"Thank God for that."

"I mean, I know what color they are, but-"

"No, you do not!"

"Blue."

Alison tried not to react, but she felt her face heating up. Okay, so she was definitely a blue kind of girl. Pink was too prissy, white too virginal, red too slutty, beige too blah. After that there wasn't much left. Still...how did he know?

Brandon smiled. "Alison? Are you blushing?"

"Of course not," she snapped. "Will you just hold out your hand?" She pulled the backing off the Band-Aid and wrapped it around his finger. "There. Done. Now, go fix that air conditioner. And this time don't slice your finger halfway off."

She tossed her purse back over her shoulder and walked to the front door. They stepped out to the porch, where she pulled out her phone and brought up her calendar. "We need to reschedule our meeting. What day and time are good for you?"

"We don't need to reschedule."

"Come on, Brandon. My answers on that questionnaire don't tell you much."

"I know. You just copied over a lot of the stuff from your match dot com profile."

Alison froze. "How did you know that?"

"I read it."

"You're on match dot com?"

"Professional research."

"So what's wrong with my match dot com answers?"

"Have you found a husband on match dot com?"

Alison paused. "No."

"Well, there you go."

"But if that information isn't enough," she said, "how do you expect to help me unless we talk more?"

"Your questionnaire gives me the basics. But that isn't all I know about you."

"So what else did you do? Hack into my e-mail and look at my Facebook account?"

He laughed. "No. I try to keep it legal."

"Then what?" she said warily.

"I know you're a very trusting person. After all, you gave me fifteen hundred dollars to find you a husband under circumstances that were a little unusual."

True. But that hadn't been trust. That had been desperation.

"You're a good salesman," she said. "And frankly, the jury's still out on whether you can deliver."

"And I know you're a sympathetic person, or you wouldn't have taken in three homeless cats."

"I'm a sucker. Big difference."

"And you're not a status seeker."

"What makes you say that?"

"The cats again. Three pedigreed Persians says one thing. Three scruffy strays says something else."

"Hey, they found me, not the other way around."

"And you don't mind helping people."

"How do you know that?"

"You helped me when I was working on the air unit."

"What was I supposed to say? 'No, I won't hand you a wrench?'"

"And when I cut my finger."

"I don't like watching people bleed."

"And you're prepared for damned near anything. With what you have in that purse, you could land on a desert island and survive for six months."

She started to object to that, but could she really?

"But the number one thing I know about you is that you're family oriented."

"My answers on the questionnaire told you that."

"No. You're really family oriented. That's your number one trait in the man you're looking for. He has to want a family as much as you do."

"Why do you say that?"

He nodded next door. "You liked watching those kids playing in the wading pool."

"It's hot. Who wouldn't be eyeing a swimming pool?"

"They were making a lot of noise."

"They were just having fun."

"Right. That's how you see it. Some people would be annoyed by it, but you actually enjoyed it. And just watching them was nostalgic for you, because you remembered how you and your brother used to play in a pool just like it. I'm betting you had a close family growing up, with lots of nice memories, and that's what you want for yourself now. A close family. Happy kids." Brandon smiled. "How am I doing?"

How was he doing? He was right on the nose. That was how he was doing. And it was pretty damned unnerving. But hadn't he done the same thing to her the first time they'd met, with all that stuff about bridesmaid dresses and a subscription to Modern Bride?

"Yes," she said. "You're right. I want kids."

"Lots of them."

She frowned. "Who do you think I am? Octomom?"

"Eight at one time might not be on your agenda, but you definitely want to be a mother, and more than once. One who always has tissues and Band-Aids. Oh, yeah. And you're very close to your father."

Her heart gave a little jolt. "I give up. How do you know that?"

"Because you didn't think twice about offering his services as a handyman to a near stranger. And I'm betting he wouldn't hesitate to help whomever you wanted him to."

"Oh, he'd hesitate. He'd ask me all kinds of questions. 'Who needs help? What's the project? What tools do I need to bring? Where do I need to go? What time do I need to be there? Do I need to stop by the Home Depot? So what's wrong with this guy that he can't fix his own air unit?'"

