Match Made In Paradise Read online

  PRAISE FOR NOVELS BY BARBARA DUNLOP

  “An interesting read and a good mix of romance, lust and suspense. Ms. Dunlop has given her readers a story to disappear into.”

  —Harlequin Junkie

  “A perfect read for the holidays. It was funny, heartwarming and downright endearing. . . . Grab a hot cup of cocoa and snuggle up to the fire for this one—it will warm your heart.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “A lovely little holiday small-town romance.”

  —Carrie’s Book Reviews

  “Definitely pick this one up if you love cowboy romances that are a nice, slow burn.”

  —Remarkably Lisa Blog

  “A charming, laugh-out-loud holiday story. . . . Barbara Dunlop’s characters are passionate, multilayered, warm and funny.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Fast-paced, sexy, witty and romantic . . . a fabulous story that you will devour in a single sitting! Barbara Dunlop is a talented storyteller who has written an engaging and engrossing tale.”

  —CataRomance Review

  “Sparkles with bright characterization and sizzling romance; don’t miss it!”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  A JOVE BOOK

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  penguinrandomhouse.com

  Copyright © 2021 by Barbara Dunlop

  Excerpt from Finding Paradise copyright © 2021 by Barbara Dunlop

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  A JOVE BOOK, BERKLEY, and the BERKLEY & B colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Ebook ISBN: 9780593332979

  First Edition: May 2021

  Book design by George Towne, adapted for ebook by Cora Wigen

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Farjana Yasmin

  Cover image of couple by Tom Merton/Getty; bush plane by Hannah A. Graham/Shutterstock

  pid_prh_5.7.0_c0_r0

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Praise for Novels by Barbara Dunlop

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Acknowledgments

  Special Excerpt from Finding Paradise

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Mia Westberg had dressed meticulously for her husband Alastair Lafayette’s funeral. She wore a black silk jersey under-dress that hugged her slim frame. A lace overlay softened the sweetheart neckline and brushed her knees in a sheer, scalloped hem. She added a lariat necklace of black diamonds and put her blond hair up, pinning a puff of black mesh to the wispy braid coronet. She finished with a pair of simple diamond halo onyx studs and slim heeled ankle boots over sheer black tights.

  Alastair would have appreciated the ensemble. He’d chosen the dress himself from Lafayette Fashion’s new fall Eternity Collection. Knowing his heart condition was worsening, he’d joked that she should wear it before it went out of season. It was dark humor, but that had been his way.

  Now Mia and three hundred other mourners were assembled in St. Catherine’s Cathedral off Wilshire Boulevard. Mia was on the aisle of the front right-hand pew with Alastair’s adult children, Henry and Hannah separating her from his ex-wife, Theresa. None of the trio had looked her way. No surprise there. Henry and Hannah had just turned twenty-five. Mia was twenty-seven, and they’d never forgiven her for that.

  The mayor was speaking at the pulpit. His remarks were supposed to be brief, making way for Joseph McKenzie to deliver the eulogy. Joseph was head of the California Fashion Design Council and a longtime friend of Alastair’s. He sat across the aisle from Mia right now, notecards in hand, obviously holding back tears.

  Mia’s emotions were more complicated. She’d loved Alastair for the nine years of their marriage, and fifty was far too young for him to die. But she knew what nobody else did: Alastair’s heart condition had made this moment inevitable. It had grown worse over the past six months, causing him intolerable pain and becoming more and more difficult to hide. But he was a proud and private man, and he’d wanted to keep his health a secret right up to the end.

  Mia couldn’t help but be happy that he’d succeeded. Her husband had lived a gifted life and died on his own terms.

  The mayor, who clearly enjoyed the sound of his own voice reverberating from the redwood rafters of the beautifully gilded cathedral, finally ended his speech. People shifted, and a few coughed or whispered as the mayor left the pulpit.

  Joseph rose and stepped across the aisle to give Mia’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.

  She sent him an encouraging smile. Unlike the mayor, Joseph wasn’t a fan of public speaking.

  But he did both himself and Alastair proud. His voice broke over a few heartfelt passages, and he paused twice to blow his nose. He brought some humor in at the end, and Mia chuckled along with everyone else at the story of Lafayette Fashion’s first overseas show. It was long before her time, but anything that could have gone wrong did, and Alastair had eventually seen the humor.

  “Did you see that?” Mia heard someone whisper behind her.

  “Easy to tell she’s not so brokenhearted,” someone else whispered back.

  Henry looked over at Mia then—well, glared really, but she levelly met his gaze. It was no secret that he and Hannah considered her a gold digger. After reading Alastair’s will, they were more convinced of it than ever. As Alastair had predicted, they’d already contested the will in court.

