Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Praise for Fleeta Cunningham and…
Dedication
Marriage-minded man, 37, in good health, with comfortable income, seeks home-loving woman to share life. Should be accomplished cook and adequate housekeeper. Somewhat isolated ranch with good house and modern conveniences. Household includes elderly uncle, widowed brother, and teenage nephew. Address replies to R.F.D. Route 3, Santa Rita, Texas.
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Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Help Wanted:
WIFE
by
Fleeta Cunningham
Santa Rita Series, Book Six
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Help Wanted: WIFE
COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Fleeta Cunningham
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Kim Mendoza
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
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Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Vintage Rose Edition, 2014
Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-277-6
Santa Rita Series, Book Six
Published in the United States of America
Praise for Fleeta Cunningham and…
ELOPEMENT FOR ONE
“Well-crafted story...exciting plot...interesting characters …The love between the two main characters is precious, from beginning to the final, exciting conclusion.... I am now determined to read the rest of the series.”
~The Romance Studio (5 Stars)
BLACK RAIN RISING
“One of the most fantastic books I've read this year...grabbed my attention from the first sentence.... A memorable, entertaining, and well-written story.... An author of increasing distinction who will never disappoint her readers.”
~Two Lips Reviews (5 Lips, Recommended)
DON'T CALL ME DARLIN'
“A warm, thought-provoking book...an enticing hero and a wounded yet proud heroine. A realistic picture of 1957...an image of small town America that both warms and terrifies.... The best thing is she balances the build-up with a really good ending.”
~WRDF (rated Fantastic)
~*~
Books by Fleeta Cunningham
available at The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Elopement for One
Black Rain Rising
Don’t Call Me Darlin’
Half Past Mourning
Cry Against the Wind
Bal Masque
Close Encounter with a Crumpet
Help Wanted: WIFE
Dedication
To Herbie, who reminds me that I never walk alone
Marriage-minded man, 37, in good health, with comfortable income, seeks home-loving woman to share life. Should be accomplished cook and adequate housekeeper. Somewhat isolated ranch with good house and modern conveniences. Household includes elderly uncle, widowed brother, and teenage nephew. Address replies to R.F.D. Route 3, Santa Rita, Texas.
Cherilyn Bixby refolded the paper. She’d reread it so many times she knew every word by heart. Was she a total fool to have taken the chance? She’d begun to think so. Especially during the three hours and thirty-seven minutes she’d been sitting alone outside a darkened bus depot in the rain. A slight movement in the wire carrier on the other bench reminded her she wasn’t quite alone. Arabella was none too happy with their situation either.
“I’m sure he’s coming,” she told the cat sitting in regal disdain. Her words did little to reassure either of them. Rain continued to drum on the awning above, and Cherilyn saw the canvas sagging with the weight of pooled water. To avoid a possible deluge, she shifted to the opposite bench and tucked her fluffy skirts tight against her legs. Another foolish thing she’d done, changing from her serviceable grey skirt and pinstriped blouse to her best pink-and-white nylon shirtwaist. She’d wanted to look pretty, possibly even a little bride-like, for this first meeting with Cole Witherspoon. She hadn’t counted on the rain—or on the man she’d crossed Texas to meet being more than three hours late.
Another set of headlights appeared in the distance. Four pickups and a tractor had passed since she’d arrived. All had driven on. After the last one, Cherilyn had debated trying to flag a driver to ask for a lift into town. At least she could probably find a public phone booth there. It couldn’t be more than three or four miles, close but too far to walk carrying two big suitcases and Arabella’s carrier. I will wave at this one. I can’t sit here any longer.
Cherilyn had steeled herself to step out of the shelter of the bus depot porch when she saw the lights veer away from the highway. The rumble of a pickup engine accompanied, then overcame, the constant plop of rain against the gravel. The truck drew up to the side of the building. The driver’s window lowered.
“Cherry? Miss Cherry Lynn Bixby?”
She recognized the voice, and the mangled pronunciation, from their few phone conversations. “Yes, I’m Cherilyn Bixby.”
The pickup door opened; the driver turned and slid out, boots splashing into the puddles. He disregarded the two steps up to the porch, catching the corner post with one hand and swinging up to the rough planks in one move.
He whipped off a black Stetson. More than six feet of sinewy shadow moved forward. “Well, Miss Cherry Lynn, I’m Cole Witherspoon.” She took the work-roughened hand he offered. “Mighty pleased to meet you after all the letters. I’ve been right anxious to see in person the pretty girl in the picture.”
She took a step back to look up at him. “So anxious that you’re four hours late?” Cherilyn didn’t try to keep the sharp schoolteacher reprimand out of her voice.
Cole shook rain from his hat. “Well, now, I’m more sorry about that than you are, Cherry Lynn. Fact is, I debated being a good bit later than this, thinking I’d make a run back to the house and change clothes. Weighed it a bit and decided as it was raining like billy-be-damned—uh, beg pardon—as it was raining and not likely to stop, I’d best come on and get you, even without slicking up…” A raucous explosion of barking interrupted, followed by a shadow hurtling through the dark, and a black shape rocketed onto the porch.
