by Seton, Cora
He still hadn’t told his brothers he was coming home. In fact, he hadn’t answered any of their messages since the beginning of his last mission—that wild ride on the Afghan border that ended in an extended jaunt behind enemy lines. He’d meant to reconnect with his brothers and mother after he’d been shipped back stateside, but he hadn’t been able to make himself reach out to them, and they were used to him dropping out of view. He simply wasn’t ready to face the past yet and he knew he had to do so before he could build a new future. He’d pretended he was still on a mission—out of reach of any phone or Internet connection—and borrowed himself some more time.
He’d missed Christmas, but it was still two days until New Year’s—at least he’d get to celebrate that holiday in Chance Creek. As he stepped off the plane he took a deep breath and filled his lungs with cold, crisp Montana air.
Inside the airport, renting a car was a hassle as usual, but when he’d loaded his gear and pulled out of the parking lot, traffic thinned out and he had plenty of time to think. He knew he should call ahead and warn his brothers of his arrival, but he couldn’t seem to pick up the phone. Tanner was right; he wasn’t ready to go through with this. When he reached the turn off for Crescent Hall, he hit the gas instead of the brakes.
For miles he tried to force himself to turn around, but his fingers clutched the wheel like a flotation device as he tossed in the stormy seas of his guilt. Colt drove all the way to Billings to try to outrace the pain of his memories. Finally he gave up pretending he would turn back.
He needed more time.
He pulled into the parking lot of the Four Spruces motel off the main strip of Billings, hoping to find a safe haven within the anonymity of its walls. After booking himself in and taking a quick trip down the street to stock up on basic provisions, he returned to the room, took off his coat, sat down heavily on the end of the bed and pulled out his cell phone. Maybe it was best to ease back into civilian existence. He’d start with the messages that had piled up for months.
Most were junk and easily dealt with, although their sheer number meant more than an hour passed while he trashed them. With those cleared away, he started with the messages his family had sent. Some of the news surprised him. He’d known before he left on his mission that Austin had met a woman, but now he found out that they’d married and were expecting a child. Zane had married, too—to a woman named Storm, who was also expecting. He had notes from several of his brothers reminding him it was his turn next.
There was a sweet note from Regan, Mason’s wife, wishing him well and saying she hoped he came home soon. She didn’t nag him to find a wife, and he thought she honestly meant she’d be pleased to see him. Regan was one of the good ones.
After the batch of messages that had come around the time of Zane’s wedding in November the notes thinned out even more, although nearly everyone wrote in early December that they hoped he’d be home for the holidays. Everyone except Austin, that is. He hadn’t written once since August, Colt noted with a frown. Zane, however, wrote frequently throughout the period Colt was incommunicado and some of his messages were downright unnerving.
Take the next leave you can get and come home. Don’t worry about a wife. You’re needed here. That one was from September. You’re needed here. What was that supposed to mean?
Zane had written again in October: I know your career means everything, but there’s something else that needs your attention. Come home.
Was someone sick? His mom? She’d written him just a couple of weeks ago and her note was cheerful, full of news from Florida and wishes to see him soon. Julie was the type to hide an illness, though.
In November: Wherever you are, get the job done and come home.
But it was his latest note that had Colt tense with worry.
Too much time is passing. You’re going to lose your chance to make this right. I mean it, Colt. Do whatever it takes, but get back to Chance Creek.
His chance to make this right? Make what right? His mind flashed to his father’s death and his heartrate picked up. Colt bitterly regretted ever confessing to Zane that he’d been with Heather. Maybe Zane blamed him for Aaron’s death now too. Had he told their brothers? Were they angry at him?
He surged up from the bed and grabbed a beer out of the small refrigerator across the room, thankful he’d thought to pick up a six-pack. He needed it.
His fingers itched to call home, but at the same time that was the last thing he wanted to do. Instead of placing the call he thumbed through more messages, but stopped when he realized what they were.
Answers to his wife-wanted ad.
Dear Colt,
A cowboy stole my heart once, but he walked out my door when I was only seventeen and I’ve missed his brand of loving ever since. Could you be the cowboy who will bring my heart back to me? I could use a man like that right now.
I’m a strong, independent, loyal and loving country girl who is ready to live the ranch life with you for as long as you’ll have me. I don’t need diamonds or a fancy wedding, and I’ve always liked the back seat of an old Impala better than a soft bed in a four-star hotel. You’re looking for something simple and temporary. I can be simple and temporary. I can be complicated and permanent, too. It’s up to you.
How about you toss your hat in the ring and give us a try? You might be surprised what you find out about yourself.
Helena Warner
Heather sat back and took a deep breath as she scanned her answer to Colt’s ad. It had taken a lot of trial and error—and a lot of swearing—to set up the fake persona she was using to hide her tracks. She’d bought a stock photo to send to him of a woman who bore her a slight resemblance, picked a name with the same initials as hers, then set up a new e-mail account to match.
If her plan worked, she’d lure him in and get him interested in her as a single mother. Once he got used to the idea that the woman he was attracted to had a thirteen-year-old son, she’d reveal herself—and Richard—and hope that Colt had fallen so in love with her he didn’t turn tail and run.
