“Maybe He can. With a little effort on your part.”
Holt held up a hand, stop-sign style. “Not happening.”
Zeke shrugged and climbed back on the truck to wrestle another feed sack. “Look at it this way. You haven’t been out with a woman once in the three years I’ve worked for you. Maybe it’s time to change that.”
The idea sent dread to the pit of Holt’s stomach. He shoved the card into his hip pocket and went back to stacking feed. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
His issues with Pamela weren’t open to discussion. He refused to speak ill of the dead. Even if he felt ill at the thought of all she’d put him through.
“Too busy. And there’s Jacey to consider.” He wasn’t about to subject his daughter to a bunch of women coming and going in her life. “Besides, no smart woman would want me.”
“True.” Zeke laughed. “However, if you’re gun-shy, afraid of getting shot down or whatever, you could always sign up for online dating.”
Holt stopped short, snorted. “Be serious.”
“It’s legit.” A heavy sack scraped as he dragged it across the flatbed. “I’ve tried it a few times. So have a couple of my buddies. One of them found true love and got married.”
“Good for him.” Holt caught another bag, stacked it with the others. Online dating. Ridiculous idea.
Feed dust swirled up in his nose. He rubbed it with a gloved hand.
“It’s pretty cool, actually,” Zeke said. “You can pick and choose without getting disqualified before you leave the chute. No commitment. Just a private message or two to see if the other party is interested.”
“Sounds impersonal.”
“Which isn’t a bad way to start off. Keeps your heart out of it.”
A breeze shoved open Holt’s jean jacket, but it wasn’t the weather that chilled him. “Your wallet too.”
Zeke laughed and tossed another sack, this one harder and faster. “You’ve gotten cynical in your old age.”
The feed bag slammed Holt in the gut. He oofed and let it fall to the ground. Scowling, he bent to pick it up.
He wasn’t that old. But he was cynical.
3
Sprawled in his favorite, stinky recliner, Holt propped his feet on the saddle, clicked the TV onto the weather station, and tried to relax. Not that he could. Not with Zeke’s words in his head. Jacey’s letter burned into his brain along with the worry that her fledgling faith would wither and die if he didn’t do something.
He didn’t want to get married again. He was too busy for a wife. He didn’t even know any eligible women who would give him a second look. Even if he did, he couldn’t risk involvement. Not again. In his experience, the pleasure was not worth the pain.
Even if he did get lonely sometimes.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, felt and heard the scratchy whiskers and realized he hadn’t shaved again today.
Too busy, too tired, and too much on his mind.
Yeah. Like women.
“Huh!” The sound came up from his chest and out of his mouth. “Women.”
What was that old saying? Can’t live with them. Can’t live without them.
But he was doing okay without a female in his life.
Except for that one teeny cute cowgirl who owned his heart. Jacey. Who wanted a mama.
He groaned, his gut churning like a cement mixer.
Zeke’s online dating idea wouldn’t leave him alone. It nagged. It gnawed. It beckoned.
All through supper and devotionals and then while getting Jacey settled for the night, he’d thought of little else.
Was it really possible to find a wife through a computer?
He pondered that for a while. Maybe online dating was the modern version of a mail-order bride. Those had worked out okay, he supposed. A mutual agreement. Sort of a contractual thing. A man needed a wife and a mother for his kids. A woman needed…what did a woman need? He’d never quite figured that out with Pamela. Well, except money. Which meant security, he supposed. Yeah, a woman needed security. And protection maybe. Men were natural-born protectors.
“Daddy?”
The tiny voice jerked him upright. He turned toward the hallway. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I think I had a dream.” Jacey rubbed at her eyes.
Holt squinted. “Are you crying?”
His tough girl rarely cried.
He clicked off the TV.
Jacey sniffled, her voice small and wobbly. “It was about my mommy.”
Oh man. Holt’s cement-mixer belly dropped to the floor.
“Come here.” He patted his knee.
