Matchmaker 01: January

"I've never even seen snow except on television."

"Are you serious?"

"Well, no, not completely. I've seen a few flakes, but nothing like here."

"That'll have to change," he said as he took his bag from me. "Now, which room is mine?"

I led him back upstairs. The chalet had three bedrooms. I'd left the largest of the three, the one with the view, for him, taking one of the smaller ones at the back.

"Nice place," he said as he threw his bag on the bed.

"Is it yours?"

"No. I have place in Vale, but I couldn't use it. We had to meet on neutral territory."

I swallowed hard. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Before I answer that, will you answer a question for me?"

"Okay."

"Can you cook?"

I was so surprised at his question I giggled. "Yeah, I do okay."

He nodded and gestured out of the room. "If I teach you to ski, will you teach me to cook?"

"You want to learn to cook?"

"Why not? I enjoy learning new things, and I'm roughing it, remember?"

I grinned. "Then sure."

"So, why am I doing this?" he asked as I led him out of the room. "How long do you have to listen to my tale of woe?" he continued, the lightness in his tone preventing him from sounding like he was looking for sympathy.

He was charming, I'd give him that. "An hour."

"Plenty of time."

I watched as Lane moved around the kitchen with easy grace. She didn't know where everything was, so she spent some time looking for items, but she never seemed confused or uncertain. I had a cook, and I'd never handled a knife before, except to cut a steak, so I'd cut my finger within the first five minutes of chopping a tomato. The cut wasn't bad, and it wasn't the first time I'd bled, but having her holding my finger to look at the cut, and then dragging me to the bathroom where she cleaned the wound and wrapped a small adhesive bandage around it made it almost worth the sting.

Lane was about my age, probably in her late twenties, and she was incredibly beautiful. Standing about five-eight, she had a full, lush figure, light brown hair that fell to her shoulders, and the most astounding brown eyes. From her full mouth came an amazing voice, which had hints of a lover's purr mixed with a lightness and cadence that said she knew how to laugh. But that accent! That slow Texas drawl was the first I'd ever heard in person, and it took her already sexy voice and turned it up to eleven. She was dressed in what I assumed was Texas chic, snug jeans, a dark blue men's style shirt opened to the center of her breasts over a white undershirt that hugged her in a flattering way, and dressy but functional square toe black boots. It wasn't exactly Fifth Avenue, but it was a look that worked for her, and I was slightly disappointed she wasn't wearing a cowboy hat.

After my accident with the knife, she'd forbidden me from touching sharp objects for the rest of the night, so I'd poured us two glasses from a very nice Cabernet Sauvignon I'd found in the wine cooler.

"You were going to tell me why you were doing this?" she prompted.

"Ah yes." I pondered on how to start. "I guess the easiest way to describe it is to say I'm tired of picking the wrong woman, and I thought I'd let someone else have a go at picking for me."

She paused in her stirring of ground beef as she looked at me. "I don't understand."

I shrugged. "What's to understand?"

She returned her attention to the meat. "What do you mean, wrong woman?"

"It will take another hour to explain all the ways things have gone wrong."

She looked at me again. "For example?"

"For example, I'm just out of a relationship where the woman was banging me while she was also banging someone else. Cost me 250,000 dollars to make that go away. Before that, the woman I was seeing sued for palimony. Another million there. Before that was a string of women whose names I can't remember who were interested in only one thing."

"You're money?"

I nodded in confirmation. "My money. One was an aspiring actress that wanted me to finance her stage career. She must have been a good actress because I didn't realize what she was doing until I started wondering where all the money I gave her went."

She looked back at the pan and stirred again. "I assume you have a lot, considering what this vacation must be costing you."

I shrugged. "A lot is relative, don't you think?"

She nodded and pulled the wide flat pan from the stove. "This would be better if we had refried beans to go in it, but this is what was here to work with," she said as she scraped the meat into a bowl and added beans from a can, and then topped it with cheese.

I watched in fascination. She seemed so relaxed, like she wasn't trying to impress me, or anyone else, for that matter. "Tomorrow we can stock up on supplies."

"So, what do you do, Bryant?"

"I develop real estate. Listening to some of my critics, I'm in the business of evicting orphans and old ladies in order to benefit the wealthy."

"In New York City?"

"Yes."

