Hi, she wrote. Sorry I’m late. Upset stomach.
His fingers flew over the keyboard. Man, he was glad Mr. Simmons had forced him to learn keyboarding in seventh grade. Hope you’re not getting the flu. My hired hand has been out with it for nearly a week. It’s a nasty bug. Wouldn’t want you getting sick.
I’m okay now. No big deal. But thanks. That’s sweet of you.
Sweet? Him? Okay. He’d take sweet. So, you like kids?
Love kids. Always wanted to be a mom. Tell me about your daughter.
She’s a tough little wrangler, sweet as pie, kind of feisty, smart as a whip, and good as gold. Never a minute’s trouble. Unless you counted asking God for the impossible. I’d do anything for her.
Fact of the matter, he was.
She sounds wonderful.
She is. A thought struck him. What about you? Any kids?
A series of dancing dots in the chat box told him she was typing something. She took a long time, seemed to erase, and then start again.
When the reply came, it simply said, No.
He frowned at the screen. What else had she wanted to say?
Before he could ask, she typed, You say you’d do anything for her. Like marry someone you’ve never met?
Yes.
What if I’m not the person I say I am? What if I have baggage or issues or a stalker? What if I’m a criminal?
We all have issues and baggage. But if you’re a criminal, tell me now. My daughter is the most important person in my life. No criminals allowed anywhere near her.
Criminals give me the creeps. I’ve never so much as had a parking ticket.
A thought struck him. Are you worrying about any of those things with me?
The world can be a mean place.
Did she know that from experience or from watching the news? Bad experiences?
Again with the dancing dots. Finally, she responded with, As you said, we all have baggage.
Right. Should he pry deeper? Ask for specifics? He fluttered his fingers above the keys, thinking, and then typed, Anything I should know about?
I’ve moved on. Don’t worry. What about you? You have a daughter without a mother. Divorced, widowed, or none of my business?
Numbers one and two. Divorced, but J’s mother passed suddenly three years ago.
Oh, that’s sad. May I ask what happened?
He recalled the sheer terror he’d felt once the shock of that devastating phone call wore off. His ex-wife was dead. And his three-year-old child needed her daddy. Holt had been in Louisiana celebrating a bronc ride that had given him enough points to make another run at the all-round in Vegas. A run he’d never completed.
Pamela, my ex, he typed, hated bugs to the point of phobia. He’d teased her about it plenty. Had once chased her around the house with a cricket. No one knew she was highly allergic to wasps. Deadly allergic.
As angry as he’d been at Pamela for keeping him and Jacey apart, he’d never wanted anything bad to happen to her. He’d loved her once. They’d made an incredible child together.
She died from a wasp sting?
Yeah. Crazy, huh? He still found Pamela’s death almost unbelievable.
Horrifying. I’m sorry. That must have been a hard time for both you and your little girl.
Pamela’s death had been the single most devastating moment of his life. Jacey’s too.
Being a single dad so unexpectedly was rough going at first, but now J. is my main reason for busting tail to build this ranch into a top contender.
Contender? For what?
Rodeo. How much should he share?
Silly question. If he married the woman, they’d share everything. Well, except a room and a bed and all those man-and-wife things he tried not to think about. When J. came to live with me, I took my winnings and bought a ranch that belonged to my family when I was a kid.
No more rodeo competitions?
Only as a spectator. Don’t want J. losing another parent. She’s been through too much grief already.
You sound like a good dad.
Pride swelled his chest, and he hoped the good Lord didn’t hold it against him. I try, but a man alone only knows so much about little girls.
He’d taught his tumbleweed to tack up a horse and ride and lots of other things about horses and cows. Even though she was a little squirt, Jacey was dandy help in the barn with feeding horses and mucking out stalls and such. But to his dismay, she’d told him this morning that he didn’t know diddly squat about fixing hair.
