Montana Matched

By Fran Shaff

Attracting a woman has never been a problem for wealthy, handsome Montana rancher Jake Ruskin, but finding a woman to marry...that’s quite a different dilemma.

Fortunately, Chicago matchmaker Becky Montoya, whom many happy clients have called the best in the business, has promised Jake she can find him precisely the kind of woman he’d like to marry.

Becky’s been dreaming of expanding her business, and, once she finds Jake his perfect mate, she’ll be able to do just that with the windfall fee he’s promised her. Considering the amount of money involved, Becky flies to Montana to handle every detail of the Ruskin case personally.

To her surprise, she soon finds her personal dealings with Jake have become a bit too intimate, and, before long, sworn-single Becky is beginning to wonder--should she give in to her feelings for her handsome cowboy client or should she fly straight back to Chicago before she breaks every moral rule she’s ever believed in?

Excerpt:

Setup: Caught in a rainstorm, Jake and Becky spend the night in a country cabin.

Becky awoke as the first rays of light filtered through the windows. She didn’t know where she was at first, but it didn’t take her long to remember she was in the little cabin in the beautiful meadow--alone with Jake.

As she surveyed her surroundings she caught sight of her handsome host.

He lay cramped on the tiny sofa half naked and deadly asleep. Her gaze drifted from his handsome face to the black and gray curls covering his well-built, expansive chest. She watched his ribs expand and contract.

Her cheeks burned as she remembered the looks, the touches, the embraces she and Jake had shared over the last days. She thought about the first night she was with him and recalled how he’d engulfed her cheeks with his hands. They’d dropped the “Mr. Ruskin” and “Miss Montoya” titles as they’d gazed at the stars, the horses--and each other. They were Becky and Jake that night, not a matchmaker and a client, just a man and a woman.

She’d wanted him to hold her, touch her, kiss her. He almost had kissed her the very first night they were together.

He’d wanted to be with her too. He hadn’t tried to hide his interest in her.

Last night--Becky sighed and pulled the quilt to her chin.

She had no idea how they got through last night without getting close. Each of them half clothed, alone and vulnerable with nothing to keep them out of each other’s arms but their own restraint, she’d feared they’d get much closer than they should have.

She’d tried to shield her desire for him, but Jake was a very intuitive and intelligent man. She had no doubt he was as aware of her attraction to him as she was of his attraction to her.

If she hadn’t fallen asleep--passed out was more like it--on the sofa...

She bolted forward. She’d fallen asleep on the sofa!

Her cheeks began to burn again when she realized Jake must have carried her to bed.

She closed her eyes.

The thought of her half-dressed body being pressed into that magnificent, bared, masculine chest sent heat rushing through her.

A deep groan from the couch prompted Becky to gaze at Jake again. She watched him raise his arms over his head. He stretched and wriggled as his eyes slowly opened. “Becky?”

-----

Reviews:

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Carolyn Brown says, “5 Stars. A wonderful book to curl up and read...Lovable characters.”

MyShelf.com says, “Ms. Shaff does a fantastic job showing true sensitivity. It is very well written and fast-paced...pick up this book. You will not be disappointed.”

The Romance Studio: “Ms. Shaff is a gifted writer that always delivers in her stories.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fran Shaff
• Release date: Aug 21, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476110264

