With This Click, I Thee Wed (Click and Wed.com Series, #1)

by Bonnie R. Paulson

  The Jeep seemed to welcome being turned off. I opened the door and slid from the seat, listening. Would I be able to hear anything out there? Were there birds around that deep into the winter? With the noises from the highway muffled by the blanket of snow, I was denied even that sound.

  Where was I? I had read before I left on the Internet that the sunlight would fade between three and four in the afternoon in that part of the world. It had taken me so long to get down there, between having to pick up my baggage and then renting the car, and then of course not knowing the road down and nothing being familiar.

  Darkness would descend soon, and I still hadn't found my husband. That seemed to be the story of my life. I was always in search of my man.

  I walked around the drive. The loop circled around a bundle of bushes and what may or may not have been a swing. Hopefully, its true identity would reveal itself when the snow melted. I pulled my coat tight around me and my hood up over my head.

  As I wandered around the side of the house, a glow came from the barn and shined on the snow and pushed back impending shadows. All the lights were on in the barn with a warm, orange glow. I followed the sound of metal banging on metal, grateful to have a target to head toward.

  If I had the right address, I was moments from meeting my husband. I was so nervous, I stumbled in my boots in the layers of snow.

  Mild cursing filled the air as I got closer to the large doors. A man hopped on one foot in front of me and then disappeared again. “You daggum piece of —”

  “Hello?” I didn't want to hear any cussing. I left that at home with my dad. What had I married? A man intent on ruining the world? Doubtful. Would I recognize him? Was he one of those men who put fake pictures up on the Internet to lure unsuspecting women?

  All my doubts and insecurities whirled around me with the chilly breeze. Flurries of snow crept up under my jacket, intensifying my doubt. I still had time. I hadn't met him yet.

  I could still run.

  The cursing stopped, and it was decidedly still inside the barn.

  I froze, as if we both waited for the other to do something, but I already had. I’d called out first. I flew all that way. Why was I the one that had to make the next move?

  The man – no – my husband, Logan, poked his head out the side of the door with a sheepish smile on his face. “Hello. I'm sorry, I hope you didn't hear that. I'm not normally a cursing man.” He came further out through the doors, wiping broad hands on a rag which he tucked back into his rear pocket.

  A tightly knit, dark brown beanie hat fit the round shape of his head. His smile welcomed me with even and curved lines like a frame between his mouth and cheeks. His square jaw set off remarkably brown eyes that matched the deep chocolate hue of his hair peeking from beneath his hat by his neck.

  I hated admitting it, because I wasn’t feeling my best, but he was even better looking than his pictures online.

  Trying not to stammer, I adapted to the realization that I was seriously married to a hunk. “Hi, um, I'm Rachel O’Neil, or um, Kyle? Or... I'm not sure what I’m supposed to call myself.” I couldn’t hide that he’d struck me dumb. My attraction to him was instantaneous and more than a little idiotic.

  He needed a flaw. A big one. Please, have a flaw.

  We both laughed a little awkwardly, until he offered me his hand and I took it. His warm grasp enveloped mine, and I couldn't help but think of the saying warm hands, warm heart. Could I have lucked out and gotten a good guy? One that wouldn’t cheat simply because he could?

  “I'm sorry that I wasn't at the house. I was planning on having dinner and everything ready. But, then the tractor broke down when I was trying to plow and now I can’t get it started. I'm still behind on chores, too.” He lifted his hand and dropped it back to his side, seemingly discouraged. He looked at me with a slight degree of desperation. “I'm sorry, this is not how I wanted to welcome you home.” He offered another shy smile.

  I shook my head. “No, I didn't know what to expect, so this makes it easy on both of us.” I took a step towards him hesitatingly. “Is there anything I can help you with? I'm not sure what's on your chore list, but I'm a hard worker. I can learn.” It was hard admitting that I’d never worked on a farm before, but I was honest when I said I learned fast.