Jacey rarely mentioned Pamela these days. She’d barely been three at the time of his ex-wife’s death. He’d assumed she didn’t remember much about her beautiful mother. Maybe he should dig out the photo album and videos he’d kept for her.
Looking vulnerable and tiny in her purple unicorn pajamas, Jacey padded in bare feet across the hardwood floor and snuggled against him. He lifted her onto his knee. She didn’t weigh a thing.
A fierce protectiveness gripped him. Yep. Natural-born protector.
“Want to tell me about your dream?”
Her head swished back and forth against his shirt front. “It was sad.”
She must remember more than he’d thought. Holt’s heart twisted. He patted her back, smoothed her tangled mess of hair, and wished he was better at this parenting thing.
“What was sad about it? Your mama loved you.” She didn’t love me, but definitely you. “Even from heaven, she watches over you.” He hoped Pamela had made it to heaven.
Jacey twisted her head to look at him, expression bewildered. “No, Daddy. Not my first mommy. My new mommy. In my dream, Jesus forgot to tell Santa, so he didn’t bring her.”
Oh. That mommy.
Holt cleared his throat. The situation grew stickier by the minute. “Listen, tumbleweed, Christmas isn’t here yet, and Santa hasn’t come. So you just had a bad dream. It wasn’t real.”
“It seemed real.”
“But it wasn’t. Remember? We haven’t even put up our tree yet.”
“Oh, yeah.” A long sigh escaped his child. “Can we put it up tomorrow? With lots and lots of lights?”
“We’ll talk about it in the morning. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Good. He’d dodged another bullet. Thank you, Lord, for the Christmas tree. “You ready to go back to bed now and dream about that Christmas tree?”
“Uh-huh.”
“No more bad dreams. Only good ones. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Holding her against his shoulder, Holt carried her back to her bedroom and tucked her in again, lingering a minute to be sure she was settled.
She gazed up at him with trusting eyes. “’Night, Daddy.”
He stood. “Good night, baby girl. I love you.”
“Love you, too.” She yawned as she rolled to her side and tugged the purple comforter to her ears.
Holt waited a few beats before going to the door to flip off the light.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“He won’t forget, will he?”
His eyes banged shut. She was killing him.
Searching for a truthful answer, he finally answered, “Jesus never forgets.”
Before she could say more and make the situation worse, Holt trudged down the hallway, too stirred up to relax in his comfy, smelly recliner. Instead, he paced to the double window that looked out on his front yard.
Jacey’s trust in him was absolute. It hadn’t always been that way. He’d worked hard to earn her confidence in those early days when she’d been lost and grief-stricken, crying for her mother. He’d simply been lost. He’d do anything to keep that trust.
Her trust and faith in Jesus were even stronger. And there lay his dilemma.
Jacey’s faith was way more important than his aversion to marriage.
As if someone out there in
the darkness held up a flashing neon sign, the online dating idea rose in his head.
Dating and marriage were two different things. Could a man really find a wife on the internet?
Not a real wife with love in the equation, but someone willing to become a permanent mother to his little girl.
A fly-by-night nanny wouldn’t work. A kid needed permanence. Jacey’d had enough losses. He couldn’t let her be hurt again by women moving in and out of her life. A woman would have to commit long-term. At least until Jacey was grown. Twelve or fifteen years should do.
Yeah. Okay. He was warming to the idea.
Having a woman around to cook and clean a little and to teach Jacey some girly stuff might be all right. If the woman in question would abide by a few simple rules.
In other words, a marriage of convenience. A deal. A contract. No emotional entanglement. Jacey would get her mother. And the woman would get…what? Security. Protection. A good home. A good provider. A Christian man guaranteed not to abuse or cheat.
What woman wouldn’t want that?
Buoyed by this new realization that marriage didn’t have to be about love and all that messiness, Holt crossed the living room to his office.
After clearing off a pile of paperwork and unread ranching magazines, he found a paper and pen and wrote out a list of rules and qualifications. First, he wrote, must be pretty but quickly crossed that out. A pretty woman could be trouble. Pamela certainly had been. Plain was better. Ugly was perfect. But he wasn’t dumb enough to put that in writing.