Fran Shaff

Just about all of us want to get away from the demands of everyday life from time to time. Unfortunately, most of us don’t have the luxury of being able to take off to some new, exciting place whenever we feel the urge--unless we like to read.A book can take us anywhere we’d like to go. For readers who enjoy living vicariously in pastimes or in modern times Fran Shaff provides a great escape in the more than twenty novels she’s published over the years. Fran’s fictional books have won awards from readers, reviewers and fellow authors, and her non-fiction has been acknowledged in this way too.Love is the main focus of all of Fran’s books, whether they’re contemporary or historical, serious or humorous, written for adults or teens. Love between men and women and among friends and families is featured in her books because there is nothing most of us want more than to love and be loved. Happy endings abound, but the journey to reaching that joyful final moment is always a rocky struggle, just the way we want our fiction (even though we could do without the drama in our real lives).Look for new, full-length historical romance novels from Fran Shaff in the ten-book “Tender Mysteries Series,” available now and debuting throughout 2013 and 2014. The first novel in the series “Resurrected” is available as a free download at most Internet bookstores. The series is available in single e-book and two-pack paperback formats.Reviewers say:“Ms. Shaff is a gifted writer that always delivers in her stories.” (The Romance Studio)“I have discovered a great new author in Fran Shaff. She writes with depth and understanding and digs deep into the emotional lives of her characters bringing the reader with her all the way.” (A Romance Review)“Fran Shaff is a wonderful writer whose prose speak with passion from her heart.” (Fallen Angel Reviews)“Ms. Shaff writes about characters that warm your heart and give you a good chuckle as well.” (Coffee Time Romance)

Book preview

MONTANA MATCHED

By Fran Shaff

Classic Contemporary Romance

Montana Matched by Fran Shaff

All rights reserved

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 by Fran Shaff

Characters, names and incidents used in this story are products of the imagination of the author and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the author.

Discover Fran Shaff books and short stories available in e-format, paperback and hardcover by visiting her website at: http://sites.google.com/site/fshaff

E-mail Fran Shaff at: [e-mail]

This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

For DiAnna whose friendship is warmer than cocoa, and, as always, for JC.

MONTANA MATCHED

Chapter One

He’s nothing like I expected, Becky thought. She carefully eyed Jake Ruskin as she pulled up in front of his house. He was wearing blue jeans and a light blue shirt, and he was hanging laundry on the line in the backyard. She estimated him to be five feet, ten inches tall and sixty, maybe sixty-three years of age.

She put her rented midsized car in park, turned off the ignition and continued her distant inspection. Gray hair, nicely-groomed, full gray beard. He definitely didn’t fit the picture of vitality she’d envisioned when she’d spoken to Jake on the phone. His deep, sexy voice had sent shivers through her. In fifteen years of matchmaking she’d never had that kind of reaction to any other client.

She had been absolutely certain Jake Ruskin would be drop-dead gorgeous and as easy to mate with a prospective bride as anyone she’d ever matched before.

Judging by the man she beheld now, it appeared the windfall Jake had promised her to find him a wife would not be easily earned.

Becky got out of her car. She ran her hands over her turquoise linen business suit and adjusted her short skirt. The ankles poised over her matching pumps twisted as she made her way across the graveled driveway.

She stopped and glanced again at the gray-haired man hanging laundry. Here goes nothing, she whispered, slinging the strap of her small purse over her shoulder and tucking her long black hair behind her ears.

Becky took a few steps up the crumbling brick walkway toward the house before she turned to cross the lawn to get to the backyard. The heels of her pumps sunk into the wet sod the moment she settled her feet on the grass. She successfully freed her shoes from the wet sedge and stepped forward. Her heels immediately sunk into the earth again.

Oh, no, she whispered, pulling her foot from one of the sunken shoes. She looked around for an alternate route to the backyard. It appeared a person could access the backyard from inside the house, but she obviously couldn’t use that route. It seemed her only means of reaching Mr. Ruskin involved inching her way across his shoe-hungry lawn.

Gosh almighty! she said under her breath. I suppose I could take them off-- She gave her head a vigorous shake. "I am not walking without shoes! I’d ruin my new hose." Becky stuffed her foot back into her shoe and tried again to loosen her pumps from the gluttonous ground.

She was about to release an expletive when she suddenly felt herself being swept up by a pair of powerful arms. Before she could say anything, the striking man with the gray-speckled, thick black hair who’d pressed her tightly against his rigid, muscular chest started scolding her.

What do you think you’re doing, Miss Montoya?

