is this a joke?"

"No, I'm from the Society of American Psychologists and I'm taking a poll. Of course it's a joke."

"Then spare me, will you? I can do without humor right now."

"Wrong. I think you need all the humor you can get."

She continued to stare at him until he sighed with resignation. "Okay. I'll bite. How many psychologists does it take to change a lightbulb?"

"Only one. But it has to really want to change."

In spite of the fact that the joke barely registered on the comedy meter, Mark couldn't help smiling. If Gwen were as easy to talk to as Liz, his communication problems would be solved.

"Bad joke," he said.

"The worst," Liz agreed. She put her hand against his arm, then leaned toward him and dropped her voice. "Rule number one for attracting the opposite sex. Do that more often."

"Do what more often?"

"Smile. Just the way you did right there. Women can't resist it."

Her voice was soft and breathy, and as he glanced down to where her hand rested against his arm, he felt an unexpected flush of warmth, his senses suddenly on red- alert. He jerked his gaze back up, only to have it waylayed by Liz's body-hugging emerald-green top. Odd or not, she had some obvious physical assets a man would have to be in a coma to miss.

Finally he managed to tear his gaze away from her blouse and what lay beneath it, but when he met her soft green eyes, he froze all over again. Caught in her gaze, his heart missed a beat or two, and the warm flush he'd felt the moment she'd touched him had magnified, multiplying the heat of the Texas twilight and making him even warmer than before. As she continued to stare at him with a playful, engaging smile, he could see now that despite her strange wardrobe, her wild, untamed hair and her bizarre thought process, she really was attractive.

Very attractive.