Matchmaer 07: July

Brooklyn

It was almost eight, and I stretched languorously, trying to throw off the drowsiness that was attempting to drag me back into slumber. I didn't have to get up early today. For the first time in almost eight months, I had a few days off. I often worked seven days a week, but I didn't mind. My job was exceptionally rewarding, and while my hours and days were unpredictable, my workdays were often short, sometimes only two or three hours long.

I rolled over and snuggled into the pillow with a sigh. Sleep was winning its battle with me when my phone rang. With a groan, I rolled over and pulled the cell from the side table.

"Brooklyn," I mumbled.

"Brooklyn. Brent Austin."

I took a moment to gather myself so I'd sound coherent. "Yes, Mr. Austin. How can I help you?"

"I'm calling to follow up. Easton's flight arrived, but she either wasn't on it, or we missed each other."

I pushed myself up in the bed. So much for having the day off. "Let me check, find out what's going on, and get back to you."

"Should I wait at the airport?"

"Please, for a few minutes. I'll call you back in ten minutes or less."

"I'll wait for your call."

I hung up, flipped through my contacts, and dialed. This was why I tended to not send my clients on international travel. Too many things could go wrong. I listened to my phone purr, but there was no answer. I glared at the phone as I threw the linens aside and tumbled out of bed. I padded out of my bedroom and down the stairs to my office.

I never gave my clients or companions information on the other, other than where to meet, when, and a first name. I did that so they were forced to learn about each other without me interfering. The downside was if client and companion missed each other, as Brent and Easton had, they had to work through me. I started my computer as I dialed Easton's number again. Like before, there was no answer. With a growl of frustration, I called Brent back.

"Mr. Austin, Brooklyn Lancaster. I haven't been able to get in contact with Easton. I don't know what's going on, but as soon as I know something, I'll let you know."

"So, I should return to the hotel?"

"That's my advice. No point waiting around the terminal until I can find out what went wrong."

"Do you suppose she backed out at the last minute?"

My brows furrowed. I'd never had a companion do that, but I suppose anything was possible. Easton didn't strike me as that type, though. She seemed to have a good head on her shoulders, and she had a clear idea of what she wanted from life.

"I think it's more likely she missed her flight."

"If that's what happened, you'd think she'd let someone know," he grumbled.

I nodded in agreement. "I'm sure whatever happened was unavoidable. I'll let you know something as soon as I get word."

He sighed. "This is the story of my life."

I smiled. "Don't give up hope, Mr. Austin. I'm sure this is just a glitch, easily resolved."

"Let me know."

"I will as soon as I hear."

We hung up and I dialed Easton again, with the same results. I sent her a text, asking her to call me as soon as possible, before placing my phone on the desk.

It didn't happen often, but this wasn't the first time a client and companion missed their initial meeting. Normally the problem was quickly remedied with a couple of phone calls, but for some reason Easton wasn't answering her phone. I ground my teeth in annoyance. My clients paid me well, very well, and this wasn't the level of service I normally provided. When I managed to contact her, Ms. Easton Quale had better have a damn good excuse for not showing up and not accepting my calls.

-oOo-

Normally, if a companion didn't work out, I still charged my fee. If the client wanted to try again, I'd try to place another companion free of charge, billing the client only for incurred expenses, but this time I was going to eat it and refund Brent all fees and expenses. I hadn't delivered and it wasn't fair for him to pay for services he didn't receive. I'd tried twice more to reach Easton, and sent her another text, but to no avail. I'd already contacted Brent and started making arrangement to fly him home since Easton had gone completely dark.

It was nearly noon when my phone rang, Easton's number on the screen.

"Ms. Quale! Where are you? Are you okay?"

"I'm in Ireland at the airport in Dublin."

"What? You're just now getting there? Why are you in Dublin?" I asked. She was supposed to fly into Shannon.

"Yeah. My flight into LaGuardia was delayed because of weather, and I missed my flight. Aer Lingus booked me on another flight, but it was going to Dublin, and I didn't want to wait for the next flight to Shannon. By the time I got all that straightened out, I didn't have a chance to call you before I boarded. I figured since it's only a couple of hours from Dublin to Shannon, I could rent a car or something. I'm sorry I didn't call and let you know what was going on, but things were a little... hectic."