Becky, unable to speak due to her shocking circumstances, stared into the icy blue eyes gazing down at her.

You are Becky Montoya, aren’t you?

Becky still couldn’t speak.

A look of frustration covered his face. He whisked her up the stairs, past the porch and over the threshold into the house. He shut the door with his foot, set her down, and folded his arms. Well?

Y-yes, Becky stammered pushing her jet-black hair over her shoulder. I’m Becky Montoya. She glanced out a window which overlooked the backyard. I’m here to see Mr. Ruskin, she said, looking up at the handsome brute who’d carried her into the house. I saw him hanging laundry on the line so I was trying to cross the lawn to reach him. He’s expecting me.

The ice-blue eyes softened and his lips curved into an amused smile. You thought Sam… he said slowly.

Becky reached out and touched his arm. Oh, no, it isn’t Sam Ruskin I’m looking for. I’m here to meet with Jake Ruskin. Isn’t he, she said, drawing back her hand and aiming a finger toward the window facing the back yard, Jake Ruskin?

No, ma’am, he isn’t.

Oh, she said, pressing an index finger to her lips.

I’m Jake Ruskin, he said, extending his hand.

Becky took his hand. I…I don’t know what to say.

You don’t have to say anything, Miss Montoya. I think Sam would get a kick out of hearing you mistook him for me, but there’s really no need to tell him.

She bit her lip. Thank you for keeping my error between us. I’m embarrassed enough as it is.

No need to be embarrassed, he said.

Once she realized the man whose arms had consumed her as he’d carried her into his house was her client, she looked at him more closely. The long-sleeved red twill shirt he was wearing accentuated his handsome, tanned face. His jeans were worn but clean.

He seemed inordinately tall, much taller than she’d expected. At five feet, seven inches she wasn’t a diminutive woman--especially when she was wearing her heels.

Only she wasn’t wearing her heels now.

She quickly realized it wasn’t he who was too tall but she who was too short.

My shoes, she said, glancing at the door through which they’d come.

He perused her carefully About those shoes, he said, folding his arms, and those clothes… Frankly, I was a bit put off when I saw you dressed as you are and stuck in the sod. I hope you brought plenty of blue jeans and a good strong pair of boots. Feminine stockings, skirts and high heels are useless on a ranch.

Yes, she said, curving her lips into a grin, I believe I’m beginning to learn that already. She lifted a finger into the air. Don’t worry. I’ve packed jeans and sneakers for my visit here.

Sneakers? Jake said, arching a brow. You aren’t here to play tennis, Miss Montoya. You’re going to need a solid pair of boots if you’re going to accompany me while I’m working. He stepped closer to her and took her arm. Come with me.

Where are we going? she asked as he ushered her to the open stair case on the other side of his living room.

I’m taking you to my office to get you a pair of boots.

I beg your pardon? You keep extra boots in your office? Ladies boots? He placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her up the stairs.

I can get anything I want from my office. When they reached the top of the stairs he took her down a hallway and opened a door. He went straight to the computer in his twelve by fifteen foot office. In a matter of seconds he was on line. Now what size boots would you like?

Seven and a half.

Jake glanced at her feet. I would have said eight. Are you sure seven and a half will be comfortable? You’ll be doing a great deal of walking.

Becky defiantly folded her arms. I certainly know my shoe size.

He turned back to the computer and filled in the form on his screen.

You’ll need my credit card, Becky said, opening her small handbag.

He waved his hand. I’ll take care of it. He continued filling in the required information. Is there anything else you need? he asked, looking at her.

She shook her head.

He focused again on the monitor and finished his transaction. All right. The boots will be here tomorrow morning, he said, rising from his chair and standing next to her.

Becky folded her arms and smiled. You’re pretty efficient on that computer. Do you use it a lot for your business?

Jake stretched to his full height which Becky estimated to be in the six-feet, four-inch range. Yes, I do. I’ve got some great software specially designed for all my business needs. He gave her a half grin. Considering your line of work, I bet you have some impressive software too. Just what kind of programs do you use to find a man like me a wife?