Cherilyn ducked the sudden shower of muddy water shaken over her, but she couldn’t avoid the powerful paws against her chest, pushing her back to the bench, leaving her nose to nose with a large, muddy, gleefully wriggling beast.
“Reb! Down!”
“Get him off!”
“Reb! I said down!”
Cherilyn felt the paws drop from her shoulders to her lap, felt the blunt nails cut into the sheer fabric of her best dress, and finally felt the huge, squirming mass move away.
“Sorry, but Reb doesn’t much like it if he gets left in the truck bed. He just has to see what’s going on.”
“Your…dog?” Cherilyn wasn’t certain. The animal was bigger than any dog she’d ever seen.
“Yes, ma’am, best cow dog in the county, bar none. He’s part of the reason I’m late. Got all ready to come here and get you, and durned if the big lummox wasn’t missing. Reb won’t go off without a
reason, so I went looking for him. Figgered it was coyotes, or some kind of varmint in the corral or over by the barn. Didn’t see him, so I finally had to take the truck out and hunt him down. Found him, smart boy that he is, over near a fence line. Danged if one of my best calves hadn’t got hisself caught under the fence wire. His mama was bellering, Reb was yelping, and between ’em they were making enough racket to raise the dead. Spent a good two hours crawling through fence wire myself to get the little feller out. He’d a broke his neck or stayed stuck till he died, if Reb hadn’t found him.”
“I see.” Cherilyn did see, because Cole, for the first time, had moved into the light cast by the pickup’s headlights. His white shirt, streaked with grime, sported a three-cornered tear. The sleeves, rolled to the elbows, had burrs still clinging to one cuff. And his bolo tie flopped in a loose coil from a shirt pocket. None of those details took away from his lean, rugged face or the shock of fair hair he brushed back with an impatient swipe.
Reb suddenly made a curious step toward the two suitcases and Arabella’s carrier. Cherilyn reached out to distract him. Arabella, in spite of her placid nature, wouldn’t react well to the scent of wet dog and a muddy muzzle pressed to her carrier. “Come here, Reb. Come over here and let’s shake hands properly. You look like a pretty good friend to have.”
“Here, Reb. Leave things alone.” Cole called and the dog lumbered back. “Cherry, it’s kinda late, and maybe we should get moving. I think the rain’s let up a tad.” He paused a minute. “It’s mighty brave of you to come out here all by yourself to take a look at what we’ve got.” He rocked back on his boots and waved an encompassing hand at the wet landscape. “It’s a good life, not always easy, but a good one. I know most women want courting and flowers and pretty words. They want to hear about June moons and love and so forth. But I do believe that if two people make up their minds to treat each other decent, pay their bills, and find a little fun along the way, that’s a pretty good framework for a marriage. Probably stands a better chance in this world anyway than some of the lovey-dovey nonsense shoveled out by the movies. I’m as sure of that as I am the sun’s gonna rise in the east come morning. Your letters, they sorta tell me you take a practical view of things, as well.”
“From what I’ve seen,” Cherilyn replied, “life is often hard, but people do better when they have a partner working with them. I’m practical, as you say, but I believe every living creature needs affection and care. I think men and women learn that as life goes along. Sometimes they even learn it from unexpected places, like the movies.”
“Well, I can’t say I ever got that from a movie, but you being a schoolteacher, I bet you find lessons where the rest of us just don’t see them.” He gathered up her suitcases, one under his arm and the other in his hand. “Let’s head on to the ranch.” He started to reach for the wired box on the other bench.
“Oh, I’ll take that one.”
“That’s a funny-looking case. What is it?”
“My cat.” Cherilyn lifted the case with both hands and turned toward the truck.
“Your cat? Lord, woman, we’ve got cats at the ranch. Three of them in the barn. You didn’t need to go and bring one.”
“This is Arabella, a fine, pure-blooded Maine Coon cat. She came all the way from New England when she was just a tiny thing, and she’s no barn animal. She lives with me. She’s family—my family, at least.”
“Cat? In the house? Never had a cat living in the house. Nor dog, either. Don’t think I’d want to keep animals in the house with me. Better turn her loose in the barn with the rest of the mousers.”
Cherilyn set the carrier down. “Now listen here, Cole Witherspoon, I came clear across Texas in August, spent eleven hours in a bus hot enough to bake cookies, stayed here half the night in the dark and the rain waiting for you, wondering if you were coming at all, while you went to find a dog and free a calf. When you finally turn up, first thing that happens is your so-smart dog ruins my best dress, and you don’t apologize or even notice. I’m tired. I haven’t had a bite to eat or so much as a glass of water since eleven this morning, not that you bothered to inquire. You don’t even ask what my day has been or what this trip to the hills of Nowhere was like. You just take a glance at my cat and tell me I’ll have to put her in the barn! You didn’t hear what I said about Arabella being important to me—every bit as important as that animated bearskin rug you call a dog.”
