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Sweet Tibby Mack
Roz Denny Fox
Matchmaker Matchmaker"Settle down for a warm, wonderful read by the talented Roz Denny Fox!"–Kristin HannahHave Matchmakers, Will Marry!Tibby Mack–sweet Tibby Mack. She's twenty-seven, which makes her the youngest resident of Yaqui Springs, a retirement community near California's Salton Sea. The folks there have become her family, her friends…her matchmakers. But since the youngest man in town is sixty-five, the chances of finding Tibby a husband are slim to none.Then…Cole O'Donnell is "enticed" to Yaqui Springs. He meets all the matchmakers' qualifications. Age: 30. Looks: good (make that great!). And he's inherited his grandfather's property. He's the answer to their prayers (though not to Tibby's!).What the matchmakers don't know is that Tibby and Cole have a history. Or that Cole's involved with another woman. Or that Tibby and Cole are at odds over a post office–and a game of golf!What the matchmakers do know is that these two are in love, and that once in a while, love needs a nudge….
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u5cc515d1-a74c-5477-941a-aebd6a9f788d)
Excerpt (#u096a60ca-6d63-526c-adfa-9e9a2dfbe2b9)
Dear Reader (#ufee68649-6fba-5e97-8092-45667c5ffee9)
Title Page (#u91f848bf-7480-581b-ba8e-4608e54b3252)
Dedication (#u30887f2b-635d-561c-8828-eb616838ff3e)
Prologue (#u0aeb1b57-b93b-5966-b3eb-0edd77c82ee8)
Chapter One (#u2c0649af-677e-522d-b55b-3e88c05f3c35)
Chapter Two (#u68e98dda-401d-5bba-9acc-15d0e3faa620)
Chapter Three (#u7270b123-7329-58e5-b13b-6f50a7127ab7)
Chapter Four (#ua18d1aa3-434b-564b-b7ae-69318ef04f67)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Preview (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“My friends, our sweet Tibby is withering on the vine.”
“But Winnie…Ralph Hopple’s the only bachelor in Yaqui Springs,” Henrietta Feeney ventured timidly. “He’s sixty-five if he’s a day. Besides, do you think Tibby wants us meddling in that part of her life?”
Winnie Toliver leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Tibby mustn’t know. We have to find an acceptable single man between the ages of twenty-eight and thirty-five and somehow entice him to settle in Yaqui Springs.”
“Who?” wailed Mabel. “And how?”
“Mabel, you sound like an owl,” Winnie snapped. “I didn’t say it would be easy. It will require a lot of thought and possibly some scouting. Let’s meet again one week from today. I’ll expect everyone to bring some workable suggestions.”
Mabel jumped to her feet and clapped. “Winnie, you’re right! I always said old age and treachery will win out over youth and skill any day!”
Dear Reader (#ulink_7f014a80-5a77-5cbb-83da-3b9ce75eb9dc),
I was delighted to learn that Sweet Tibby Mack is the launch book for Superromance’s in-series promotion, MATCHMAKER, MATCHMAKER. In some parts of the world, the role of matchmaker is not taken lightly. Official matchmakers present the prospective groom’s offer to the bride’s family and negotiate the dowry. Here, it’s an informal role—usually entered into enthusiastically by well-meaning friends and family members.
Most women have experienced matchmaking, either aggressive or low-key. To many it’s a source of amusement, to others a situation abhorred. But for some it works. My own marriage is the result of my husband’s sister bringing me in as a decoy to break up a relationship he had with another woman. I’m not sure the matchmaker expected her efforts to end in anything as permanent as marriage, however.
But, alas, too often matchmaking doesn’t go as fondly planned. It’s almost always fraught with problems--and frequently backfires, as Tibby Mack’s friends discover when they endeavor to find her the perfect husband.
I hope you enjoy Tibby’s experience—and her matchmakers!
Roz
P.S. I love to hear from readers. Write to me at: P.O. Box 17480-101 Tucson, Arizona 85731
Sweet Tibby Mack
Roz Denny Fox
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
My heartfelt thanks to Gloriajean and Jim Boone for
recounting the joys—and less-than-joyous experiences—connected
with building a public golf course on private land.
May you have smoother sailing on the back nine.
For those readers not fluent in golf’s bewildering language,
I offer the information the
Boones so kindly gave me:
In golf, when it comes to score, less is best.
par: number of strokes set for a hole, depending on difficulty birdie: one stroke under par eagle: two strokes under par bogey: one stroke over par double bogey: two strokes over par irons and woods: two types of golf clubs
PROLOGUE (#ulink_a43443e0-037d-5103-a03c-27a5bd4ff4da)
“I SUPPOSE YOU LADIES are wondering why I called this emergency meeting of the Moped Mavericks.” Winnie Toliver, the group’s president, was a born leader. Energy all but crackled around her short gray curls as she paced the width of the Yaqui Springs recreation center.
The others immediately quieted.
“I’m concerned about our sweet Tibby,” Winnie said, referring to the youngest resident living in their retirement community. Each woman present had had a hand in Tibby Mack’s early upbringing. A few days ago she’d turned twenty-six.