  Theresa daintily dabbed her eyes with a lace-edged hankie while Hannah squeezed her mother’s hand in a show of support. But having heard Alastair’s side of the divorce and having watched Theresa’s behavior over the past nine years, Mia knew it was all for show. If Theresa was broken up about anything, it was the lack of an inheritance.

  Joseph ended with a heartfelt farewell to Alastair. The priest led the congregation in a prayer then in a hymn where half the people knew the words and half the people obviously didn’t. Mia was in the half who didn’t. And then everyone rose as the pallbearers escorted the casket down the aisle.

  “She couldn’t be bothered to shed a tear.” Mia heard the voice behind her again.

  She could have turned to see who’d uttered the words, but it didn’t matter. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders and fixed her expression, pretending she was on a runway in New York City. It was Alastair who’d fostered the ice-princess persona for Mia’s modeling career. He’d want her to carry it off
today of all days. He’d be sorely disappointed in her if she turned into a blubbering mess.

  And it wasn’t that kind of a sendoff. She was proud of Alastair, and he needed her to be strong. They’d often talked about the future, what would happen when she was left to manage things alone. It was time now for her to carry on.

  Mourners clustered around Theresa as if she were the grieving widow. But their words of condolence faded as Mia followed behind Alastair’s casket. Nobody reached out to her, and she could feel the shuns, the disapproving stares as she made her way to the back of the chapel. Even Lafayette’s vice president of marketing, Geraldine Putts, slid her gaze to one side when Mia passed. The action struck Mia as odd, but the moment was over quickly, and then she was outside the cathedral, where a black hearse waited under the hot June sun with a dozen black sedans lined up behind.

  There was something terribly final in the way they slid Alastair’s casket into the elongated car. Maybe it was knowing the next stop was Sunnydale Cemetery, where they’d put him in the ground and smooth the earth above him to erase his existence. Mia’s chest tightened, and she swallowed. She refused to cry.

  Someone touched her arm. “You doing okay?”

  It was Marnie Anton. Marnie was on the short side. She had a slight frame, glossy auburn hair, a spray of freckles and was wearing a pair of mottled-green oblong glasses over her green eyes. Dressed in skinny jeans and a white French-tucked blouse with a lightweight olive-colored jacket draped over top—interesting choice for a funeral—Marnie didn’t look at all like a lawyer. But she was the best.

  “I’m doing fine,” Mia said, surprised that Marnie had shown up at all but relieved to have a supporter at her side.

  “I came as soon as I heard.”

  “Heard?”

  Marnie had known about the funeral arrangements since Monday.

  The pallbearers drew away and the hearse driver closed the oversized door. A flock of pigeons flew up from the square. Not doves, but still, maybe it was something. Mia’s breath hitched one more time.

  Marnie canted her head to where Theresa, Henry and Hannah stood few feet away. She lowered her voice. “That those three just stabbed you in the back.”

  Theresa started forward then, her nose in the air, holding tight to Henry’s and Hannah’s hands as she marched straight to the first sedan in the lineup.

  “Seriously?” Marnie said, staring after the swish of Theresa’s taffeta skirt and the bobble of Hannah’s netted little fascinator hat.

  Mia wasn’t sold on the fascinator’s bow and protruding feathers. A British event was really the only place to pull off that look.

  “Whatever,” she said to Marnie, trying to mean it. But for a flash of a second she considered elbowing Theresa out of the way and diving into the lead sedan. But she could hear Alastair’s admonishing voice: Never let them know you care. You don’t.

  “Ride with me?” she asked Marnie.

  “You got it.”

  The driver of the second car solemnly opened the back door for them. Marnie ducked in and slid across the seat to make room for Mia. She set her roomy tan leather tote bag in the middle.

  The driver took his place up front, but they didn’t move, waiting for the rest of the procession to gather in their cars. Thankfully, the engine was running so they had air into the backseat.

  “I just came from the courthouse.” Marnie said. “There were five lawyers there from Brettan LaCroix representing the Lafayette kids. They filed an injunction.”

  “An injunction against what?” They’d already contested the will.

  “Against you taking charge at Lafayette before the estate is settled,” Marnie said.

  Mia turned to peer at Marnie in confusion. “That can’t work. How can that work? Who’ll run the company?”

  “The vice presidents in a caretaker capacity—with Henry and Hannah right by their side.”

  Mia thought back to the way Geraldine Putts’s gaze had slid away in the chapel. It all came clear.

  “They know,” she said. “The vice presidents already know.”

  “Some of them supported the injunction,” Marnie said.

  The sedan pulled forward as Mia tried to make sense of the new information. “The vice presidents want Henry and Hannah to take charge?”

  Alastair’s two children had empty titles, meaningless jobs. They’d never been involved in actually running the company.

  “They definitely don’t want you in charge.”

  “Why not?” Mia had worked side-by-side with Alastair for years.