“Reb? He’s a working dog. Earns his keep, and he sleeps out on the porch at night. Not a fancy, lounge-around lap dog. On a ranch, everything earns its keep. Can’t see some pampered, swanky cat doin’ much around the place.” He put the suitcases down. “Maybe you want to rethink this plan of ours? Go back home? Next bus won’t be here for four days, but I could take you into town to wait. Miz Haliday would likely give you a room. She keeps a boarding house that’s not too bad.”
Cherilyn bit her lip. Go back? Out of the question. The thirty dollars she had left in her purse wouldn’t get her back. And what was there to go back to? Nothing and no one. No job, no family, and no one who would notice if she came back or went to blazes. But abandon Arabella?
“I didn’t make this trip just to go back, but Arabella isn’t living in the barn unless that’s where I am. She’d get sick or die, and I couldn’t bear it.” Cherilyn softened her tone. “Look, sunsets don’t have any practical use, but life would be poorer without them. Laughter never made anybody five dollars better off, but it certainly eases a hard day. That’s what Arabella does for me, makes a hard day better or a bad time easier. If it comes down to her not being with me or taking that next bus back, I guess I’ll just go back.”
Cole stood up and clapped his Stetson back on his head. “Sorry, Cherry Lynn. I’m kinda prone to jumping up and deciding I know what ought to be done before I’m real sure what the question is. Try to hold back on that, but it’s just natural to me to run fix something, even if I don’t know it’s broke. To me, a cat’s something to keep down the mice in the barn, and that’s all there is to ’em. While it sounds kinda strange to me, I see you set a store by that cat. And if you’d come all this way just to go home because you couldn’t stay without her, I gotta respect your thinking. If you’re willing to give this arrangement a chance, I’m willing to overlook one cat. You’d keep her in your room?”
“I will. You’ll never even know she’s around.” Cherilyn exhaled the breath she was holding. “I’ll even forget Reb left his autograph all over my dress.”
“Let’s head back up to the ranch and see if the fellas left us anything in the kitchen. I haven’t had supper either.”
****
Cherilyn hadn’t slept long, but she’d slept deeply that night. Cole said the fellas got up early and were working as soon as the sun was up, so she’d set her alarm to rise before they did. One of Cole’s requirements had been an accomplished cook; Cherilyn knew she could hold her own in the kitchen. She quickly pulled on a plain blue skirt and blouse and left Arabella curled on the wide windowsill, with one huge paw dangling over the edge, her russet fur tickled by the pre-dawn breeze. Pattering into the kitchen in her slippers, Cherilyn located the percolator and got coffee started. The pantry needed some reorganization, but she found her way around it. Soon biscuits were in the oven, sending their own fragrance through the morning. Sausages sizzled and gravy browned as she rounded up two jars of preserves. The back door opened and a youngster with the coltish limbs of awkward adolescence ambled in, rubbing eyes still sticky with sleep.
“Bet you’re Uncle Cole’s Cherry, ain’t you?”
“And I’ll bet you’re Nathan, the nephew. I’ll also bet you’re hungry.”
He grinned, a lopsided grin that lit his face and gave charm to freckles and a snub nose. “Right. It’s Nate, and I’m starving.” He started for the table. “Is it ready?”
“Ready when you’ve washed your face, pulled the snarls out of your hair, and put on a shirt. I don’t serve breakfast to half-dressed young men.”
>
Nathan looked down at his naked torso, the ragged jeans below, and his bare feet. “That’s an awful lot to ask before a fella even has his coffee.”
Cherilyn didn’t answer, just cracked eggs into the blue bowl and whipped them to a froth. She lifted the pan of biscuits from the oven and put them to one side. The sausage sizzled as she turned it.
“Aw, shucks, Cherry, I’m hungry, real hungry. Abe cooked steak last night, and it was tougher than my boots. And I think he mashed pea gravel in with the taters. Nothing there to give a fella anything to hang on to all night.”
“Even more reason to hurry up and get yourself ready to eat.” She poured the eggs into the pan and turned down the flame under them. “Go on, now. Food tastes better hot than cold.”
Shaking his head at the peculiarities of women, Nathan trudged back to the screened porch beyond the kitchen. As the screen door slammed behind him, she heard the low rumble of the other men coming. Uncle Abe, well into his seventies, Cole had told her, showed his age in a weathered face and the wrinkles creasing his cheeks, though he’d kept a full head of hair. The widowed brother Davis was an older version of Cole, with hair a bit darker and eyes not quite as blue. Cole followed the other two into the room, but while he made sketchy introductions, the others were more interested in the mugs next to the burbling coffeepot.
“Cherry, I didn’t hardly think you’d be up this early on the first morning.” He snagged a mug for himself and poured.
“I’m an early bird myself. I like to get a good start on the day, and I thought I’d better see right off what all the Witherspoon men looked like. You gentlemen find hot biscuits with sausage and gravy all right with scrambled eggs?”
By the cleaned plates and empty cups left on the table, Cherilyn felt fairly certain her first meal in the Witherspoon house was a success. Not that the men took much time over it. From the conversation, she understood they were anxious to get along with the day’s work before the heat became intense.
“When will you be back for lunch?” she asked as Cole started for the door.
Help Wanted: WIFE (Santa Rita Series) Page 1