“Gracious, Tibby isn’t ill, is she?” asked Mabel Sparks, a retired teacher who had scheduled Tibby’s home schooling from age ten through eighteen.
Yaqui Springs sat on the west bank of the Salton Sea in California’s Imperial Valley. Since it comprised mainly retired citizens, the county saw no need to provide transportation to elementary or secondary schools. Outside of Tibby, the youngest person in the loosely formed community was fifty-six.
“Tibby’s not sick,” Winnie assured the others quickly, halting the murmurs of sympathy that threatened to disrupt the meeting. “Since her grandmother passed on, rest Lara’s soul, Tibby’s scarcely stopped running. Each week the child takes on more chores.”
Ariel Pulaski patted her new perm. “You aren’t suggesting she close the beauty shop, are you? It’s so handy.”
“I know our men would hate to lose the coffee bar.” Rosamond Gordon, a former concert pianist, frowned. “And we’ve come to depend on the post office. You aren’t suggesting she give that up after Lara worked so hard to establish one for us?”
“Ladies, ladies, don’t get me wrong. I love all the services Tibby provides. Mack’s General Store has never been so well stocked. And who among us doesn’t appreciate the organic fruits and veggies that sweet girl grows? With more people moving here each year, Tibby’s newsletter is a blessing, too. But I ask you—what kind of social life does the poor girl have?”
“You’re right, Winnie,” chimed in Justine Banks. “Tibby hasn’t attended one of my watercolor classes this year. Claims she’s too busy.”
“Justine, I’m talking social life as in dating. As in getting married and having babies for us to spoil. My friends, our sweet Tibby is withering on the vine.”
“But Winnie…Ralph Hopple’s the only bachelor in Yaqui Springs,” Henrietta Feeny ventured timidly. “He’s sixty-five if he’s a day. Besides, do you think Tibby will want us meddling in that part of her life?”
Winnie leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Tibby mustn’t know. We have to find an acceptable single man between the ages of twenty-eight and thirty-five and somehow entice him to settle in Yaqui Springs.”
“Who?” wailed Mabel. “And how?”
“Mabel, you sound like an owl,” Winnie snapped. “I didn’t say it would be easy. It will require a lot of thought and possibly some scouting. Let’s meet again one week from today. I’ll expect everyone to bring workable suggestions.”
Rosamond waved her hand. “Couldn’t Joe and the others take her golfing more often over to Bogey Wells? I hear the resort hired a new golf pro.”
“Yes!” Winnie clapped her hands to cut through the excitement that had erupted. “Joe plays there daily, as do Pete, George and Fred,” she said, speaking of their mates. “We’ll check out the new pro. Although he’s fortysomething, I think.”
“My dentist is younger,” piped up Henrietta. “Thirty-eight. Maybe he’d like to move his practice out here from Indio. He’s talked about slowing down.”
“See.” Winnie beamed. “Already we have prospects. One week from today we’ll meet here and study our options.”
“LADIES, COULD WE HAVE quiet, please? We’ve got a lot to discuss. I realize our one week ran into three, what with Yale O’Donnell’s funeral and all. If we hadn’t stepped in, the poor man wouldn’t have had a decent burial. His daughter-in-law only showed up to try and get her mitts on his fortune. I’m glad he just left her a token amount.”
Ariel snorted. “He left the bulk to his grandson. If you ask me, Cole’s no better than his mama. She, at least, attended the funeral.”
Winnie shushed the women, who’d begun to chatter among themselves. “Cole is out of the country. You know he designs resort golf courses. After Henrietta and Justine give us their reports, I’ll tell you what else I dug up on Cole O’Donnell.”
Teased by the promise of juicy gossip, Henrietta stood. “I made a special trip to my dentist. Tibby drove me. Scratch him from our list. On the way home I pumped her to see what she thought of him. You know how Tibby never says anything bad about a person?” Henrietta paused. “She said he was stodgy.”
“She’s Lara’s granddaughter all right.” Mabel smiled. “Tibby was twelve when she asked me what stodgy meant. It’s how Lara described Ralph Hopple.”
Justine exchanged places with Henrietta. “We’re in trouble, ladies. There’s only one bachelor registered at the resort in Bogey Wells. A forty-year-old bird-watcher from Connecticut. If there’s a term meaning beyond stodgy, he’s it. And forget their golf pro. Winnie and I agree he’s nothing but a Don Juan.”
“Oh, no.” Rosamond wrung her hands. “I have worse news. I saw Tibby poring over brochures for a nutritionist’s program they offer at San Diego State. You don’t suppose she’s thinking of leaving Yaqui Springs?”
“Wait” Winnie silenced the twitters. “Don’t you want to hear the rest of my news?” Her blue eyes sparkled as she produced a creased golf magazine from her back pocket. Quickly she thumbed it open to a dog-eared page and made a circuit of the group so all could see.
“He’s a dish,” someone murmured.
“A dreamboat. Who is he?” demanded another.
Winnie fairly smirked. “Don’t you recognize him? This, ladies, is a grown-up Cole O’Donnell.” Once all the whistles and you’re kidding’s tapered off, Winnie let the silence drag out until she had everyone’s attention. “According to the article he’s still single. If I remember correctly, he must be just over thirty.”