She glanced at me, a small smile playing on her lips. "Do you evict old ladies and orphans?"

She was teasing me. "Only on the second Tuesday of the month."

She snickered as she slid the concoction into the oven. "The rest of the month you evict, what, the homeless?"

"No, that's on the first Friday. The rest of the time it's rodents and vermin. They don't have a protection group, so nobody cares about them."

She snickered again and took a sip of her wine. "I assume that developing real estate in New York City is a capital-intensive business?"

"Very. Legato Real Estate Development has assets of around 6.4 billion." Seeing the shock on her face pleased me.

"That's a lot of money," she said quietly.

"It is, indeed," I confirmed. "Are you surprised?"

"No, not really. How much of the company's assets are non-liquid?"

"About five billion."

"And the rest is in cash, bonds, and stock?"

"Yes." I smiled at her. I liked the fact she seemed to understand the basics of business and that I didn't run a charity, but at the same time, didn't take my tongue in cheek teasing seriously.

"So what does a rich New York playboy want with a small-town Texas girl?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't know you were a small-town Texas girl until just now. Are you rich?" I could see her withdrawing. "Come, come, Lane. I've been open and honest with you. You can do me the courtesy of being the same, can't you?"

She held my eyes a moment and seemed to reach a decision. "As you said, rich is relative. Compared to some in my family, I'm loaded. Compared to you, I don't even reach the level of pauper."

I smiled. I liked her attitude. Money was just a means of keeping score. "What do you do, Ms. Carlisle?"

"Nothing special, especially compared to you."

"Nonsense. Everyone has to do something."

"I'm a C.P.A., and I have my own little business."

"Delightful!"

"What do you mean by that?" she asked, her tone cool.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Only that you understand how business works. So many of the women I've dated don't understand the difference between profit and profit margin, or even the basics of supply and demand. I appreciate that you've started your own business. The only difference between you and me is the scale."

She grunted. "Says the eight-hundred-pound gorilla to the flea."

I grinned. "Does my money intimidate you?"

"A little, I guess."

"It shouldn't. It doesn't change the person."

"Spoken by the man who has everything."

"Well, I can tell you for certain there is one thing money can't buy. Two actually."

"Love and happiness?" she ventured.

"Exactly."

"I bet it makes being miserable a little easier to tolerate, though."

I had to look away as I smiled before I returned my gaze to her. I could deny it, but she deserved the truth. Lying was no way to start a relationship, and I had a suspicion she'd see right through it if I even tried. "Yes, it really does, but in the end, it's all just toys, and I get bored with my expensive toys the same as anyone." I sipped my wine and used the glass to gesture to her. "So, why are you here?"

She shrugged. "I really don't know."

"Well, it couldn't have been my dazzling good looks or sparkling conversation skills because you didn't know me yet."

She grinned. "No... or your modesty."

I nodded in agreement. "That's true, because now that I have modesty, I have everything."

She giggled, putting her hand to her lips, a gesture I found incredibly adorable. "I was serious when I said I didn't know. I'd just had a bad breakup, and I signed up on all these dating apps. Now I'm here."

"A bad breakup? How?"

"Does it matter?"

"No, but I think the man must be a fool."

She smiled. "Why do you say that?"

"Because I've known you for only an hour and I find you fascinating."

"Maybe I'm a bitch."

"Maybe you are, but so far you haven't taken to throwing things at me."

"Do you have that effect on people?"

I grinned. "Sometimes. Usually its business competitors, but occasionally women like to get in on the act as well. I once found my entire collection of watches in the bottom of the pool... along with my tennis racket and a fair percentage of my wardrobe."

She laughed loudly, the sound almost musical. "You sound like a real charmer. What precipitated the event?"

I didn't really want to say, but I figured I should get my skeletons out of the closet early. "A pair of red silk panties found under the bed. Red silk panties that didn't belong to her."

"Ouch!"

"I don't know what she was so upset about. I knew about her banging some other guy. She didn't like me pointing that out to her."

"That was your last girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend implies I had romantic inclinations toward her."

"You didn't?"

"No."

"So, she was just someone for you to bed?"

"Yes."

"Is that what I am?"

"I hope not."

"Why? You're rich. You're good looking. You're charming. I can't imagine you have trouble lassoing yourself a filly."

