Catch Me a Catch

  Catch Me A Catch

  By Sally Clements

  Catch Me A Catch

  By Sally Clements

  Kindle Edition, Copyright © 2010 Sally Clements

  All rights reserved. No part of this e-book may be reproduced in any form other than that in which it was purchased and without the written permission of the author.

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  http://www.sallyclements.blogspot.com

  Be sure to check out these other great romances also by Sally Clements.

  New Beginnings – Short stories

  Marrying Cade

  Bound to Love

  The Morning After

  To contact Sally Clements, or to be placed on a mailing list to receive updates about her new releases, click the ‘contact me’ link on her blog. http://www.sallyclements.blogspot.com

  or contact her on twitter, where she’s @sallywriter

  Cover: Heather Howland

  Dedication

  For my wonderful, patient family.

  Charlie, Davy, Holly and Jenny, and of course, Sam.

  Chapter One

  “Damn it!”

  Jack Miller’s words whipped away from him in the storm’s din. Needles of cold rain lashed his face and his biceps burned with the effort of turning the yacht’s stainless steel wheel to keep the keel even, as the waves tossed the little craft from side to side. A blast of freezing water doused him, and his jaw muscles twitched. Jack clenched his teeth so hard it hurt. Lightning flashed, lighting the mast in a shower of sparks. He stared at his radar screen. Nothing. The image was gone.

  Salt wet hair smacked into his narrowed eyes. He peered across storm tossed waves to flickering lights in the mist, hovering before the faint outline of mountains against darkened clouds. Land at last! But with his electronics fried, he wouldn’t make it around the coast to Dun Laoghaire without repairs.

  The land’s watercolor outline sharpened at his approach. He’d never visited the country his parents had fled, and yet, with its green lushness within sight, a wave of relief broke over him. There was a jetty ahead and he carefully steered towards it and docked. He was finally home.

  The wind fell, but the sky was still grey with threatening clouds. He stripped off his soaked oilskins and pulled on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt. Then he sat at his computer, opened his email, and typed.

  Part one of hellish journey completed. Have made Ireland.

  Yacht needs repair. Call you later.

  He pressed send, closed the laptop, and shoved his wallet full of credit cards into his back pocket.

  He could barely lift his exhausted arms to tie his yacht to the jetty. His legs’ abused muscles tightened in pain as he staggered onto the wooden planks. The lights of a pub, The Maiden’s Arms, flickered ahead.

  I’d love to be in some maiden’s arms right now. But before he could settle down with a pint and a plate of hot food he had to see to his boat. Salt-reddened eyes scanned the row of buildings facing the ocean, searching for a chandler.

  There. A large, battered and faded sign, Devine Chandlers swung from iron brackets in the wind. Jack strode towards it.

  The store’s window was stacked with neat rows of ships supplies. His hands cupped his eyes to peer inside. Good. Well-stocked shelves in the back carried the bigger items. He pushed at the door and cursed when it failed to budge.

  A man hurrying toward The Maiden’s Arms slowed as he drew closer. He pointed. “Devine’ll be up in the pub.” The stranger clutched his raincoat closer to keep out the biting wind. “What with the festival an’ all.”

  “Thanks.” Jack followed him. It looked like he’d be getting a pint sooner than he thought.

  ****

  Annie Devine shifted on the uncomfortable wooden chair, and flicked through the heavy book in front of her. It had been a desperate morning. Three men in a row peppered her with cheesy chat-up lines. It was only just lunchtime and already exhaustion draped around her like a cloak. She sighed. There were thirteen more long days to endure before the matchmaking festival was over, before she could escape her childhood home, and flee back to Dublin. Annie took off the heavy tortoiseshell frames, and pinched the grooves they’d dug into the top of her nose.

  “Drink, Annie?” The barman offered from behind the bar.

  “I shouldn’t, Niall. I need to keep my head clear.”

  Niall swiped a beer towel over the counter. “Your dad usually has one around lunchtime during the festival, and another just before dinner. After the attention you were getting from Liam Mackey, I reckon you deserve one.”

  “Ah, okay, I’m stopping for lunch now anyway.” She closed the book. “I’ll have a Cinzano and lemonade, please.”

  “Coming up.” He turned away to clink ice cubes into a tall glass.

  Nothing much happened in Durna except for the annual matchmaking festival. Forty years ago, a group of lonely fishermen started the tradition. They’d advertised in the Dublin newspapers that Durna was holding a two-week festival where serious singles could come to meet a mate. Annie’s grandfather was the first matchmaker. Her father the current one. For the first two weeks in September, her grandfather devoted himself to love. He wrote down details of the local bachelors in his large black book, had private meetings with single ladies who wanted to become married ones, and organized dates for potential couples. Each meeting was carefully logged in the book in his copperplate hand. During the festival, dances were held throughout the day, where couples could socialize. It was an innocent remnant of times gone by. One still relevant today, if the numbers that swelled Durna each festival season were anything to go by.

  Her father, Bull, had inherited his father’s talent. A book full of successful matches proved it. Today, people came from far and wide to be matched. The first thing they did was find the matchmaker’s table in the pub. Her father handled it from there. Bull’s illness couldn’t have come at a worst time. For his only child, and matchmaking heir, anyway.