  Okay, sure, most people thought of her as merely a model and Alastair’s wife. But she’d been his trusted adviser. She knew the inner workings of the Lafayette Fashion company. She’d been involved in every significant decision. And, by the way, she owned it now.

  Marnie gave Mia a pointed look. “You know you know the answer to that.”

  Yes, Mia knew the answer. And it was colossally unfair. She wasn’t just a pretty face in an ad campaign. “Can we fight it?”

  “The judge granted the injunction.”

  “So, we lost? We already lost?”

  This wasn’t what Alastair had wanted. He couldn’t have been any clearer in his final wishes. The company went to Mia. Hannah and Henry got jobs for life with generous perks. And Theresa . . . well, Theresa was on her own. Alastair had been clear about that too.

  Marnie was looking down at her phone. “I’ll appeal, but this is going to get ugly.”

  “It’s already ugly.” The tabloids and social media had not been kind to Mia.

  “Uglier,” Marnie qualified. She went silent for a moment. “Did you say you had a cousin in Alaska?”

  Mia drew back. “I’m not running away.”

  “Right. Sure. Of course.” Marnie paused again. “Thing is, there’s already a photo of you at the funeral.” She held her screen Mia’s way. “They’re saying the ice princess didn’t cry.”

  “Alastair didn’t want me to cry.”

  “The social media trolls wanted you to cry.”

  “Forget the social media trolls.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think that’s worked for anybody . . . ever.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Silas Burke shook the rainwater from his West Slope Aviation ball cap as he entered Galina Expediting’s cavernous warehouse in the small town of Paradise, Alaska. Lightning was muted in the storm clouds behind him, masked by the long summer daylight, while the thunder rolled from mountain to mountain across the massive sky.

  He knew the storm was wreaking havoc on Galina’s delivery schedule, frustrating operations manager Raven Westberg. He guessed that was why his boss, Brodie Seaton, owner of West Slope Aviation, had reached out to him. A flash flood yesterday on the central Alaskan haul road meant supply trucks loaded for Galina Expediting were stuck fifty miles outside town.

  Silas followed the marked pathway along the concrete wall toward the back of the warehouse and Raven’s office.

  “I can’t keep a supply chain running under conditions like this,” Raven complained to Brodie.

  The two were standing next to an empty shelving unit, and Brodie nodded to Silas, acknowledging his arrival. “Looks like we’ll have a weather window starting at sixteen-hundred.”

  “What’s up?” Silas asked, halting as he came to them. He’d had a text from Brodie a few minutes ago, saw his truck in the Galina parking lot and swung in. He assumed he’d have some flying to do in the next few hours.

  “Hey, Silas,” Raven said.

  “How can I help?” he asked, looking around the warehouse to see what was under way.

  Two aisles over, Kenneth Hines zipped past on a forklift, its electric motor whining through the cavernous building as he headed for the staging area in front of the loading dock. There, AJ and Leon were staging loads of grocerie
s, separating bulk orders manifests and shrink-wrapping product into bricks. The orders would be loaded on a Galina transport truck and taken to the WSA airstrip outside town for final transport by bush plane.

  “Viking Mine needs their new fire extinguishers by tomorrow or they’ll be out of safety compliance,” Raven said, as she scrolled through her tablet. “Mile High Research put a rush on a new backup generator. And the Wildflower Lake Lodge is running critical on Cabernet Sauvignon.”

  “Priorities,” Brodie said with a slow grin.

  Silas smiled too.

  “You know the guests at Wildflower Lake,” Raven said.

  “They have expectations,” Brodie said.

  The two shared an amused look.

  They might mock Wildflower Lake Lodge, but Silas knew it was an excellent customer for both Galina Expediting and West Slope Aviation. Owner Cornelia Rusk paid a premium price and expected premium service.

  “Xavier and I can take an islander up as soon as the weather breaks,” Silas put in. As WSA’s chief pilot, he kept current on pilot scheduling and availability. “Viking, Mile High then Wildflower Lake will work. What’s the weight on the generator?”

  The islander was a stalwart bush plane, with short takeoff and landing capability and plenty of room for cargo.

  Raven checked the generator specs on her tablet. “Nine-hundred and twenty-two pounds.”

  “How much wine did they order?”

  “Twenty cases.”

  Silas did a quick calculation inside his head. “All right . . . it’s doable.”

  Raven turned and caught Kenneth’s eye, waving him down.

  “Three-Zero-Alpha’s your best bet,” Brodie said. “Unless you know something I don’t. The seats are already out.”

  “What’s up, boss?” Kenneth asked Raven.

  “As soon as the weather breaks, we can take the generator, Viking’s safety stuff and the wine for Wildflower Lake.”

  “I’ll truck it over to WSA.” He looked to Silas. “Can you unload okay at Mile High?”

  “We’ll be fine,” Silas said. “Xavier’s my copilot.”