  Since it’d taken me longer to get there than I’d planned, we should have been on track to have dinner within the next hour or so. I didn’t want to check my watch like an obvious hint that I liked to watch the time. Was he the type of man who planned that kind of thing out?

  I had so many questions. I just wanted to sit down with him and get to know him, so I could settle into my new life easier. I didn’t know what was going on, but I did know that, as his wife, I should help him. If I could help him get his jobs done outside sooner than he would be able to by himself, then that was what I should be doing.

  I hadn’t brought any gloves or any clothes to work in, at least that I had access to right away, but I could still try to help.

  Logan offered me a side grin and his eyes scrunched at the sides. “That’s okay. I was thinking dinner in about an hour? What do you think of that?”

  I sighed in relief. “Oh, that sounds great. Is it okay if I just take my things inside?” He did have something planned. He probably had dinner cooking already and was just waiting for me to get there. Maybe a crockpot dinner or something. Dinner at five was a lot better than no dinner at all. I was very relieved he was a planner and I was starving. “Are you sure I can’t help out here?”

  “I’m sure. Just go on inside and make yourself at... home.” he shuffled his feet and then gave me a quick nod. Then he went in to the barn again. He looked over his shoulder and tossed back, “Rachel? Welcome.”

  “Thank you.” But he’d already walked inside and didn’t hear me. I stood there for an awkward moment, the crunch of my boots in the snow when I finally moved was louder than I thought it would be.

  My things had fit into the front seat of the Jeep, so I pulled them out and shut the door. Returning to the barn was hugely appealing. I wanted to see if the tingles would return when I saw him again. I couldn’t deny my excitement had surpassed my anxiety. My nerves over meeting him were squashed. He was a nice guy, and I had to say that I was definitely attracted to him.

  I lugged my bags up the stairs to the large wood door. Pushing inside, I expected it to be warm and bright, but I was sorely mistaken. The temperature was similar to outside and it was dark. There was a small glow from the kitchen where a lamp had been left on, probably from that morning. The house was set up with a large living-style room at the end of the house, closest to the doors. The room was large and spanned the width of the home.

  A fireplace with a rock mantle and hearth spread out like a skirt similar to the deck. The entire piece of art graced the center of the wall and disappeared up past the ceiling. There were no coals glowing in the fireplace.

  How long had Logan been outside working in the cold? I felt bad for him. He would be outside for who knows how long and then he’d have to come inside to a cold house.

  My luggage fell against my calf, and I stumbled forward. “Ow.” I was too tired to accept any disappointment. I had to make the best of it.

  Closing the door behind me, so as not to let any of the meager heat outside, I pushed my bags to the side and wandered further inside. The kitchen was the first room off to my right, with an open layout, huge cabinets, and two pantries opposite the sink and stove. I scanned the room, noting the disheveled countertops and overall dusty appearance of every surface. Lots of dishes and other items to make a mental note of...

  “But where’s dinner?” I spoke to no one, as if the answer would magically appear. Did he plan on coming in and making something?

  Nothing was running. Not the stove, not a crockpot, nothing. I had a hard time believing Logan would be satisfied with a salad for dinner. He was a man that needed a solid meal and most homecooked meals needed more than a few minutes to prepare.r />
  Had he meant for me to make the meal?

  The state of the kitchen suggested that was exactly what he’d thought or hoped. With dishes piled in the sink and overflowing onto the counter beside it, some with dried-on bits of food. The garbage can over-flowed with boxes of frozen dinners and other single serving containers, much like my life had been with my ex-husband.

  The table wasn’t even cleared enough to eat at. He must’ve eaten at the couch. or maybe even just stood at the counter and ate. Irritation tried to grow in my heart, but I shook it off. I was just tired, and we were two people that had never even met. We were going to try and share a home together. He’d been working outside all day. The least I could do was try to make it comfortable inside. Plus, it would be a good opportunity to get familiar with my new kitchen. I’d left Derek’s home and gone back to my mom’s house and I’d left behind the independence of my own kitchen.

  I missed having my own space.

