Nesting in North Carolina: At the Altar, #16

By Kirsten Osbourne

Becca Jones is certain she is an old maid at twenty-nine. Life seems to be passing her by, but her extreme shyness makes it difficult for her to be around others. When a good friend suggests she call Dr. Lachele at Matchrimony, she agrees, determined to make some changes in her life. 
Archer Hayes is sick of his mother throwing young debutantes at his feet. He isn't interested in marrying someone ten years younger than he is. He wants someone of substance who can stand up to his difficult family. After contacting Dr. Lachele, he tells her exactly what he wants, and he knows immediately after meeting Becca that the matchmaker has done a wonderful job. But will Becca be able to deal with his workaholic ways? Or will their marriage be over before it really starts?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Unlimited Dreams
• Release date: Oct 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393308270

Book preview

One

No. You can’t eat that.

Becca Jones grinned at her best friend, Emily Callahan. Emily was glowing with pregnancy—and irritation—as she scowled into a bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough. What do you mean I can’t eat it? I’m pregnant. I should be able to eat anything I want, and I want to eat this now.

Not if you don’t want to give you and your little one Salmonella poisoning, Becca retorted calmly. You’re going to have to bake it first.

But you know what’s going to happen when I bake it. It will burn!

Oh, stop. You’ve been practicing for months now. Your success rate is up to at least fifty percent. When Emily stared her down and reached a finger out for a scoop of the cookie dough, Becca whipped out her wooden spoon and smacked the back of her hand. For a moment, she felt just like her Granny Jones.

Emily screwed up her face and stuck out her tongue. You’re getting to be as bad as Brodie. Such a little mother hen.

To her horror, Becca felt tears rush to her eyes as her face heated in shame.

What? No! What did I say? Emily hurried around the kitchen island as fast as her baby belly would allow and scooped Becca up in a hug. Between them, a sharp kick alerted both women to the presence of the new little Callahan, and Becca gulped back a full-on sob.

I’m never going to have a baby. She pulled away from Emily and grabbed a paper towel to blot at her eyes. I’m an old maid.

What do you mean ‘an old maid’? You’re only twenty-nine. Who told you that? Emily demanded, planting her fists on her curvy hips, green eyes flashing.

Becca blew her nose. My cousin Evie.

Who does this ‘Evie’ think she is? Do I have to beat her up?

Becca gave her a half-smile. No. Evie can’t help it. She’s always been outspoken. She’s right, though. Ever since she said that, jokingly, at my parents’ New Years party, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. How am I supposed to meet a man if I can’t even look a stranger in the face?

Emily herded Becca into one of the chairs at her little pink-and-green enameled dinette table. She poured Becca a mug of coffee and added cream and sugar, just the way Becca liked it. I’ve been thinking for a while, too, Emily admitted, sitting down across from her. I think you should call Dr. Lachele.

Becca had heard of Lachele. She owned Matchrimony and had been responsible for introducing Emily and the love of her life, Brodie, a sweet, handsome cowboy from South Dakota . . . at the altar. It wasn’t a conventional way to go about getting married, but Emily now had a beautiful little family—which included the grandfatherly William, Emily’s former doorman from New York who lived in an apartment over the garage, her nephew and soon-to-be adopted son, Alec, and a new baby on the way—and Emily was creating a happily-ever-after life with all of them in a sprawling old Tennessee farmhouse.

Becca couldn’t pretend that she hadn’t thought of the matchmaker as a solution to her problems. She was cursed with a crippling shyness that made it difficult to speak to anyone, much less a man, and the idea of not having to meet her future husband until she said her vows was appealing.

She sighed but finally nodded in acceptance. You’re right. It’s not the way I’d always dreamed it would happen, but unless I really do want to become an old maid, I think Matchrimony might be my only hope.

Emily smiled delightedly and clapped her hands together. Don’t you worry about a thing. Dr. Lachele has a perfect track record. I’ll go find her card, and I just know she’ll find you exactly the man you need.