Diddly squat. That’s what she’d said. Then, all by herself, she’d wrestled her hair into a tail with enough stray hairs sticking out to be a hay bale.
Which is why you need a wife? the stranger on the computer asked.
Exactly. Can you fix hair?
She responded with a smiley face. I’m a girl. We’re born with the knowledge. A brush in one hand and a mirror in the other.
Not if Jacey was any indication. But he liked the smiley face and her cute response. The woman was friendly and intelligent, if her writing was an indicator. And she held a job. That was important. He didn’t want a slacker, a woman afraid of a little hard work. Ranching wasn’t easy. Not that he’d expect her to work outside the home unless she wanted to. He could support a wife. He just liking knowing she was willing.
Nor did he expect her to work with the animals. Again, unless she wanted to. He was marrying her to be a mother for Jacey, not a farmhand.
The conversation was going well. His confidence grew with every reply she sent. This was going to work. He felt it in his bones.
Mostly, he felt it in the shoulder he’d ripped out of socket a couple of seasons before he retired. He rotated it. The thing got cranky during cold weather. Must be rain moving in with the cold front.
Still, he felt good on the inside where it counted. He liked this mysterious woman. She was cordial, easy to talk to—if typing were talking—and said she fit his requirements.
Holt figured now was the time to move things forward.
Would you be willing to exchange telephone numbers? I’d like to hear your voice. Was it as soft and sexy as his imagination had started to believe? Did he really want it to be?
He typed in his cell phone number and signed the message with a capital H.
Then he waited.
And waited.
AnnaLeigh’s heartbeat jittered. She stared at the phone number and the H. What did the initial stand for? Harry? She got a quick vision of the handsome British prince. Other than Henry, also the British prince, Harry was the only H name she could think of. And she didn’t know a single Harry or Henry in America under the age of eighty.
How old was this guy? With a six-year-old, he couldn’t be that old. Should she ask? Did she really care given the circumstances? After all, they wouldn’t really be man and wife, not romantically anyway.
Should she give him her phone number?
The questions tumbled through her head until her mouth went dry.
He seemed friendly, definitely loved his daughter, and was willing to work hard and sacrifice for those he loved. But he’d been divorced. Why? Had it been his fault? Or the ex’s? Or both? Traveling the rodeo circuit kept him away from home. It also, she was sure, brought him in contact with lots of interested women. There was something about a cowboy women found hard to resist.
But he’d promised not to cheat. That was important in any kind of a relationship AnnaLeigh entered, platonic or otherwise. At least, from now on, fidelity was important. Alan hadn’t thought so.
This guy wasn’t Alan. Thank goodness. Far from it. He was a cowboy on a ranch in the middle of…where did he live? Would she need to move again?
She liked her job, but if moving would keep her baby away from Alan, she’d pack up tonight.
Giving her head a hard shake, she muttered, “Only one way to find out.”
She put her thumbs on the cell phone’s tiny keyboard. If this guy turned out to be a nut job, she’d change her phone
number. Again.
“I’d like to hear yours too. Vocal inflection tells a lot about a person.” She typed in her number and signed it with her initial, as he’d done.
Then, pulse thrumming against her collarbone, she waited. When her ringtone sounded, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
It was him. She stared at the number on the screen for three rings before finally answering.
“Hello?” Did she sound as nervous as she felt?
“Hi,” he said in a pleasant baritone. “Thanks for sharing your number. I thought for a minute you wouldn’t answer.”
“Me, too.” Was she whispering?
“A little scary, huh?” His slow drawl was easy to listen to. Nonthreatening. Where ever he was from, he’d spent considerable time in the south.
“I have to admit,” she said, “I was nervous about answering the phone. Talking through the internet, anonymously, seemed easier. And safer.”
“You still worried about that?” He sounded sincere, concerned. “The safe part?”
“Maybe. A little.” She gnawed at the corner of her thumb. Maybe a lot. How did she know he wasn’t a killer who lured women with his cowboy charm and then buried them under the barn?