I relaxed. It was just one of those things that couldn't be avoided. "Get your bags but wait at the airport until you hear from me. Let me contact Brent and sort out how this is going to work, and I'll get back to you."

"I can rent a car."

I nodded. "And I might ask you to, but let me try to get it sorted first, okay?"

She sighed. "Okay. I'm sorry about all this."

"Don't worry about it. I'm just glad nothing happened to you. I'll call you back in ten minutes or so." I hung up and dialed Brent.

"Hello? This is Brent."

"Brent, Brooklyn Lancaster. I've found Easton."

"Where?"

"Dublin."

"Dublin? What's she doing there?"

"Long story. Would you be willing to go get her, or should I have her rent a car?"

"How far is it to Dublin from here?"

"She said a couple of hours."

He paused for a moment. "I'll go get her. Beats sitting here and staring at the walls."

I smiled. "Thanks. I'll let her know. What time should she expect you?"

"I'll leave now."

"Okay. I'll let her know and work out where you'll meet, then I'll call you back."

"Okay. I'm walking out of my room now."

"I'll let her know."

I hung up and tossed my phone onto my desk as I let out a long sigh. I had two hours to work out the details, so there was no hurry. I loved my job, I really did, but some days were more trying than others. This was one of those. With another sigh, I picked up my phone and dialed Easton. I was going to break one of my rules and give her Brent's phone number so they could contact each other directly. This situation was already fucked up enough, and I didn't want them wandering around the Dublin airport, unable to find each other, with me trying to direct them.

"Hello, Brooklyn," Easton said.

"Okay, here's what's happening," I began.

.

.

.

Easton

My phone dinged with the arrival of a text.

Here. Blue Jag XE.

I nodded to myself as I rose from the chair I'd been slouching in.

Blonde, jeans, black top and boots

I typed before pocketing my phone and began pulling my two bags toward the doors, the luggage following along on their wheels like eager puppies. We'd already agreed to meet in front of the Aer Lingus terminal.

I stepped out into the damp Irish air. It had rained earlier, but fortunately it had stopped. I watched for a blue Jaguar, first looking in the wrong direction. I'd forgotten the Irish drive on the opposite side, so the traffic moved contradictory to what we Americans expected.

As I watched, a vibrant blue car pulled to a stop at the curb in front of another woman. It was too far away to tell the make, but the woman was a blonde, and she was wearing jeans, though her top was a light blue. A man stepped out of the car and spoke to her over the roof before waving his hand in acknowledgement and disappearing back into the car. I smiled to myself. That was probably my ride.

I tugged my bags a little closer to the curb as the car ambled closer, rolling to a stop in front of me. A dark-haired man appeared over the top of the car.

"Easton?"

"Brent?"

"That's me," he said before he disappeared. The trunk popped open as he appeared again and began to circle the car, opening the lid wide as he did.

"I did say black top and boots," I teased as I dragged my luggage toward the rear of the car.

He grinned as he grabbed my bags and hefted them into the rear of the car. "I stopped in front of the first jeans wearing blonde I saw who looked like she was looking for someone." He slammed the lid and extended his hand. "Brent Austin."

I took his hand. "Easton Quale."

"Nice to meet you," he said, giving my hand a firm squeeze. "Ready to go?"

"God, yes."

He started around the car, then stopped and circled around the other way. "I haven't gotten used to the steering wheel being on the wrong side," he said as he opened the passenger door for me.

I settled into the sumptuous comfort of the Jaguar as he shut the door. It felt incredibly strange to be sitting on the left side of the car and not have the steering wheel in front of me. He fell into the driver's seat beside me and we pulled away from the curb. As strange as it felt not having the steering wheel in front of me, it was nothing compared to how odd it felt driving on the wrong side of the road.

He grinned at me, my consternation evidently clear. "I know. Every time I make a turn, I have to stop and think about which side of the road I want to end up on." He rolled his eyes dramatically.

"That obvious?" I asked with a small smile of my own.

"Yeah. Don't feel bad. You should be over here. They're never going to get stains and wrinkles out of this seat from the number of times I've scared myself."

I snickered. "I think I'll let you do the driving."

He glanced at me again. "What? You don't like scaring the crap out of yourself every thirty seconds?"

We rolled to a stop and he was supremely careful, looking both ways multiple times before slowly pulling into the road. I leaned my head back against the headrest. In my exhausted state, I'd probably do something without thinking, reflexes and habits taking over, and kill us both. Yes, better he did the driving.