She wondered if her response would grab his attention. Would he catch her reference to their one teenage tryst in the back seat of her mother’s car, or would her note be buried in all the other replies to his ad? He was too damn handsome—he might be overrun with would-be wives.
Heather’s hand hovered over the keyboard. She wasn’t sure she was ready to post the e-mail. Colt would probably—
“Mom? Mom!”
Heather hit send, then slapped the laptop shut to hide Colt’s ad just as Richard barged into her bedroom.
“Can I have the leftover pizza?” Richard skidded to a halt near her desk.
“As long as you have some fruit, too. Hurry up; we have to be at the airport by one-thirty.” That was close—he’d nearly seen what she was doing. She took a deep breath to try to calm her racing heart.
Heather stood up and followed Richard into the kitchen. She grabbed an apple from the refrigerator and tossed it to him before sliding the leftover slices of pizza onto a baking sheet and putting them in the oven to warm up.
“When do you think Dad will come home?” Richard took a seat at the kitchen table. She glanced at him, wondering if he’d seen Colt’s ad on her screen after all, then decided he couldn’t have.
“I don’t know, honey. Soon, I would think.”
“I wish we knew where he was.”
“I know.”
Colt’s work as an Air Force combat controller terrified her. She remembered when she’d looked it up on the Internet after talking to his brothers last summer. She’d barely breathed for days. A combat controller entered a region ahead of troops—by parachuting in or by other more dangerous methods—and then acted as an air traffic controller for everyone else. They worked under deadly conditions in hostile regions, paired with small groups of Navy SEALs or other Special Forces teams that had little chance of battling their way out again if they were discovered. Heather couldn’t believe Colt would put
himself in such danger, but the more she thought about it the more she understood why the Air Force would choose him for such a job.
Colt had always been capable. As the youngest he didn’t always get the respect from the others that he deserved, but back when they were teenagers, back when she was still dating Austin, she’d noticed his father always chose Colt when the job was really difficult. He flourished in a tight spot and his sharp brain saw things the others didn’t. His absolute confidence was one of the things that had attracted her to him back when they were teens.
“You don’t think he’s dead, do you?”
Heather snapped back to the present. “Of course not.” It was her worst fear, but the man had just placed a wife-wanted ad. He had to be all right, didn’t he? She wondered if he’d gotten in touch with his brothers yet. The last she’d heard, they were still waiting to hear from him, but once Regan told Mason she’d found his ad, Heather was sure Colt’s brothers would track him down. She pulled open the oven to check on the pizza. She’d stayed up more nights than she cared to admit worrying about Colt and all the bad things that could happen to him. She was glad she knew as little as she did about military operations, and she refused to watch war movies. The action sequences hit too close to home.
“We don’t know for sure, though.”
Her heart ached for her son. He’d never even seen Colt in the flesh. She knew Richard worried that Colt wouldn’t like him, or that maybe his father would think he didn’t stack up. Richard had taken to emulating his uncles in everything—right down to training as hard as he could on the side-by-side obstacle course Colt’s father had built for his sons on the ranch so long ago.
Already he’d developed new muscles in his arms and legs. He reminded her so much of the Hall men when they were young that sometimes tears came into her eyes when she looked at him. Those happy-go-lucky boys, always competing on that damn obstacle course, had turned overnight into men when their father died. She wondered what Richard would be like when he grew up. Would he join the military?
Her heart gave a little lurch.
“Mom? What’s wrong?” Richard peered at her. “Did you hear something about Dad? Is he all right?”
Heather fetched a plate and napkin and placed them near him on the table. She grabbed herself a banana. “I’m sure he’s fine. I was thinking about the past.” And the future.
“About when you and Dad were dating?”
You could barely call what they’d done dating. “Yes. I guess so.”
“When he comes home, will you get married?”
His words cut right through her. She wished it was that simple. No relationship—not that she’d had many—had felt as right as being with Colt. “No one’s talking about marriage.”
“All my other uncles had to marry to get the ranch. Dad has to marry, too.” He slid a look her way.
“Where did you hear that?”
Richard shrugged and Heather told herself she shouldn’t be surprised. Little pitchers had big ears and all that. “I’m sure he will.” She hoped Richard would drop the subject.
“Maybe he’ll marry you.”
“Honey, I think that ship sailed a long, long time ago.”
“Maybe you should try harder.”
Try harder? She was trying as hard as she could.
Chapter Three
‡
A cowboy stole my heart once, but he walked out my door when I was only seventeen and I’ve missed his brand of loving ever since. Could you be the cowboy who will bring my heart back to me? I could use a man like that right now.
Colt stifled an oath. Just what he needed: a romantic. He’d just finished clearing out his inbox when this new message appeared. Thank God they weren’t all like this one. He was pretty sure he’d already found his woman—one Melanie Monroe, who was plain spoken and matter-of-fact, just like he’d hoped for. Melanie planned to open a spa. The money she’d earn by pretending to be his wife would add up to the down payment she needed to get started. She was perfect and he hoped to sew up the deal before the day was done.