"Really?" I asked, my voice lilting up in teasing. "Do Texans really talk like that?"

She smiled. "No, not really. But don't dodge the question. If you didn't love, or at least feel something for your previous girlfriend, if all you're looking for is someone new to play with, why go through all this?" she asked, waving a hand casually around her head.

"Because I'm tired of that life. I wanted to feel something for Katrina, but I didn't."

She watched me for a moment before she set her glass on the counter and turned toward the oven. "This should be ready. We need some corn chips to go with this, but like refried beans, we don't have any, so we'll have to make do."

"What is it?" I asked as she pulled the glass baking dish out of the oven.

"Something I made up. Call it a taco bake."

"Tacos. I've heard of those."

"You've never had a taco?"

"No. Should I have?"

She chuckled low and deep in her chest. "You, Mr. Legato, don't know what you're missing. A taco, done right, is a beautiful thing."

We set the table and she placed the dish between us, then returned with two beers. "It looks a bit the dog's breakfast," I said as she spooned the mixture onto a plate and handed it to me.

"Fine. Don't eat it. You can make your own dinner," she said as she dipped a smaller portion onto her plate.

I didn't want to be a total ass, so I forked up some of the unappetizing glop, and after blowing it cool, popped it into my mouth. My eyes open widened. There was a pop and zing to the meat I'd never tasted before, with the cheese adding an interesting counterpoint to the meat.

"Is this what a taco tastes like?"

"You've really never had a taco before?" she asked, her eyes narrowed slightly.

"No. No Mexican food of any kind. This is much tastier than it appears."

"Thanks," she muttered.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend, but you have to admit, it's not exactly the foie gras at Le Coucou."

"Foie gras... isn't that the stuff where they force feed a goose and then you eat the liver?"

"Yes."

She pointed at her plate. "And you think this looks like a dog's breakfast?"

"Have you ever had it?" I asked.

"No."

"Then you should try it before you judge."

"I could say the same to you."

"You're right. I shouldn't have judged, especially when it is so good. But you didn't answer my question. Is this what a taco tastes like?"

"No. A proper taco is much, much better."

I began nodding. "Then tomorrow we shall search for this amazing delicacy I've been missing."

She grinned. "For a proper taco we'd have to go back to Texas, but maybe we can find something."

We spent the rest of the meal, and the evening, getting to know each other. I liked that Lane wasn't a fawning sycophant, nor was she a ball breaker. She was pleasant to talk to and had clear ideas of her own, and she was comfortable with who she was.

"I'm going to bed. Care to join me?" I asked. It was only eleven o'clock local time, but my body said it was one in the morning.

"No," she said with a smile. "I think I'll pass."

"Alas, nothing ventured, nothing gained. May I kiss you goodnight?"

Her smiled broadened. "I think that'll be okay."

I pulled her to her feet as she set her wine glass on the side table. "I had an enjoyable evening," I said softly as I pulled her in. The kiss was innocent, allowing her to decide where the kiss went. She didn't let the kiss go anywhere.

"So did I," she murmured as she slowly pushed me away.

"Tomorrow, ski equipment, clothes, and you'll introduce me to these tacos?"

"I don't know how to ski."

"Then I shall have to teach you. But first, we've got to get you some equipment." Something wasn't right with her expression. "What?"

"The ski equipment. I'm not sure I want to spend money on something I'll never use again."

"Why would you care?"

"Because I'm not worth eight hundred million dollars."

"Ah, I see." I smiled at her. "You misunderstand. I'm paying for the equipment."

"What? No!"

"You can't very well go skiing without skis."

"No, I know, but..."

"But what?" I asked when she faltered.

"But, why would you want to buy me skis?"

"Because I said I'd teach you ski if you taught me to cook."

"Can't I rent some skis or something?"

"Pish-posh. Learning to ski on worn and ill-fitting equipment? Why do you want to make it more difficult than necessary? I'll buy the equipment, and if you decide you don't want to keep it, I'll donate it to some underprivileged urchin and take a tax write-off. You're a C.P.A. You can understand that."

She chewed her bottom lip a moment. "How about if I decide to keep it, I'll pay you for it?"

"Deal... but only if you let me buy your tacos tomorrow."

She giggled and stuck out her hand. "You have a deal."

I shrieked in terror. "I can't stop!"