"Sorry to drag you out to get me."

"No worries. What happened anyway?"

"You want the full story or the Reader's Digest version?"

He smiled at me. "We've got two hours."

I ginned. "Full version it is."

For the next forty minutes, I told him my tale of woe, how my flight had been delayed leaving Milwaukee because of a thunderstorm, before they cattle called us to board, trying to get us off the ground during a break in the storm. It hadn't worked, and we'd sat in the plane at the end of the runway for almost an hour. The ninety-minute delay caused me to miss my connection in New York, and I'd taken the next flight to Ireland, even though it was going to Dublin instead of Shannon.

He shook his head as my story wound down. "At least you made it. So, you're from Wisconsin?"

I nodded. "Born and raised."

"Anyplace I've heard of?"

I grinned. "Oconomowoc?"

"Gesundheit!"

I snickered. "It's about twenty minutes west of Milwaukee, in the heart of dairy country."

"What do you do there?"

"I'm a large animal vet."

"Really? A cow doctor, huh?"

"Yeah. The farmers, they really need people like us because in dairy farming, the steaks are so high..."

He groaned. "That was terrible!"

"Sorry," I mumbled as I smiled.

"No you're not."

My smile grew. "Okay, you're right, I'm not, but I thought you'd find it a-moos-ing."

"Really?" he asked, grinning at me before he chuckled.

"I've got a million of them. Hazard of the job. What about you?"

"Texas, at your service, ma'am," he said, turning on the twang.

When I thought of a Texan, I imagined a guy with a cowboy hat and boots, a vest with fancy stitching, a string tie or maybe a bandanna, and a Cadillac or a pickup with horns on the hood. He didn't fit the stereotype at all, except for the string tie.

He was slightly taller than average, around six foot, maybe six one, with dark eyes and short brown hair. He was classically handsome in a tanned, outdoorsy way, and I liked his quick and easy smile. His sport coat couldn't hide the fact he had a narrow waist and broad shoulders, and except for his teasing, his accent wasn't as thick as cream.

"Oh... so you know a thing or two about cows."

He spluttered. "Hardly. I've never been closer than the dairy case at the supermarket to a cow."

I grinned. He was also very easy to talk to. "I thought all Texans raised cattle."

"There's another commodity Texas is famous for, besides cattle."

"Oil." He pointed a finger at me. "You're in the oil business?"

"Bid'ness," he corrected with another of his winning smiles. "I'm in the oil bid'ness."

"So, what do you do in the oil 'bid'ness'?"

"I have a fleet of thumper trucks."

"What's a thumper truck?"

"The correct term is seismic survey truck. In simple terms, it's a big truck tractor like thing that lowers a heavy steel plate onto the ground and vibrates it hydraulically. That creates seismic waves, like a mini earthquake. You can't even feel it unless you're standing right beside the thing, but it's kind of like radar for the ground. It gives geologist an idea of the rock formations below ground, which can give hints where oil might be located."

I nodded. "You work for an oil company?"

"No. I own Rabbit Seismic Surveys, and I rent my equipment and people to oil companies."

"Rabbit?"

He smiled. "Ever seen Bambi?"

"Yeah..." I said, drawing the word out, still not getting it.

"Thumper, the rabbit?"

"Oh! Thumper truck, Thumper rabbit. I get it."

He nodded. "Yeah. The trucks are

expensive,

both to buy and to operate. Oil companies would rather contract that kind of stuff out than buy the equipment themselves, because once they map a field, they don't need the trucks until the next one. My fleet runs twenty-four hours a day, 365 days a year."

"And you own the company?" I asked. He appeared to be about my age, twenty-nine, and not old enough to own a company like that, unless it was a lot smaller than he made it sound.

"Yeah."

"How many trucks do you have?"

He paused, clearly thinking. "Not sure off the top of my head. Around two hundred, I think."

"Two... hundred? And how much are these things?"

"About that. Maybe a few more or less. The price? It depends on the truck, but the least expensive is around two-hundred grand, the biggest, bad-assest rough terrain versions, will be about two, two and a half times that."

"That's a lot of money."

He nodded. "Now you know why oil companies don't want to buy the trucks just to have them sitting around. The only way I can make money is my trucks never stop except for fuel, maintenance, and repairs."

"And how did you get into this business, excuse me, 'bid'ness'?"