  My travel fatigue would have to wait. I brushed the weariness and all the nervousness I’d been dealing with to the side. First thing was first, I had to get a fire started. We would never be able to make it in the cold without a fire. I was cold from my short time outside. I couldn’t imagine how he must be feeling.

  I pulled off my coat and draped it over a chair which was probably the only place in the whole kitchen and dining area that didn’t have something on its surface. I pulled up the sleeves of my long-sleeve shirt and nodded twice to bolster my reserves of energy.

  “Okay, come on, Rachel. Let’s be a good wife.” My words fell into the chilly air around me and I heaved a sigh. I could do it.

  I only had an hour or so, and I could do a lot to make a good impression on my new husband.

  What would he think of me?

  What did he think of me? I suddenly wasn’t so sure of myself.

  What if he didn’t like the way I cooked?

  Chapter 6

  The mess was atrocious. I totally understood bachelorism, but there had to be a line somewhere. I wasn’t even going to attempt going upstairs and viewing what that looked like.

  After a short search, I was able to find split logs stacked in a shiny brass bin leaning against the wall under a window by the mantle. A haphazard mess of newspaper sat beside it, which was my first hint on where to find the wood. I wadded up paper, and stacked the wood in a nice teepee style like I had always learned. Matches had been shoved into a nook between some rocks beside the hole of the fireplace

  Upon closer inspection, all the little crevices held something. If it was big enough for a quarter, a quarter was in there. If the hole was bigger, little items had been tucked into the holes like a miniature brass pig and a soft soccer ball that wasn’t bigger than two inches around. A small silver rooster hid in a hole. A glass shoe, similar to that of Cinderella’s glass slipper, perched on the craggy edge of another hole beside the rooster. I could stare at the mantle and its crevices for hours and not get bored.

  After a few tries, and maybe even a few curses, I finally got the fire going well enough on its own that I felt comfortable walking away.

  I glanced at the clock on the microwave. It took me thirty minutes to start the fire. He said he was going to be inside for dinner in an hour. I had a lot of work to do and I didn’t know what I was making yet.

  In the large kitchen, I could see how it would be daunting to keep clean. I literally rolled up my sleeves and tucked them above my elbows before grabbing a worn sponge that rested behind the faucet next to the splash tile.

  The gas stove had wrought iron burners that held the pots and pans above the flame. They weren’t too dirty, so I could use them, but what would I make? I opened the fridge expecting to see nothing more than empty shelves. I was pleasantly surprised to find packages wrapped in butcher paper and labeled clearly as bacon. Eggs, farm fresh brown ones, rested beside the bacon in a plastic bowl.

  Breakfast for dinner was never unheard of. In fact, it was one of my favorite things. If he had the makings for fresh pancakes, we would be in business. I pulled out the bacon and eggs and put them on the counter beside the oven. There wasn’t a lot of room to rest things and I raised my eyebrows as I maneuvered around the mess.

  While I got the bacon sizzling on a cast-iron griddle spread across two burners, I also started to dig around in the cupboards for pancake mix.

  I didn’t expect him to have all the makings for pancakes from scratch, so when I did find the pancake mix, I breathed a sigh of relief. I had everything I needed to make Logan dinner. With only twenty-four minutes to spare, I left the bacon alone on the griddle to cook for a little while longer before I added the eggs and pancakes.

  I could do this.

  I could finish dinner in that time and get some cleaning done, too. Then I blended the pancake mix with water in a large bowl that I found in another cupboard. There was only the two of us, but left over pancakes would be good for breakfast the next morning, or I could use them to make a fun form of French toast.

  Which would be more important? I had to prioritize between cleaning off the dining room table or finishing up in the kitchen. I would start with the table, at least one end would work to save time and again, it was just the two of us.

  I organized the pile of books and newspapers and magazines that were strewn about and piled them on one end. On the other end, I readjusted the tablecloth and found some clean silverware and napkins in the kitchen cupboards. I set up some tidy places beside each other, him at the head and me at the corner beside him, so we could see each other while we ate.