So far this Helena Warner woman wasn’t even in the running.
I don’t need diamonds or a fancy wedding, and I’ve always liked the back seat of an old Impala better than a soft bed in a four-star hotel.
The back seat of an Impala? Instantly his mind slipped into the past—to the one time he’d made love to Heather. He had to agree with Helena on that one; he’d give anything to be sixteen again with Heather in his arms—
No. Colt shook his head grimly. He didn’t want to go back, even to relive his one roll in the hay—or romp in the back seat—with Heather. If he’d never loved her, he wouldn’t have raced past his father that day. He would have seen him crumple to the ground, called for help, and Aaron might still be alive. Knowing that his father’s last thoughts about him were filled with disappointment had rubbed at him for years like a jagged pebble in his shoe.
He stared at Helena Warner’s photo. She didn’t just share Heather’s initials, she even looked like Heather—albeit an airbrushed, polished model version of the girl he’d known. She was blond, like Heather was now, but she was thinner than Heather had ever been, so thin her collarbones protruded. Colt suspected her breasts had been augmented; no woman that skinny was so endowed in his experience. The real girl had a body like an old fashioned pinup. She was curvy and sexy and delicious—without any need for silicone.
I can be simple and temporary. I can be complicated and permanent, too. It’s up to you.
The last thing he needed was complicated and permanent. He didn’t have plans beyond securing the ranch and confessing his mistakes to his brothers. He didn’t even know if he would stay in Chance Creek. That depended on the reception he received. He’d marry Melanie, not Helena, and certainly not Heather.
So why were his fingers typing a reply?
Helena,
I might be a cowboy, but I don’t have your heart. I’ve got nothing you’d want to have.
I’m not looking for romance, or for anything resembling permanent, so I’ll have to sign off here and wish you well.
Colt
That ought to scare her off. Colt deleted her message.
Just as quickly he hit undo.
He read her words again. As wrong as she was for him, he couldn’t make himself delete her e-mail. Her reference to the backseat of an Impala stopped him each time he went to press delete. Those few stolen moments he’d had with Heather had been some of the happiest of his life. He hesitated, then archived the e-mail instead.
Time to answer Melanie’s message. Might as well get down to brass tacks.
Melanie,
I can meet you at eight in the morning on January 7th at the Chance Creek Regional Airport with a money order for the first half of the payment I mentioned and a pre-nup for you to look over. Once you’ve signed the document before a notary, we will set up the wedding as soon as possible.
I expect all paperwork pertaining to my inheritance to be completed by mid-April. Until then you and I will live at Crescent Hall, my family’s ranch, as husband and wife. At the end of our time together, I will give you the second half of the payment and wish you well.
Colt
Heather’s phone chimed to announce an e-mail, and she straightened in her chair in the waiting area of the Chance Creek airport when she saw who it was from.
Colt.
Had he read her message, guessed who she was, and raced to get in touch? She hurriedly clicked on the e-mail but frowned when she read the first line. Helena. So he hadn’t guessed it was her. She scanned the rest of his short note. He wasn’t interested in her either. She’d obviously blown it by going for the heartstrings rather than answering his ad in the spirit in which it was written. Colt had made it clear in his ad he wanted a fake wife. Why had she made a play for something more?
“Mom, they called our plane,” Richard said, tugging at her impatiently.
“What? Oh.” She came back to the present and g
athered her things. They were flying to Colorado where her grandparents had retired and her whole family planned to gather for New Year’s. She followed Richard, thinking about her answer.
Because she would answer. Colt couldn’t shake her that easily.
Ping.
Another e-mail. From Helena. Colt sat up on the motel room bed and pulled his laptop closer. This time he’d trash the message—right after he read it. He’d made his offer to Melanie and he hoped she would take it. Helena wasn’t right for him at all.
Okay, you don’t want forever and you don’t want romance. How about a three-month-long adventure you’ll never forget? I’m something special, in bed and out of it, and I promise you won’t regret spending some time with me. Come on, Colt—if you’re not going to marry for real, your fake marriage should be something special, right?
Give me a chance.
Her words intrigued him. He looked at Helena’s photograph again and somehow knew it didn’t do her justice. She would look sexier than the woman onscreen, just like Heather did. She’d be more real—rougher around the edges. Just like Heather. She’d laugh at his jokes, match him drink for drink, and take all his hard-earned money when they played poker. She’d throw her head back when he moved inside her and cry out his name when she—
Shit. Who was he kidding? Colt moved impatiently on the bed.
Still, he read the e-mail again, and couldn’t help comparing it to Melanie’s earlier note. Melanie was all facts and common sense, like he wanted his fake wife to be. Helena was a bundle of energy and excitement. Her references to sex were part of the attraction. He’d been alone a long time and his body ached for female company as much as he tried to deny he wanted it.
Before he knew what he was doing, he was typing a reply.
Helena,
I’m already well on my way to being engaged to a woman who would suit me fine; she wants nothing from me but my money. Next week I’ll meet her at the airport and I suspect I’ll be a married man before the month is out.
But I’m not engaged yet.