“Don’t be. No reason. I promise. I don’t have any way of proving that. I wish I did. If you can think of a way…”
That he was concerned about her fears settled them somehow. “I’m okay. But thank you.”
“You can do a background check on me, if you like. And I’ve got friends who’ll vouch for me, and a church family that likes me.” He chuckled. “I think.”
Church. Oh yeah. He was a Christian. “That’s nice, and it helps.”
“Good. So…feeling better about me yet?”
“Some, yes.” She laughed softly. “I’m not usually a coward but—“ She stopped short of telling him about the baby. Her little one’s well-being meant everything, was the entire reason for this insanity, but she couldn’t tell the cowboy yet. Their relationship would be over and done before it got off the ground.
“So,” he murmured, and the drawl sent a little shiver over her skin. “Tell me about yourself. You’re single, like me. I know that. And interested in a platonic marriage deal. Right?”
She swallowed a glob of nerves. “Yes. It seems kind of crazy, though. This way. On the internet.”
“I thought so too at first, but a pal of mine convinced me otherwise. This is kind of like the old west mail order brides, I think. Only more high tech.”
“I suppose that’s true.” She took another bite at the corner of her thumb. If she didn’t stop, it would be sore tomorrow. A sore thumb would wreak havoc on gift wrapping.
“Those marriages worked out okay.”
“Did they?”
He laughed. “Good question. As far as I’ve ever heard, they did.”
She liked his laugh. “I read a book about that in elementary school. Sarah, Plain and Tall. Have you heard of it?”
“Sorry. Not much of a reader. Though I’m reading a lot of kid’s books these days.”
“It was about a woman who went West to marry a man she’d never met. A man with kids who needed a mama.”
“My problem exactly.” He chuckled. “How did it work out?”
“Great. They fell in love.”
“Oh.” His voice went flat.
“Not that I’d expect that to happen with us,” she hurried to say. “I have no romantic expectations or interest. At all.”
“Good. Because as nice as you sound, that’s part of the deal. No romance. Strictly a platonic, matrimonial business deal. We keep our emotions out of this, and we’re both better off. Friends is good. Anything more and I’m out.”
AnnaLeigh’s throat tightened. The cowboy’s determined tone stung a little. He didn’t know her. Could be she was awesome. Maybe he’d fall madly in love with her the moment they met. If she wanted that kind of thing. Which she did not.
A voice whispered in her head. Never? You never want to love and be loved?
She gave the pesky little voice a firm shove. Girlhood dreams were a thing of the past. There were no knights on white horses or Prince Charmings in her future. The best she could do was to provide security for herself and her child. If it took a lonely cowboy with a motherless daughter to make that happen, she’d sign on the dotted line.
“I understand,” she said. “Rule three.” She glanced at the list she’d jotted on a notepad. “Make no demands on you, your time, or your money. You strictly want a good woman to raise your daughter. Friends only. Not friends with benefits.”
“Right. Exactly.” He released a long breath as if he’d been afraid she’d argue. “The rules are iron clad. You sure you’re okay with that? It’s crucial.”
“Completely.” As long as you’re okay with raising my child.
She didn’t say that, of course. Once she knew him better, as in when they were married and long after she’d moved to his ranch in rural Montana or Wyoming or anywhere but Colorado, far away from Alan, she’d break the news.
“You’ll sign a contract to that effect?”
Her heart jiggled. She swallowed. “Yes.”
“My reasons are pretty clear cut, but why would you be willing to do this?”
She hadn’t expected that question.
Hesitating only a moment, she murmured, “Rule numbers five and six.”
Apparently, the admission gave him pause. The line crackled in her ear. He was silent so long she thought he was about to change his mind.
Maybe he wondered why she was so desperate, as Rule five required. Or perhaps he was rethinking Rule six, the plain Jane requirement. Maybe he wanted a beauty, after all. Not that she was scary ugly, but if he needed to believe she was unattractive, she’d let him.
