The Perfect Match

The Perfect Match
Kimberly Cates

At twenty-seven, free-spirited Rowena Brown has never fitted in anywhere – not with her ambitious family, not at veterinary school and certainly not in any relationship she’s ever had.But surely the good people of Whitewater, Illinois, will welcome a pet-store owner whose talent is finding the perfect home for “problem” animals, even if they do have names like Destroyer. When a hundred-pound monstrosity of a dog appears at his door, Whitewater deputy Cash Lawless knows he’s in trouble.A single dad with two young daughters, Cash wants more chaos in his life about as much as he wants to find himself drawn to the eccentric Rowena. But if he’s not careful, the unruly hound and his unconventional owner might re-ignite Cash’s hopes along with his heart – and help them all find home at last

Rave reviews for Kimberly Cates

The Gazebo

“[A] delightful sequel…Readers will find this

a great book for a winter’s evening in front of the

fire. Kimberly Cates has delivered up a

winner with this one.”

—The Romance Reader’s Connection

Picket Fence

“Forgiveness and acceptance are key elements in this

outstanding new family drama, which offers the deep

insight into the human soul and the touching story

that are hallmarks of a Cates novel.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews (4

/

stars)

“Cates weaves a tantalising and emotional tale

that strums the heartstrings and keeps the reader

spellbound until the joyful, gratifying ending.”

—Booklist

More praise for Kimberly Cates

“One of the brightest stars of the romance genre.”

—New York Times bestselling author Iris Johansen

The Perfect Match

Kimberly Cates

www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk/)

To “Dodo,” Zora Miloradich Alpern, my very own

“fairy godmother.” Thank you for seeing me even

when I felt invisible.

And in loving memory of the dog she gave me:

Humphrey, the juvenile delinquent dachshund

who changed my life.

Dear Reader,

I adore dogs. This is no news to anyone who comes to my house to be greeted by three Cavalier King Charles spaniels (Sir Tristan, Sailor and Huckleberry) and a black Lab (Jake). Nor is it a surprise to people who hear them barking when I’m on the phone. My theory is that the phone emits a high-pitched beep that only dogs and toddlers can hear—especially when your editor is on the line. I have used dogs in numerous books, delighting in their canine personalities, and have rescued more strays than my husband cares to count, determined to find them perfect homes. What most people don’t know is how I started my love affair with all things furry—a juvenile delinquent dachshund my own “fairy godmother” filled my arms with when life suddenly got more complex than anyone could have guessed. I was eight years old and Humphrey was just the magic I needed.

This book is my tribute to families under fire, who face daunting odds with great courage. My loving thanks to parents who do daily battle to make their children walk, to “fairy godmothers” who make little girls’ wishes come true, and of course to the pets who have brightened my world.

Here’s to lint rollers, killer dust bunnies during shedding season and to the healing power of love. Real magic that makes little boys do karate and little girls dance, even when doctors don’t believe they ever will.

Kimberly Cates

CHAPTER ONE

THE TROUBLE WITH fairy godmothers was they never hung around long enough to see how their magic turned out, twenty-seven-year-old Rowena Brown thought, racing up the steps to the Whitewater Sheriff’s office. Now, Cinderella—she’d gotten the lowdown about the coach turning back into a pumpkin come midnight. And in Sleeping Beauty—even the Disney version—Maleficent blabbed to the whole kingdom about the princess’s pricking-her-finger-on-a-spindle clause.

But when great-auntie Maeve MacKinnon from County Meath had predicted Rowena would meet her soul mate in this quaint Illinois town, the ninety-year-old Irishwoman had failed to mention that three weeks after Rowena moved in, her personal bad boy would end up in the slammer for breaking and entering. God knew how much it was going to cost her to bail him out.

Rowena shook wisps of waist-long curls the color of daffodils out of her eyes and hugged her beloved red and gold tapestry bag tight against her in an effort to calm the butterflies rioting in her middle. Her sisters had claimed that Rowena could hide a kindergartener in the purse made out of a salvageable piece of antique Oriental rug she’d gotten at an art fair. Unfortunately at the moment, she was about as likely to find bail money inside the thing as she was a gap-toothed five-year-old.

Every cent Rowena had she’d invested in spiffing up her new shop on Main Street: nailing on a roof that didn’t leak, buying bright chrome cages to line the walls and putting in a “get acquainted” room designed to tempt even the most retiring wallflower to play. But if Clancy had already gotten himself in this much trouble, there was obviously one more accessory she needed to invest in. Stronger locks.

In a swirl of purple peasant skirt and jangling bracelets she shoved open the door to the drab brick building and rushed up to the desk labeled Information. Rowena couldn’t help doing a double-take. The officer/receptionist who presided over the gateway to the room beyond looked disturbingly like one of those guys in the shako hats who guarded the Wicked Witch’s castle in The Wizard of Oz.

He seemed as taken aback by Rowena’s appearance as she was with his. She should be used to it by now. But then, ever since she’d set foot in Whitewater, the whole town had been gaping at her as if she’d just dropped in from another planet. Maybe she had. Chicago, with its bustling streets and delicious diversity, seemed a galaxy away.

“I’ve come about Clancy Brown,” Rowena told the receptionist as she tried to shake the image that kept popping into her mind—the pot-bellied deputy chatting it up with one of those creepy flying monkeys.

“Brown, Brown…” the man mumbled to himself as he scanned the register in front of him. “I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s no one here by that name.”

Panic buzzed in Rowena’s veins. “Clancy has to be here! My neighbor said one of your deputies picked him up about an hour ago.”

The deputy grabbed a mug that said Kiss My Bass. “Your neighbor must have been mistaken.”

“That’s impossible. The deputy gave her this card when he hauled Clancy off in his squad car.”