One More Storm (Mistletoe Matchmakers of Clearwater County #6) - Bonnie R. Paulson Page 0,1

she couldn’t even be in her mid-twenties.

Amanda slowly accepted the clipboard and then flipped to the last page. There were a lot of pages to fill out, but that wasn’t the overwhelming part. The list of therapists working there for Amanda to choose from made her catch her breath.

She studied the first few names and then lowered the clipboard. “I… Is it okay, if I just let you choose? I don’t know any of these names or anything about any of them. I’m not partial to male or female, either.” It was like asking her to pick out what kind of flower she wanted for an event.

Flowers were for her sister to dwell on. Or cakes or cookies would be for Cari, another sister to decide on things.

No, Amanda wasn’t sure what she preferred or what her specialty was. She didn’t know anything about herself.

That’s why she needed the therapist. Once she could get past finding out the truth about her parenting, she could start understanding more about herself. That was the theory, anyway.

As if the receptionist could possibly understand where Amanda was coming from, she nodded conspiratorially. “Don’t worry. You’re not the only one who has that problem. Fill out the paperwork and we’ll see who your best match would be from there.”

Best match? Like when Amanda was matching people up for marriage and a life together? How in the dickens would this receptionist be able to know what Amanda needed? It’s not like there was a compatibility test for the therapy, was there?

She clenched her fingers around the stiff, thick pack of papers made stiffer by the clipboard and she turned back to the chair she’d originally waited in.

Sinking back to the oddly comfortable cushion, Amanda pulled a pen from her purse and started the arduous process of filling out the forms. Yep, a four-page questionnaire was extremely similar to the matchmaking surveys she gave to clients looking for love.

Ten minutes later, Amanda sat up from her hunched position and sighed. She flipped through the pages one last time and returned her pen to the depths of her purse. She approached the reception desk again, but the woman was gone.

How many breaks did a person need? The time commitment was already more than she wanted to make and she hadn’t even seen anyone yet.

Amanda set her clipboard on the desk for the woman to find and turned back to the chair to wait. How much longer would she need to wait to meet the person who would help her make sense of finding out her father wasn’t her father and her mother had had an affair?

How much longer until Amanda’s thoughts made sense and she didn’t feel like the outsider everywhere she went?

How much longer until Amanda didn’t feel like she was completely alone?

Chapter 2

Tommy

The woman’s dark curls gave her away immediately. Tommy had studied the plethora of photos his client had sent him of his target and he’d memorized every curve of her face and every detail the pictures could portray.

Somehow, the images had failed to express the graceful way she moved or the soft lilt to her voice. Somehow, they’d failed to warn him just how intrigued by her Tommy would be.

If he’d had a heads up, he would have rethought the assignment. But as it was, private investigator work wasn’t as high paying as one would hope and he couldn’t afford to be as picky as he’d like.

A man couldn’t have too much pride when he had bills to pay and family members to take care of. No. Tommy’s responsibilities outweighed his personal options. Plus, he was good at what he did.

But he’d been studying the Dean woman for the last week and he was ready to make contact. But how?

When she set the clipboard down on the absent receptionist’s desk, it was like getting back-leg-kicked in the gut by a cranky mare. Of course. He could pretend to be her therapist.

How hard could being a therapist be? Listen to someone’s problems, offer a random um-hmm here and there and send them on their way after the hour. Easy.

He sidled from around the corner where he’d been standing and gripped the edges of the clipboard in a tight hold. He stood to the side, moving toward the doors off the lobby leading into the office. He glanced at the paperwork as if he didn’t know the patient’s name and then glanced up, looking around the waiting room like he had no idea her curvy body