  I didn’t know my husband yet, but I was looking forward to getting to know him. Especially since we had six months ahead of us. All that time and it really wasn’t long. Would we have enough time? I wanted to push us along the timeline faster. Where would we be in four weeks? Eight weeks? That hour felt like it would spread out for the duration of the time I’d be there.

  What if dinner never started? What if I was stuck right where I was forever?

  I shook my head and studied the table for a moment. Okay, it would have to do. I only had seven minutes left to get the eggs and the pancakes going and to finish the bacon. I turned the strips of meat, their crisp scent filling the house.

  The cold began to dull. I cracked some eggs onto the griddle and scooped some mix on an empty space beside them. Allowing them to sizzle in the leftover bacon grease, I returned to the living room and added more wood to the fire, keeping the flames and sparks shooting upward toward the chimney.

  I flipped the eggs and pancakes to finish cooking. I then loaded the dishwasher – thank Heaven he had a dishwasher. If I had to do everything as medieval as I had starting a fire in the fireplace, he and I were going to have words.

  Actually, I didn’t mind, I just felt like being snarky. It had been a very long day already.

  Dishes were done, garbage was cleaned up off the counter. I didn’t have a chance to wipe them down before the eggs were ready. I found a nice set of plates in the cupboard over by the pantry, which I pulled down and dusted off. I would wash those up and we could use them. Just because it was breakfast food didn’t mean it couldn’t be nice.

  Then all I needed was syrup. I was a little uncomfortable digging through all his cupboards, but the man had left me with little choice. I opened the pantry nearest the fridge and stepped inside.

  There were two subsets of pantries. One that sat in the corner and was obviously the larger of the two. The one that I was in was only wide enough for me to stand inside and turn around. It was like an oversized closet with shelves that were stocked nicely with jarred items and dry goods.

  But no syrup.

  I chewed on my lip and closed the doors. In the other pantry, I found what I was looking for among a large list of other things. Soups, stews, dressings, pastas, different plastic bags, cereals, and a lot of other things I was sure that I would need at some point in my life. They had a food storage that was enviable.

  I couldn’t help wondering
what the freezers held. If he had any other freezers beside the one in the fridge, I had no doubt they would be stocked as heartily as the pantries.

  Grabbing the syrup, I closed the door softly.

  Only two minutes remained.

  What would my first question be for him? I’d love to know where his parents were. Or what his favorite dinner was. Or, oh, what about if he liked children or wanted any? We hadn’t even started our six months together, but I couldn’t help wondering about children. I’d always wanted them, but Derek said he didn’t want me to work and be pregnant. He said it wouldn’t look good for him.

  I had worked so hard on ignoring the nerves curling in my stomach, but I was anxious and my long day edged in on me. I just wanted to sit and relax and get to know my husband. Derek hadn’t come close to attempting perfection.

  He hadn’t loved me.

  I so desperately wanted to be loved, to be appreciated. Dang, just to be liked for me.

  With one minute left, I plated our dishes and carried them into the dining room. I set his at his seat and put mine in front of my spot. I turned the plate carefully. I’m not sure why, but eggs always had to be facing away from me. It was just one of my quirks.

  I inhaled and sat down, smoothing my pants and holding myself straight. I desperately didn’t want to put up the wrong impression. I hope that he would be okay with me making myself at home. True, he had told me to do so, but what if it was just one of those things you say?

  Tapping the face of my watch, I glanced between it and the microwave digits. He should be in.

  One minute went past. It was okay. I wasn’t going to freak out. He wasn’t necessarily late. Some people didn’t have the time frame mindset that I did. The realization that I hadn’t married an over-planner didn’t take me by surprise, just added disappointment to my run of emotions.

  I glanced around the home. I was able to see past the clutter and the messes and actually see the items for what they were. Logan had a fine collection of antique items. Some of them looked as if they were brand-new. An old Coke refrigerator that could have been a replica held the position as if an afterthought beside a tall, brass lamp.