Once satisfied with the list, he booted up his laptop and began a search for dating sites. Zeke had mentioned a couple of them by name, but Holt quickly ruled those out. They required a photo, and he didn’t want anyone, certainly not his rodeo pals, to get wind of this business. Not now. Not ever. He wanted to remain anonymous. Was that possible?
“Should have asked Zeke,” he muttered, pecking at the next dating service on the list. And then the next. And the next.
After an hour of reading, he sat back in his desk chair and stretched. This was stupid. He didn’t want to do this anyway. Might as well give up.
But what about Jacey’s prayer?
“Yeah. That.” Resigned, he turned back to the search.
Five minutes later, he gave a mini fist-pump. ”Jackpot.”
A dating site that favored personality over physical appearance. No photos allowed. Names and locations were optional until a match was made. Sounded promising.
He read and reread the particulars, and when he was confident this was an answer to prayer—Jacey’s anyway—he signed up.
It took him a while to create the profile. Getting it right from the start was crucial. No misunderstandings. Lay his plan out straight. Make sure the lady knew exactly what his intentions and expectations were and what she’d get out of the deal.
He typed in his nice, tidy list of rules and requirements, adding a couple at the bottom. Jacey’s wish list. After all, this whole finding-a-wife business was for her.
Satisfied he’d included absolutely everything of importance, he moved to the finish button. His finger froze, hovering above the icon, as if all of his considerable misgivings had suddenly flooded to that one digit. His finger actually throbbed. So did his head. Like a loud, warning drumbeat.
This was the dumbest thing he’d ever done. And he’d done plenty. Maybe he should sleep on it. Think about it some more. Talk to Zeke again.
Finding the right woman could take time. Time he didn’t have much of. Christmas was coming on fast.
Jacey was worth the possible humiliation.
Before he could slam the laptop shut and run out of the office, he clicked.
And the deed was done.
After an extremely busy Saturday, Monday was restocking day at Rachel’s Cards and Gifts. With the holidays imminent, cartons of Christmas decorations and specialty gift items arrived daily to fill the storage room and spill over into the craft room.
AnnaLeigh dragged yet another box of wrapping paper across the tile and into the main showroom. They’d sold a stunning amount at Saturday’s sale. Refuge, it seemed, was gearing up for Christmas, though AnnaLeigh was too anxious and sick most of the time to care one way or the other.
Her back ached, which added insult to the nonstop morning sickness. Morning, noon and night sickness. Did all women experience this constant queasiness?
Wishing she had someone to ask, she pressed a hand to her back and stretched.
At the register, Rachel, looking serene and pretty in a bright red cardigan and silver jewelry, bagged up a wreath for Meg Clifton. Meg owned the bakery next door, and the smell proved a constant torment for AnnaLeigh’s stomach. Behind Meg, another woman waited.
“AnnaLeigh, will you wrap this for Dakota, please?” Rachel indicated the waiting customer, who held a fuzzy pet purse complete with a stuffed white puppy hanging over the top. “She’s already checked out.”
The customer, who looked vaguely familiar, was about AnnaLeigh’s age, maybe a little older, in worn jeans and boots and a rough work coat that had seen several winters. Her thick red hair was scraped back in a snug ponytail that emphasized enviable apple cheekbones. She might have been pretty, but like AnnaLeigh, she wasn’t making much effort.
“Christmas wrap?” AnnaLeigh closed the distance between them.
“Please. Apparently these are the rage in first grade, and Ellie hasn’t asked for anything else, so I thought I’d better grab one before they sold out.”
AnnaLeigh took the toy and moved to the wrapping table, talking as she walked.
“Ellie? The cute redhead who participates in Cards by Kids?” So that’s where she’d seen the woman. She or an older gentleman picked up Ellie every week after class.
“That’s my girl. Ellie Skye.” The pride and love in the declaration shined from tired blue eyes. “You’re new in town, aren’t you?”