Her cheeks began to burn. That’s a rather unflattering thing for you to say about my work. I do much more than merely use a machine to find a man or a woman a mate.

Jake slid his hand to her back and eased her out of his office and down the hall to the stairs. Considering what I’m paying you, I’m glad to hear you do more than run programs through your computer to make your matches.

Becky looked up at him. "Oh, I do much, much more than analyze data. I make every effort to get to know my clients as thoroughly as possible. Before I leave, Mr. Ruskin, I assure you I’ll know you well enough to find the perfect woman for you."

A skeptical look spread across his face. You think you’ll be able to find me a perfect woman, huh? My ‘Match Made in Heaven?’ he asked, using the name of her business a bit sardonically.

Becky tucked her hair behind her ears. There’s a rather amusing story behind the name of my firm.

Jake urged her to descend the stairs. I’d love to hear it, he said rather sweetly.

She found the tone in his voice charming. In that case, I’ll share the story with you, she said as they went down the stairs.

"You see, the address for the office I had in McMillan square when I opened my business fifteen years ago was HVN. The H stood for Suite H; the V signified that the suite was on the fifth floor; the N identified the suite as being on the north side of the McMillan building.

When my assistant learned our office address was ‘Suite HVN’ she suggested the name ‘Match Made in Heaven’ because of the HVN suite number. I liked the name so much I gave her a bonus, and we’ve been operating successfully under that name for a decade and a half."

They reached the bottom of the stairs.

Do you mean you rented a suite of offices and hired an assistant before you named your business? he asked.

The corner of her mouth turned up. Sounds rather amateurish now, opening a business without having a name for it, but I was so excited about being my own boss I wanted only to get to work. I figured the right name would come to me in due time.

And it did--luckily.

She lifted her chin. Finding a name for my firm was the last matter I left to luck where my business is concerned. I’m every inch a professional, and I’m very good at what I do. But, then, you know how successful I am, or you never would have hired me. Isn’t that right, Mr. Ruskin?

He cupped her elbow and led her to the sofa. "I did indeed check out Match Made in Heaven very thoroughly, and I liked what I learned. That’s why you’re here."

She smiled up at him confidently. And I’m glad to be here.

He returned her smile and waved a hand toward the sofa. Please, make yourself comfortable while I go to the kitchen and see what Sam has for us to drink.

Thank you, Mr. Ruskin. I’d love a soft drink, if you have one. Otherwise a glass of water will be just fine.

He inclined his head toward her. Of course. He promptly left the room.

Becky sat on the mahogany-colored leather sofa and took in her surroundings. The old-fashioned stone fireplace with the dark walnut mantle stood in stark contrast to the large HD flat-screen television hanging above it.

A hooked rug which looked as though it could have been fashioned in the Nineteenth Century lay ahead of the hearth. Two wooden rockers, each with a patch-work quilt over its back, rested on the hooked rug.

The leather couch on which Becky sat and the matching recliner next to it were each flanked by walnut end tables. A large walnut coffee table stood ahead of the sofa.

Grand windows lay symmetrically on either side of the front door. A small walnut table rested under each window. On top of the tables were matching antique china vases colored with dark blue and white swirls.

Becky glanced toward the fireplace. She hadn’t noticed when she’d begun to scrutinize the room that an oil painting hung on the wall to the right of the fireplace. She stood and walked to it.

It was a pastoral done by an artist whose name she didn’t recognize. She found the work primitive, but intriguing. The countryside painting included obscure little creatures incorporated into the vignette in a way she’d never seen before.

As she seated herself back on the sofa, Jake came into the room with two glasses of soda. He handed one to her. Well, what have you learned about me so far, he asked, waving his free hand around the room.

Becky sipped from her glass and placed it on the coaster setting on the end table next to her. Well, she said, I’ve learned a few things. She rubbed her hand on the quality leather of the sofa. You obviously like fine furniture, but it must be more than luxurious. It must be comfortable too.

