Burned in Broken Hearts Junction: A Cozy Matchmaker Mystery (Cozy Matchmaker Mystery Series) by Meg Muldoon Read Free Book Online
Authors: Meg Muldoon
over at me. “Okay, I’m going to do my best. But, Bitters, you have to help me with this. You’re the only one who’s seen him. You can’t just abandon me now.”
I got up abruptly, placing the bag on the counter.
Shortly after I realized Beth Lynn wasn’t listening to me, I’d made kind of a pact with myself. I wasn’t going to interfere anymore. I’d done my part to help plenty of people find happiness, and what did I have to show for it? Not a damn thing.
I was finished with matchmaking. And if that meant ignoring the visions, well, then that’s what I was going to do.
“I’m done with all of that,” I said. “I’ve given you a description. You can find him yourself, Beth Lynn.”
The words sounded harsh, and I couldn’t tell if it was because I was still mad at her, or if I was mad at having this “gift” to begin with.
She looked over at me with big, lonesome eyes.
“How can you say that, Bitters? After all we’ve been through together? I know you’re mad, but you can’t just turn your back on me, just like you can’t turn your back on those visions you have. It’s just not…”
She glanced over at the photo in the center, the one of me and Jacob sitting on that picnic table.
I looked away.
“Have you heard anything from him lately?” she asked.
I didn’t answer. That in itself was an answer.
She sighed.
“All I want is to find the right one, Bitters,” she said. “I’m so tired of running into walls. All I want now is to find him before it’s too late.”
She was silent, and I felt the atmosphere of the room buckle under her sadness.
“Please, Bitters?” she said, tears brimming from those rodeo queen eyes.
I bit my lip.
She grabbed her purse and pulled out a Kleenex for added effect, knowing that was just would was needed to push me over the edge.
Dammit .
Here I was, getting suckered into something I shouldn’t have cared about for one measly second. Knowing that if I didn’t help her, my conscious would never let me hear the end of it.
I went over to the door, put my jacket on and started grabbing my purse.
“All right,” I said. “But if you show up later this week with another guy hanging off of your arm, then all bets are off. You got it?”
She stood up and smiled.
“You’ll do it?” she said.
I sighed.
“Doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice.”
Chapter 12
Broken Hearts Junction got its name over 150 years ago over a tragic incident that, for the most part, has been lost to time.
But it hasn’t been lost to me. Some days when I’m driving along the river, I can’t help think about her.
The Crooked River, a wide, slow-moving, deceptively tame-looking stretch of water meanders right through the middle of today’s Broken Hearts Junction. Back in the 1840s, the Oregon Trail took pioneers through this area, and crossing the Crooked River was a necessary evil. Countless pioneers died trying to cross the river, getting dragged down by the swirling currents that still push and pull today under those placid waters.
But the town didn’t get its name based on the many who lost their lives here.
Just one death gave the town its name.
Her name was Zerelda Richmond.
The story goes that Zerelda had come from a small farm in Pennsylvania with her husband, Joshua, the two of them making the journey with a wagon train. Their dreams were fixed on the Willamette Valley, just a couple hundred miles away from here.
They were so close to getting there. So close to their dream.
But halfway into crossing The Crooked River, all those dreams went to hell in a hand basket. Their wagon capsized in the currents, and Joshua was dragged under, drowned, and swept away downstream. Zerelda was saved by another in the wagon party, though accounts say she was screaming and kicking the whole while, not wanting to be separated from her beloved.
Rattled by the difficult crossing, the wagon party set up camp that night on the edge of the
I got up abruptly, placing the bag on the counter.
Shortly after I realized Beth Lynn wasn’t listening to me, I’d made kind of a pact with myself. I wasn’t going to interfere anymore. I’d done my part to help plenty of people find happiness, and what did I have to show for it? Not a damn thing.
I was finished with matchmaking. And if that meant ignoring the visions, well, then that’s what I was going to do.
“I’m done with all of that,” I said. “I’ve given you a description. You can find him yourself, Beth Lynn.”
The words sounded harsh, and I couldn’t tell if it was because I was still mad at her, or if I was mad at having this “gift” to begin with.
She looked over at me with big, lonesome eyes.
“How can you say that, Bitters? After all we’ve been through together? I know you’re mad, but you can’t just turn your back on me, just like you can’t turn your back on those visions you have. It’s just not…”
She glanced over at the photo in the center, the one of me and Jacob sitting on that picnic table.
I looked away.
“Have you heard anything from him lately?” she asked.
I didn’t answer. That in itself was an answer.
She sighed.
“All I want is to find the right one, Bitters,” she said. “I’m so tired of running into walls. All I want now is to find him before it’s too late.”
She was silent, and I felt the atmosphere of the room buckle under her sadness.
“Please, Bitters?” she said, tears brimming from those rodeo queen eyes.
I bit my lip.
She grabbed her purse and pulled out a Kleenex for added effect, knowing that was just would was needed to push me over the edge.
Dammit .
Here I was, getting suckered into something I shouldn’t have cared about for one measly second. Knowing that if I didn’t help her, my conscious would never let me hear the end of it.
I went over to the door, put my jacket on and started grabbing my purse.
“All right,” I said. “But if you show up later this week with another guy hanging off of your arm, then all bets are off. You got it?”
She stood up and smiled.
“You’ll do it?” she said.
I sighed.
“Doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice.”
Chapter 12
Broken Hearts Junction got its name over 150 years ago over a tragic incident that, for the most part, has been lost to time.
But it hasn’t been lost to me. Some days when I’m driving along the river, I can’t help think about her.
The Crooked River, a wide, slow-moving, deceptively tame-looking stretch of water meanders right through the middle of today’s Broken Hearts Junction. Back in the 1840s, the Oregon Trail took pioneers through this area, and crossing the Crooked River was a necessary evil. Countless pioneers died trying to cross the river, getting dragged down by the swirling currents that still push and pull today under those placid waters.
But the town didn’t get its name based on the many who lost their lives here.
Just one death gave the town its name.
Her name was Zerelda Richmond.
The story goes that Zerelda had come from a small farm in Pennsylvania with her husband, Joshua, the two of them making the journey with a wagon train. Their dreams were fixed on the Willamette Valley, just a couple hundred miles away from here.
They were so close to getting there. So close to their dream.
But halfway into crossing The Crooked River, all those dreams went to hell in a hand basket. Their wagon capsized in the currents, and Joshua was dragged under, drowned, and swept away downstream. Zerelda was saved by another in the wagon party, though accounts say she was screaming and kicking the whole while, not wanting to be separated from her beloved.
Rattled by the difficult crossing, the wagon party set up camp that night on the edge of the
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