“Only been here a few weeks.” AnnaLeigh boxed up the pet purse and set it in the center of elf-printed paper.
“Refuge is a good community. I hope you’ll like it.”
“I already do. Everyone is very welcoming.” Without being too nosey. AnnaLeigh liked people. She just didn’t trust them much.
Dakota smiled. Hers was a weary smile from a face void of makeup. AnnaLeigh suddenly had a flash of Ellie’s Christmas letter to Santa. She’d asked him to bring money to her mama.
Sympathy pinched inside her chest. She knew about money struggles. Was having some of those herself. But she didn’t have a child to support. Yet.
A shiver of fear prickled the hair on her arms. Would she be able to provide for her baby?
Stubbornly shaking away the thought, she finished the gift wrap, adding a handcrafted multi-colored bow and a sparkly dangling snowflake ornament especially for Ellie. “How’s this?”
“Beautiful. Thank you.” Ellie’s mother took the gift and left the shop as a tall woman entered. AnnaLeigh recognized her as one of Rachel’s close friends and a regular customer.
“Hi Courtney,” AnnaLeigh said. “May I help you?”
“I need to pick up the gift basket Rachel was putting together for me.”
Courtney was that kind of woman. Tall, sophisticated, and uber stylish, any gift from her would come in a fancy basket or a designer box complete with a bow no normal human could tie. Today she wore skinny jeans atop five-inch heeled boots that made AnnaLeigh’s back ache. And she polished those off with a brown leather jacket, matching purse, and a giant plaid scarf. With fringe.
Courtney was, to put it mildly, so perfect, she made AnnaLeigh feel as attractive as a wet mouse.
“It’s in the back.” She motioned toward the craft room. “I’ll get it for you.”
When AnnaLeigh returned, the shop had emptied of customers other than Courtney who was saying to Rachel, “If you want a good laugh, look on LoveBug.com. A rancher somewhere is advertising for a wife.”
“What’s so unusual about that?” Rachel took the ba
sket from AnnaLeigh and started fussing with the bow. Anything less than perfection did not leave this shop. “Isn’t that kind of the point of online dating?”
“Yes, but—“ Courtney waved her hand and laughed. “Just read his profile. You’ll see what I mean. It’s hilarious. I’m into online dating myself and have read a lot of profiles, but this guy takes the grand prize for idiocy.”
Poor man, AnnaLeigh thought, to be ridiculed for being lonely. She quietly put away her wrapping tools, but couldn’t help tuning in to the conversation.
“You’ve made me curious. I have to look.” Rachel handed over the basket and moved to the computer behind the counter. “What do I type in?”
Courtney followed her around the counter and bumped with one hip. “Scoot. I’ll find him for you.” She laughed. “I’m way more experienced at this than you.”
Rachel arched an amused eyebrow. “I wonder why?”
Courtney pointed an index finger. “Just wait, I’ll convince you someday. It’s so much fun. A new guy every week if I want one.”
“I don’t think so.” Shaking her head, Rachel stood to the side while Courtney typed.
Curious, AnnaLeigh joined them. She knew nothing about dating websites. Like Rachel, it wasn’t her thing, though given her track record, she’d have been better off dating a total stranger online than going out with Alan whom she’d met face to face.
“Here he is.” Courtney pointed at the screen.
Rachel leaned in. “There’s no photo.”
“This site doesn’t allow them at first, not until you’ve made a connection. They’re into personality over physical characteristics.”
“Not a bad thing.”
“Well, this definitely is. Read what he posted. He’s either completely clueless or the worst chauvinist on the planet.”
The three women huddled around the computer. AnnaLeigh peered at the screen as Rachel read aloud, and couldn’t help noticing that Courtney smelled better than the perfume counter at Macy’s.
Considering AnnaLeigh’s queasy condition, any fragrance was not a good thing.
“Single, trustworthy, Christian rancher seeks permanent mother for his young daughter. Will marry and provide a good home to the right applicant. Contract required.”
Ten Rules for Marrying a Cowboy Page 3