Jake seated himself in the recliner. Absolutely.

You’re not averse to owning fine china antiques, she said, pointing toward the vases near the windows.

She glanced at the floor. You appreciate polished oak hardwood. She looked up at the television. You enjoy the best in electronics, but you don’t want to modernize everything in your house, she said, floating her hand toward the stone fireplace. Personally, I like a wood-burning fireplace in a lovely older home like this one. However, most people convert their wood burners to low maintenance gas fireplaces. She tilted her head. Is it the romance of a crackling fire that keeps you from installing a more efficient way of warming the room, or have you just never gotten around to making the change?

Jake shrugged. I build a fire to keep warm, and this contraption, he said, pointing at his fireplace, has never let me down. A man can’t improve upon perfection, can he?

She gave him a warm smile. A woman can’t argue with logic like that.

She stood and walked to the painting hanging to the right of the fireplace. This piece puzzles me, she said, looking at him. It’s not a collector’s item like the vases on the tables by the windows, nor is it an indulgence in luxury like the furniture or the television.

He left the recliner and walked toward the painting.

She looked again at the artwork. It isn’t a particularly beautiful work of art, yet you hung it in a prominent place.

She felt Jake settle directly behind her. He raised his arm over her and touched the dark wooden frame. I have my reasons for hanging this painting where I did, he said.

She turned round and looked up at him. Who is Rusty, and why did he sign only one name to his work?

He pulled back his hand and gave her a strange look. I know you’re here to learn about me, Miss Montoya, he said, his voice huskier than normal, "but you don’t need to know everything."

A strange feeling suddenly stirred inside her.

Jake Ruskin, tall and gorgeous, tantalized her senses with his fresh manly scent and his powerful stature. As he hovered over her, she couldn’t help being awestruck by his allure. His magnetism struck her so strongly she could barely swallow, let alone respond to his unexpected comment.

Whatever you say, Mr. Ruskin, she managed to say.

He touched a finger to her chin. Good. He backed away from her.

Becky cleared her throat and tried to rid herself of the inappropriate feelings Jake’s charm had evoked in her. You let me know if I’m stepping into territory where I don’t belong, she said, hoping to be as clear and honest with him as she could be. My intention isn’t to pry even if it seems I am at times. In order for me to do my job well I need to know as much about you as possible, but I do understand you’ll have limits on what you want to tell me.

He gave her a firm nod. Good. It looks like we understand each other well enough for the time being.

I think we do, she said confidently.

Jake took Becky’s arm. Before we discuss anything more, I’d like you to meet Sam. He takes care of the house and cooks meals so you’ll be seeing a lot of him.

I’d love to meet him, she said.

Incidentally, as far as Sam or anyone on the ranch knows, you’re an old friend visiting from Chicago. I don’t tell the people who work for me my personal business.

I’ll be happy to keep your confidence.

He led her to the kitchen, released her arm and went to the back door. He opened it and stepped onto the porch. Sam! he shouted. Come in here, please.

In a matter of seconds the man she’d mistaken for Jake filled the frame of the back door. You called, boss?

Sam, Jake said, taking Becky’s hand, this is Miss Becky Montoya. She’s a friend of mine from Chicago. She’s going to be visiting us for a week or so.

Sam smiled at her. I guess that makes us two very lucky fellas, don’t it, Mr. Jake? he said, looking at his boss.

I’d say so, Jake said, squeezing Becky’s hand.

Sam extended his hand toward her. Name’s Sam Bunker--like the hill.

She tugged her hand from Jake and gave it to Sam. Glad to know you, Mr. Bunker.

Oh, no, not Mr. Bunker, ma’am, Sam said sheepishly. It’s Sam. Anything you need you just tell Sam. I’ll have it for you in a jiffy. He let go of Becky’s hand and turned to Jake. "Would you like