  A dark shadow, cast by a tall figure in the pub’s doorway, blocked the murky sunlight. Annie’s gaze locked on the stranger, his darkened features in shadow though sunlight outlined his tall, rangy frame. He walked straight up to Niall.

  “I’m looking for Devine.” His deep voice was husky, like he hadn’t used it for a while.

  Her skin prickled, the hairs on her arms standing to attention. Blond highlights streaked his tousled brown hair. Highlights that nature, not nurture, had put there. It was too long for him to be a businessman, and his skin was too tanned. This time of year, Durna got its fair share of surfers coming to prostrate themselves on the waves pounding Ireland’s west coast, but this guy was no surfer. She’d lay money on it.

  Well-defined cheekbones emphasized a long, straight nose. An air of authority flowed from him. Whoever he was, he wasn’t to be messed with. The way he carried himself was reminiscent of a gunslinger striding into the saloon looking for someone to shoot.

  What’s the matter with me? She couldn’t avert her gaze. It was as if he were painted in color while everyone else was sketched in black and white. In the past few months of meticulous, almost obsessive application to her business plan, her attention hadn’t wavered for a second. Right now, she couldn’t even remember her name.

  She smoothed her hair back with nervous fingers. It must just be the circumstances. Masquerading as town matchmaker
during the festival will do that to a girl.

  “There she is.” Niall gestured Annie’s direction. “Can I get you something?”

  “A Guinness.”

  “I’ll bring it over.”

  The stranger strode towards her. He scanned her head to toe with appreciative sapphire blue eyes. Her body responded to his quick appraisal as if scorched.

  “You’re Devine?” He had a husky, American drawl. His tee-shirt barely contained broad shoulders, and he topped Niall by a good five inches. “Sorry, I guess I was expecting a man.”

  “I’m Annie Devine. I get that a lot. People expect a man, and normally they get one.”

  His eyebrows shot up.

  “I mean, normally my father, Bull Devine, would be here. He’s run the business forever.”

  She bit her bottom lip, mortified by her inane rambling. She never babbled. Usually, when matchmaking, she was tongue-tied. Her gaze darted away from his piercing blue eyes, and fixed on his mouth, which twitched, and then stretched into a grin.

  Oh damn it! This was so not the way to talk to a client!

  He stared at her mouth, and she fiddled with her glasses, breathing in a sigh of relief as Niall approached with a tray.

  “Ah, here’s Niall.” He placed the drinks in front of them.

  “Thanks.”

  Tiny beads of water frosted the outside of the glass. The stranger lifted it reverently and swallowed a long mouthful.

  “I needed that.” Teeth flashed white in his tanned face. “I haven’t had a drink for weeks.”

  A likely story. He was enjoying the pint too much to be teetotal. He was even licking the foam off his top lip in a disturbingly sexy way.

  “Sláinte.” She raised her glass and drank deep, ice clinking against her front teeth. Eventually, her scattered thoughts regrouped.

  “My father’s sick, so I’m taking over for the next few days.”

  “And that involves sitting in the pub?” He eyed her lazily, and swallowed more of his pint.

  “Yes, I stay here until five o’clock.” She opened the heavy black book, slipped her glasses back on, and uncapped her pen. “So, now, what’s your name?”

  “Jack Miller.” She wrote it carefully on a pristine white page. “Is this necessary? I just need your father’s help.”

  “I know. I can tell.” Her cheeks heated in a blush. After five minutes she’d already managed to insult him.

  “How exactly?” he asked slowly. “Are you psychic?”

  Annie bit down on her tongue to stop from snapping back at him.

  What was it her father had said? Male pride?

  “You came into the bar looking for him, that’s how. There’s no mystery to it.” She scanned him with a professional eye. He was a very good-looking man. Thick brown hair swept back from a tanned face with killer cheekbones most women would find attractive. She certainly did. His square chin was covered in dark stubble. He was a knockout. Or could be. If he made even the slightest attempt to make himself presentable.

  She swallowed. God, I hate this part of the job.

  “I’m not my father, but I’ll be working closely with him. I know I can give you the help you need.” She squared her shoulders pretending a bravery she didn’t feel. “I need to find out a bit about you, and then I can help you.”

  “Right.” He picked up the glass and drank. “What do you need to know?”

  He leaned closer. Annie’s heart thumped an irregular rhythm. Her mouth was suddenly parched, as though she’d been dragging herself through the desert. She pulled her bottom lip in, worrying it with her teeth. When his mouth stretched in a predatory grin, a shiver started somewhere in her solar plexus, moving inexorably downwards. Her response to him was ridiculous. She’d had men swarming around her all day. Her stupid body was reacting like she hadn’t had any male attention in years.

  Dad says men looking for love need encouragement. They need reassurance. God, he’s good looking.

  She swallowed.

  “Well, I need to know what you’re looking for in a woman.” Annie fiddled with the corner of the book. She’d said the phrase a dozen times today already. This time was different. Embarrassment lit her face like an emergency beacon.