Brandon winced. "He'd say that last thing?"

Alison smiled. "Oh, yeah. I'm afraid he's a little opinionated."

"And he'd do anything for his daughter."

He would. And Alison would do anything for him. She knew she should feel happy that Brandon seemed to have a handle on the truth-family was number one to her. But stating it all so clearly the way he had made her ache in a way she hadn't in a long time, and she felt even more desperate to fill the gaping holes in her life that seemed to widen with every day that passed. And as she looked at Brandon now, she had the most hopeless feeling that if he couldn't find her a husband, it was never going to happen.

"It's getting late," she said. "I need to get back to the office."

Brandon nodded. "Your friend Heather didn't seem to like me too much when we met yesterday. Any particular reason?"

She'd hoped he would overlook that. "She just thinks it's weird that my matchmaker is a man."

"I think it's a little more than that."

"She doesn't want me to get my hopes up."

"You mean she doesn't want me taking your money and giving you nothing in return."

"No, it's not that. Really. It-" She paused, then let out a sigh of resignation. "Okay. It's that."

"Why the skepticism?"

"We've known each other forever, and I love her to death. She's just kind of overprotective. Like a sister. A pushy, intrusive, opinionated sister who doesn't know when to shut up sometimes."

"Sounds like the way you described your father."

"Yeah. I'm surrounded by them. People I love but want to kill sometimes. It's my crosseyed bear."

"What?"

"Sorry. Make that 'cross to bear.'" She smiled. "When my brother and I were little, my mother used to say my father was her cross to bear. My brother thought she said cross-eyed bear. So now, every once in a while, I still-oh, hell. It'd dumb. Never mind. I have to go."

Brandon smiled. "Okay. I'll be in touch."

As she walked to her car, she thought, Okay, what has Brandon learned today? That she was a borderline crazy cat lady who kept an entire drugstore in her purse, mispronounced simple phrases, ran a homeless shelter for cats, and thought screaming children in wading pools were charming. Even if he were the best matchmaker ever born, what chance did he have to find a man who'd be compatible with all that?

And what if Heather was right? What if he really didn't know what he was doing? Then she really didn't have a prayer.

She got into her car and started the engine, telling herself that as long as he didn't put two men's photos next to each other and flip a coin on her behalf, everything was going to be just fine.

Chapter 6.

Later that evening, Brandon sat on the sofa in his office with Alison's questionnaire on the coffee table in front of him. He'd grabbed a pile of files, intending to go through a few until he found a man to set her up with. But now, an hour later, he'd already returned to the file cabinets twice to retrieve more candidates, which he was sorting into three piles: maybe, no, and hell no. Actually, hell no had only one file in it. What had his grandmother been thinking when she'd taken on a client who thought his perfect match was a woman who loved taxidermy as much as he did?

He tossed one more file into the no pile, then looked up to see Tom come into the room. He stopped short, his gaze fanning over the sea of files Brandon had surrounded himself with. "What are you doing?"

"Matchmaking," Brandon muttered. "I'm glad you're home. You can help me."

"Me? What do I know about matchmaking?"

"About as much as I do."

"Hey, this was your insane idea, not mine."

"Do you want me as a partner on the Houston project or not?"

With a sigh of resignation, Tom sat down on the sofa with Brandon. Brandon scooped up a pile of files and slapped them onto his lap. "Here. Go through these."

"Whose dream man are you looking for?"

Brandon grabbed Alison's questionnaire with her photo attached and handed it to Tom. "Alison Carter. Here. Look at this."

"Hmm," he said, tilting his head as he looked at her photo. "She's kinda cute."

"Want to go out with her? She's looking for a man who wants to get married, have kids, buy a minivan, and take summer vacations at Disney World."

Tom dropped the questionnaire as if it were laced with botulism. "Not my type," he said, visibly shuddering.

"Don't sweat it. If I set a woman up with you, my business would be over." Brandon picked up another file and opened it. "Basically we're looking for the marrying kind. Family man. For her, that's a deal breaker."

"What is it with women who are obsessed with getting married?"

"Works both ways," Brandon said. "What is it with men who let themselves get hooked?"