"I've got you," Bryant said, grabbing my arm and trying to steady me.

It didn't help. My skis went nutsy... again. One crossed over the other as I tried to plow as he instructed, causing me to run over his skis, and down we went... again. The falls didn't actually hurt, but I was terrified. I felt uncoordinated and out of control. I couldn't control where my skis went, I couldn't stop, and I couldn't steer. The only thing I was good at was falling. I was really good at falling, owing to all the practice I got.

He lay in the snow unmoving. For a fraction of a second I thought he was injured, but then he rolled over to look at me. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were simply finding a reason to have a tumble with me. If that's what you want, all you have to do is ask."

I grinned at him. I'd been with him for most of three days and was learning he would say anything, but he was so damned charming when he did, I couldn't stay mad at him.

"You said this was the practice slope!"

"It is the practice slope. A ball wouldn't roll down this hill."

I glared at him in frustration. "Help me up," I said, holding out my hand.

He stood with such ease and grace it pissed me off, took my hand, and pulled me upright. As I got my skis under me, I began to slide, ran into his leg, and we fell again. This time one of my skis came off and slowly slid down the hill to add insult to injury. He'd set my bindings very light so I wouldn't twist an ankle or knee, but this was the first time I'd lost a ski.

"Perhaps we should try tennis," he suggested, laying in the snow and looking at me.

"I thought I liked snow," I grumbled.

He rose to his feet. "Up you go," he said as he pulled me up. Being able to stand on my ski-less foot made things a lot easier. "Let's go get your ski."

I slid and walked the ten or fifteen feet to where my ski stopped. The damn thing wouldn't even slide down the hill on its own, but I was falling on my ass ever six feet. I snapped my foot back into the binder.

"Ready to try again?" he asked.

"Wouldn't you rather do this without me?"

He grinned. "Not at all. I rather enjoy having you bouncing on me."

I snickered as I shuffled to the tow rope that slowly pulled us beginners to the top of the small slope. Tuesday, the day after we'd arrived, we'd gone shopping. I'd been aghast at the money he'd spent getting me outfitted for skiing. He seemed to know exactly what he was looking for and I deferred to his expertise. Twenty-six hundred dollars and three hours later, I had everything I needed, from skis, to boots and ski suit, to poles and goggles. I even had a bright blue beanie with a pom-pom on top I wore under my helmet.

After my booty was loaded into the back of the Ranger Rover, we'd searched for the best Mexican restaurant in Telluride where we'd ordered tacos, both the hard and soft variety. I personally thought the tacos where merely passible, but Bryant had gushed over them.

After lunch we'd shopped for food stuffs. I don't think he'd ever been in a grocery store before, and he walked along beside me, adding things to the basket that caught his attention. By the time we reached the checkout we had enough food we might not have to shop again.

We'd returned to the chalet where we made multiple trips up and down the steps to haul our supplies in from the car. I thought we were done for the day, but we went back out to shop for clothes. He bought enough clothes for himself to last at least two weeks, and he was one of the few men I'd ever met that appeared to enjoy shopping. He'd also bought enough clothes for me to last a week before I put my foot down and said no more. He insisted the clothes were a gift and wouldn't accept no for an answer, but he'd finally stopped when he could tell I was getting more and more annoyed. I didn't want his 'gifts.' He couldn't buy me, and I didn't want to give him cause to think he could. Besides, had he not stopped he was going to bankrupt me. I had no use for the skis after I left, but the clothes I could wear. He had good taste and had selected outfits I could dress up or down to serve as work clothes or evening on the town, along with a few more casual outfits.

As we were walking back to the Range Rover, loaded with packages, he'd decided he wanted a pretzel from a street vendor. I was aghast that he'd handed the man a hundred-dollar bill for a four-dollar pretzel and had walked way without waiting for change. I simply couldn't wrap my head around that kind of money. I probably shouldn't have worried about the money he'd spent on me, but I did. He probably spent more on dinner than he had for my clothes, but it still bothered me, and I didn't like feeling beholden to him.

That night I prepared real tacos. He'd managed not to cut himself with the knife as he shredded lettuce and diced a tomato. I'd smiled in pleasure as he ate four, proclaiming he had to have the recipe for his cook. I'd written it down for him, and he disappeared to his room with it to put into his suitcase.