He grinned. "I started driving a thumper truck right out of high-school and worked my way up. When the owner of the company wanted to retire a few years ago, I mortgaged everything I owned for a down payment, and I'm paying off the rest to him over time. I pay him ten thousand a month on a twenty-year note. He calls it his retirement plan. I've acquired two more companies since then to expand my fleet and reduce the competition."

"Wow. You seem pretty young to be an oil baron," I said, fishing for information.

He shrugged. "Twenty-eight. You can do a lot when you're young and too stupid to not know what you can't do. It helps to be lucky. I got in right at the start of an exploration boom, and there was plenty of work for everyone. It's tougher now, but I'm big enough I can undercut the little guys and ride it out until the next boom."

I nodded. "So where do you live in Texas? Houston?"

"A little west, in a little place called Cumings. That's where Rabbit is based, and I have a house there."

"Never heard of the place."

"Yeah. Kind of like Ocawhac-a-mole in that way."

I giggled. "Oconomowoc. It's an Indian word for waterfall."

We rode along, swapping stories, the Jag's powerful headlamps peeling away the darkness, and I began to get squirmy.

"You okay?" he asked.

I debated and decided to tell him the truth. "I have to go to the bathroom, and all I've done is sit on my backside for almost twenty-four hours."

"Why didn't you say something?"

I shrugged. I didn't want to be the whiny little princess.

"Next place, we'll stop. You can go to the bathroom and we can stretch our legs a little."

"Thanks. Would you mind if I grabbed a burger or something? I haven't eaten since dinner over the Atlantic somewhere, about ten hours ago."

"Jesus, Easton. Again, why didn't you say something? Sure."

"Thanks. Even a McDonald's will do."

"Do they even have McDonald's over here?" he asked.

I frowned. I hadn't thought of that. We left the M7, the Irish equivalent of an interstate, and we were in luck. There was a petrol station that had a McDonald's occupying a corner. He pulled to the pumps, and as he filled the car, I went inside. I was floored by what I found. The petrol station was more like a mini supermarket than the gas stations back home in Wisconsin. I quickly located the restroom, relieved myself, and was standing in line for a burger when Brent entered.

I'd just stepped up to place my order as he stopped behind me. "Big and Tasty with bacon, an order of fries, and a Coca-Cola."

"Chips," he whispered in my ear.

I winced inside. I knew that. "I mean chips."

"American?" the girl taking my order asked with a smile.

"Obvious, huh?"

"Make that two," Brent said, laying on the accent so thick you could have spread it with a knife.

She looked at him, her eyes wide as a slow smile began on her lips. "Will that be all for you this evening?"

"That'll do 'er," he said, gently nudging me aside as he pulled out a thick wad of Euros.

"Sixteen eighty-three, sir," the girl said, staring at Brent.

I had to work not to smile because I knew he was pouring on the accent for her benefit. After he paid, we stepped back and allowed the next person in line to order while we waited on our food.

"Are you hungry too?" I asked as we waited for our order.

He shrugged as he bobbed his head. "I had a late lunch, but yeah, I can eat something."

His face was the picture of innocence, but I had a sneaky suspicion he knew exactly what he was saying and what I'd think when he said it.

Less than a minute later, a bag was placed on the counter. "Number 163!"

"Why, thank ya', pardner," Brent said, grabbing the bag and drinks from the counter.

The door had almost closed when I caught the faint sounds of everyone inside giggling.

"You did that on purpose," I said with a grin.

He shrugged. "You can take the boy out of Texas..." he said, his accent back to normal, a rather sexy sounding twang.

"But you can't take Texas out of the boy," I finished for him.

After starting to the wrong side of the car, he quickly changed course with a softly muttered 'dammit' and opened my door for me, handing me the bag and drinks after I settled into the seat. We had no choice but to eat in the car as there were no tables in the McDonald's. His door opened, but he didn't sit immediately, removing his jacket and tossing it into the back seat before settling behind the wheel.

Without his jacket on, I could tell he was seriously built, his shirt snug over his broad chest, muscular arms, and tucked in to emphasize his flat stomach. I was too tired to think about it right now, but in another situation, I'd give serious consideration to satisfying another hunger.

I handed him his burger and fries—chips—before pulling my own from the sack. I bit into the sandwich and almost moaned in relief, but I didn't want to give him any ideas.