  Jack grinned like a pirate, and then leaned back and crossed muscular forearms over his impressive chest. “I’m flattered, Honey.” He covered her hand with his large brown one. “But I’ve just arrived. I’m hungry and tired after the trip, and I’ve things to take care of. You’re gorgeous, but this’ll have to wait.” Her heart thudded in her chest.

  Of all the arrogant...

  Annie clenched her teeth and forced a tight smile. Surely, he didn’t think she was coming on to him? Sharp fingernails cut into her palms. I’ve got a job to do, and I promised Da I’d do my best. Throwing my drink at him isn’t going to get me anywhere.

  “I need somewhere to stay. Can you recommend a hotel?”

  She breathed in deeply. “You won’t find a hotel, or a B and B. Not while the festival’s on.”

  “Hold on a second, will you?”

  He strode over to the bar while she drained her glass. All the time checking out his jean clad ass. Perfect. Some lady in the book was going to be very happy. She rubbed the lingering heat of his fingers from her hand, fighting off a contrary niggle of regret at the prospect of making a match for him.

  In mere moments, he was back with a frown creasing his forehead.

  “You’re right. The barman says everything’s booked up.” He swallowed the last inch of Guinness in his glass. “I need a few things for my boat, when’s the Chandler’s open?”

  “Uncle Sean’s closed for lunch, but he’ll open up at two.”

  “Uncle Sean?” Black eyebrows rose.

  “Yes.” Discreetly Annie eased up the cuff of her jacket. One forty. “Whatever you need he’ll have it, and if he doesn’t he’ll order it in.” But she couldn’t let him go yet. Da had told her what to do. Despite her disastrous morning, she had to try to make Jack Miller a match, no matter how uncomfortable it was talking to him about private stuff.

  She squared her shoulders, and dived right in. “Jack, you sought me out for a reason. I know I’m not what you were expecting, but I would like you to give me a chance.”

  His eyes shuttered, and his mouth set in a stubborn line. He was as difficult to read as a book wrapped in cellophane.

  “Devine’s have been matchmakers of Durna for three generations.” And I sound like I’m narrating a documentary. “We have a tried and tested method. First, we take a picture of you.” Annie flicked back a couple of pages to show him. “Then, I interview you to find out what you’re looking for in a partner.”

  Surprise flickered in Jack’s eyes chased by a slow grin.

  “Finally, with my father’s help, I’ll try and make you a match with one of the ladies in the book. You can meet, have a drink…” Annie’s voice tapered off.

  He shook his head firmly. “No,” he said. “That’s not going to happen.”

  Anger took over at the unfairness of it. Annie clenched her fists into tight balls. Bit her lip to resist the urge to shout at him.

  I’m a complete washout, and it’s only the first day. Her shoulders drooped in dejection. I can’t even persuade a complete stranger to take a chance and let me match him. It’s not fair!

  Annie rose and stretched up to her full five foot two.

  “Jack.” She stood akimbo, hands on hips, like Julian in the Famous Five. A stance she hadn’t resorted to since she was a kid, and wanted to look ‘plucky and brave.’

  I need a chance to turn this around. I’m going to have to beg for it. She sucked in a fortifying breath. Here goes.

  “I understand you were expecting to meet my father here today, and might prefer to work with a man.”

  Jack was about to interrupt so she placed a hand on his arm to silence him. It was difficult enough, having to plead for his business, without his butting in all the time. His lazy smile vanished.

&
nbsp; “My father is sick, and can’t be here. He’s entrusted me with his vocation,” Annie stressed. “And even though I’d prefer to be in my flat in Dublin, I’m it, for the next thirteen days of the festival. My father needs me, and I’m determined to do my very best for everyone who comes seeking his services.”

  Jack glanced at her hand resting on his arm. She hurriedly removed it. “I’m just asking you to give me a chance.”

  “What’s involved?” His eyes narrowed and her heart flipped over in delight.

  She gestured toward the chair, and joined him when he sat down again. “Well, like I said, we start with a photo.” Annie scanned his unkempt appearance with a studied eye. “Although, to be honest, if we’re going to introduce you to a woman you should clean up a bit first to give you the best chance.”

  His faded jeans could do with a wash. It took a monumental effort of will to ignore the way his firm thighs filled them.

  “It would be good if you had something a bit better to wear, too.” He was quiet, too quiet. He was probably insulted. She softened her tone, and tried again. “We need to present you in your best possible light. There’s a lot of competition during the matchmaking festival and the ladies can be very discerning you know.”

  “The matchmaking festival.” Jack echoed slowly. “Right. And I’ve always had a problem attracting the ladies.”

  Annie reached out and patted his bicep. Good. He’d taken her comments to heart. He was reaching out and being honest.

  “That’s nothing to feel ashamed about, Jack.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer. “Lots of men find meeting women intimidating or difficult, and that’s why we’re here. Just put yourself in my hands, and I’ll set you up.”

  Did she really just tell him to put himself into her hands? Good Lord, why couldn’t she talk to him without putting her foot in it? She crossed her fingers underneath the table. Maybe he was going to be a gentleman and not respond to her unintended double entendre. The corner of his mouth twitched, but he stayed mercifully silent.