Archer Hayes was looking for the nearest exit.

He hadn’t really wanted to come to the charity gala to begin with, but since he had a younger sister who had died from the disease at only six years old, he believed in the Children’s Leukemia Foundation’s mission and always did all he could to support their cause. The glittering event was held annually in Asheville, North Carolina, and drew big, wealthy crowds, so theoretically, it was a good time to network for potential clients for his family’s investment firm. At least that was his mother’s opinion. To Archer, the idea was distasteful.

And right now, his mother was heading purposefully in his direction like a ship in full sail, with a lovely blonde hooked on one arm.

He was trapped between a potted palm and an elderly couple when his mother, Lavinia Elaine Sutton-Hayes, cornered him. Surrounded in a cloud of Chanel No. 5, she wore a gleaming smile that shone like the gold beading in her formal-length dress and the determination in her pale blue eyes.

Sweetheart, she cooed, leaning forward to air kiss him on one cheek and brush a little nonexistent lint off the lapel of his tux, I’ve been looking everywhere for you! She turned to the petite blonde next to her. I wanted to introduce you to the daughter of a dear friend of mine. This is Harper Woodham . . . her daddy is Wade Woodham. You remember. He owns that chain of restaurants in Raleigh. Her mama and I play racquetball at the Biltmore on Tuesdays.

Archer squashed down his annoyance and smiled politely at Harper. It wasn’t her fault that his mother drove him crazy every time she tried to set him up with another young society girl. He held out his hand and took her delicate, demurely manicured one, bowing his head slightly. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Woodham. Harper stared back up at him, her brown eyes wide, lips parted, not saying a word. She couldn’t have been more than twenty years old, and he almost winced at how young she looked, speechless in her pretty white dress. Archer would be thirty-six on his next birthday and was far too jaded for a naïve little girl like Harper.

My apologies, he said smoothly into the awkward silence, but if you’ll both excuse me, I see someone across the room I need to speak with.

Lavinia grabbed his sleeve with a deceptively tight grip. Archer, don’t rush off, she ordered. You look so handsome in your formal wear. Doesn’t the black and white just suit him right down to the ground with that dark hair of his, Harper?

Archer felt himself flush a little, but Harper just stared at him, her mouth still open a little, and gave a faint nod.

Mama, he said firmly. I’ve got to talk to Devon Halloway. You know, the Devon Halloway that owns the Mercedes dealership in Hendersonville? If there was one thing that could trump his mother’s matchmaking efforts, it was business.

Oh, she fluttered, releasing him. Well, if that’s the case, off with you!

As he gave Harper an apologetic smile, he quickly moved away, hearing his mother’s voice trailing after him. "Such a devoted son, she was saying. He took over Hayes Investments after his father passed, the dear man. He works too hard. He needs a wife to look after him . . ."

A wife, Archer thought with a wry twist to his lips, ducking out of the ballroom through a side entrance. If he had a wife, he wouldn’t have to deal with Lavinia’s attempts to set him up. Unfortunately, he was too busy running the Hayes empire to find a wife, so the only way he was going to get one was to let his mother play matchmaker.

He tipped the coat room attendant and headed out into the chilly February night to wait for the valet to bring his car. The cold air felt good after the heated crush of the gala.

He slid into his sleek black Jaguar, still brooding over the embarrassment of having Lavinia throw women at him. He was doomed to marry one of the colorless girls she was always parading in front of him . . . unless he found another matchmaker instead.

Stop pacing, Rebecca, Granny Jones boomed out from her easy chair in the corner of the living room. You’re going to wear a rut in your mama’s floor.

I can’t help it. I’ve changed my mind, Becca said, a panicky feeling crawling in her stomach as she pulled back the flowered curtain to look down the street again. It was still empty of cars.

"You can’t change your mind now. That doctor is on her way here,