He was the one who’d made the rules, not her. And both were conditions of this bizarre arrangement.
Finally, he chuckled. “Took me a minute to remember what the rules were. Should I ask why so desperate?”
She gave him credit for not mentioning her looks. The desperation part was a different matter. Tell him and lose this opportunity. But she had to tell him something.
“I grew up in foster care, so I’ve always wanted a home and family. I’m tired of being alone.”
That much was true. And much of the reason she’d been with Alan.
A long pause hummed from the other end. Then he said, “We can give you that. Home, family, along with anything else you need to feel secure.”
Did she detect a hint of pity in his tone? Compassion she could handle—and use to her advantage, apparently—but not pity.
“Uh-oh,” he said. “Hold on a minute, will you?”
In the background, she heard a child’s voice. “Who’re you talking to, Daddy?”
“It’s a business call, tumbleweed. What are you doing out of bed?”
Business. Right. Only a business deal. Her chest ached a little.
“I’m thirsty.” The small, girlish voice was barely audible.
AnnaLeigh heard the cowboy sigh. Then he spoke into the mouthpiece again. “Sorry. Gotta hang up.”
“She doesn’t know about your plans?” AnnaLeigh asked.
“No. And that can’t happen. Ever.” He sighed again. “I’ll call you tomorrow, and we’ll talk about it more.”
“Same time?”
“What time do you go to work? I could call you in the morning.”
“I don’t have to be there until nine.”
“Is 7:30 too early?”
“No.” She’d be awake. She hoped she could talk instead of throwing up.
“Great. I’d like to get this deal settled. Talk to you then.”
That was it. He hung up.
AnnaLeigh stretched out on her bed, phone clutched to her chest, and stared at the popcorn ceiling while she pondered the conversation. The cowboy seemed sensible enough. Not a hint of psycho or even weirdo. He seemed normal.
Except for wanting a marriage of convenience.
His laugh was pleasant, not scary or suggestive. Kind of warm and sexy, actually. His love for his daughter was evident. She felt better knowing that. It gave AnnaLeigh hope that he might someday come to care for her baby, too.
Her conscience pinged. Was it wrong not to tell him about the pregnancy before they married? He loved his daughter. He wanted a wife and family. Maybe he wouldn’t mind if there was another child.
She latched onto the thought, making the cowboy a silent promise. She’d be the best wife and the best mother he could possibly imagine.
She’d make sure he didn’t regret marrying her.
AnnaLeigh stuffed another pillow under her head and shoulders, staving off a round of heartburn.
He hadn’t asked about her faith, and she was relieved. She didn’t want to lie, wouldn’t lie.
But like the cowboy, she had pressing reasons for moving forward. The sooner the better. Tomorrow, she’d tell him exactly that.
She was going to marry a cowboy.
And she didn’t even know his name.
5
When her cell phone chimed, AnnaLeigh was dressed for work and stretched out on the living room couch in her tiny apartment, a cracker in hand and the bathroom waste basket nearby—in case the crackers didn’t do the trick.
Weak and shaky, she couldn’t decide if she was hot or cold.
Did morning sickness last forever?
“Hello.” Slowly, so as not to stir the nausea, she propped her bare heels on the arm of the couch.
“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
The cowboy’s gravely morning voice sent a surprising shiver through her that had nothing to do with morning sickness. What was that about?
“Not really,” she admitted. “You?”
He chuckled, and the sound sent another shiver. AnnaLeigh felt her head for fever. She must be coming down with a cold.
“Not much,” he said. “I lay awake thinking of all the things we didn’t say and needed to. For instance, I don’t even know what state you live in, though it must be the same time zone as mine. And I’m asking you to give up all your friends, your job, everything to move here to my ranch.”
Ten Rules for Marrying a Cowboy Page 6