“I see it says he lives in Hollywood,” interjected Justine, who’d grabbed the magazine. “He’s not…funny, is he—well, you know what I mean?”
A ring of anxious faces turned to Winnie. “No. In the fine print it alludes to one of his aims being to start a family someday. Now, hush and let me get to the good part. You know how Joe and the others fuss, having to drive to Bogey Wells every day to play golf?” Seeing all the nods, she continued, “Last night at dinner, out of the blue Joe says, ‘It’s too bad young Cole O’Donnell doesn’t come to Yaqui Springs and build a golf course on all that land Yale left him.’“ Winnie paused to let that sink in. “Well, I said, calm as you please, ‘You’re head of our recreational-development committee, Joseph. Get up a petition on behalf of the residents’ association and send it to Cole.’”
Mabel jumped to her feet and clapped. “Winnie, you’re a genius! I always said old age and treachery will win over youth and skill any day. As I recall, our Tibby used to be quite smitten with that boy. Let’s all go sign Joe’s petition.”
“Tibby may have been enamored of Cole once, but ten years is a long time. Until we see how they get along, mum’s the word,” Winnie cautioned as the Moped matchmakers left the rec center.
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_488a73b4-13d3-5086-b068-1851fd0ab1e0)
TIBBY MACK smiled to herself as she loaded the last of the homemade baskets, each of them filled with bright spring blooms, into the back of her aged station wagon. She could almost feel her grandmother’s presence. Hanging May baskets on the front doorknobs of all the Yaqui Springs residents was a yearly event Lara Mack had lovingly observed. Though Gram had been gone nearly a year, Tibby knew that if the kindly old lady were ever to smile down from heaven, it would be on May Day.
Running late as usual, Tibby slammed the tailgate and hurried into the store to shed her gardening gloves. If no one caught her distributing baskets and stopped to chat, she might get back to open the store and coffee bar on time. Although she’d promised to feed Ariel Pulaski’s Afghan hounds for a few days, and they had to be worked in before she drove Mabel Sparks to the airport…
“Uh-oh. Looks like I didn’t move fast enough.” Clutching the Closed sign, Tibby tossed her thick braid over one shoulder as she watched a car leave the main highway and speed toward the general store. A racy sports car. She frowned. No one she knew drove anything remotely that upscale. Had it been a local, she would’ve given him a key, and trusted him to leave a list of what he took. As it was a stranger, she had no choice but to leave fast or chance letting the fragile blossoms wilt.
Flipping the sign to read Closed, she sprinted toward her vehicle.
The approaching stranger squealed his midnight blue Jaguar to a halt in front of Tibby and hopped out almost before the full-throated growl of the engine quit.
She froze, her breath trapped in her throat. The world tilted crazily. Not a stranger. Cole O’Donnell. Someone she’d steeled herself to see at Yale’s funeral—and then he hadn’t shown up. After she’d spent days foolishly worrying that she wouldn’t recognize him. Tibby would have known his thick acorn brown hair and beachboy tan at ten times the distance. But why was he here now? She automatically smoothed her wrinkled skirt and grappled for composure.
“Well, hel-lo,” he drawled, flashing a smile that warmed his gray eyes. “It’s a thirsty drive from the coast I’m dying for a cup of coffee.” He glanced expectantly from the still-swinging Closed sign to the woman’s lush goldenrod hair. “Things have changed in Yaqui Springs. I’d heard Mrs. Mack passed away. She ran the store as far back as I can remember. Are you the new owner?” Cole didn’t think the attractive blonde was the new owner’s wife. He noticed that her left hand was bare of rings.
Hurt that he didn’t recognize her, Tibby slipped on a pair of sunglasses. Yet it shouldn’t surprise her that he didn’t. Their last’meeting—the spring she’d finally found the courage to invite him to the Date Festival in Indio—he’d been an older man of almost twenty to her sixteen. Oh, he’d looked at her, but he hadn’t really seen her when he carelessly turned her down. It embarrassed her now to think how often she’d haunted his grandfather’s place, waiting for snippets of news about Cole. If Yale ever guessed what prompted her many visits, he’d never let on. That grand old gentleman had taught her bookkeeping skills, which allowed her to run the store during her grandmother’s long illness and after. He’d also taken her golfing to keep her spirits up.
Now Yale, too, was gone. A fact that didn’t seem to bother the man standing before her, flaunting his sexy, easy smile.
“You’re a little late for your grandfather’s funeral,” Tibby said coolly. “We buried him six weeks ago.”
The accusation cut through Cole like a hot knife. Anna, bless his mother’s callous soul, hadn’t seen fit to let him know. Until he’d returned from Italy to a backlog of mail, he’d remained unaware he’d lost the person he loved most in the world. At first he’d been too shaken to even deal with the inheritance. Then one day about a month ago he’d received a note from the Yaqui Springs recreational committee, along with a petition asking that he build a golf course on his grandfather’s land. His land now.
Owning his own golf course was Cole’s “someday” dream. Gramps had taught him to play the game and love it. What better tribute to the old man’s memory?
