Montana Mail-Order Wife

by Charlotte Douglas

  “Wow.” Jordan turned to her with awe-filled eyes. “You can’t remember anything?”

  “Only the important things, like how to brush my teeth and tie my shoes,” she said with a lightness she didn’t feel.

  “What about your family?” the boy asked. “Don’t you remember your mom and dad?”

  She glanced at Wade, who had stiffened to alertness at Jordan’s question. With his Stetson pulled low over his forehead, topping his rugged profile as he watched the road, he resurrected that warm, snuggly feeling beneath her breastbone. She longed to run her finger across his brows, down the strong, clean line of his nose, and linger on the fullness of his lips. Desire spun through her blood like whirling gypsies, flushing her skin and tightening her abdomen.

  Wade’s good looks triggered her longing, but the quality of his character fired her interest, and she silently inventoried his virtues. At the hospital, he had stayed by her bedside, comforting her when she knew no one else. His capacity for love for his son was indisputable, even if he hadn’t quite figured out how to relate to Jordan.

  He’d offered her a home when she had nowhere else to go. Last night after supper, when he’d thanked his neighbors for fighting the fire, they had responded with stories of Wade’s generosity and assistance, which they were happy to repay. All had exhibited respect and affection for him.

  Who wouldn’t be captivated by such a treasure of a man?

  As if pulled by her thoughts, his gaze flicked toward her. The intensity in his dark eyes rattled her.

  “Well?” He spoke with a strange hesitation, as if asking something he didn’t want to know. “Do you remember your folks?”

  “I don’t remember anyone. I wouldn’t know my own name,” she explained to Jordan, “if your daddy hadn’t told me.”

  “How did you know it, Daddy?”

  Rachel held her breath. Jordan’s question offered Wade a perfect chance to announce their marriage agreement.

  “I saw it in her wallet,” Wade said.

  His answer apparently satisfied Jordan, but left her unsettled and out of sorts.

  Suddenly Jordan’s small hand crept into hers. “Don’t worry, Rachel. Maybe your daddy will come looking for you.”

  Her eyes smarted with tears at the boy’s kindness, but before she could thank him for his concern, her bothersome dream loomed in her mind, and images of the unidentified man who’d called her Jennifer crystallized with too much clarity for a mere dream.

  She was remembering.

  The man’s identity remained a mystery, but her reaction, right down to the sweating palms she dried on her jeans, suggested that she’d loved him.

  Jordan squeezed her hand. “If your daddy doesn’t come, you can stay with us. You’ll take care of her, won’t you, Dad?”

  Wade glanced at her long enough for her to note the golden flecks smoldering in his brown eyes before he returned his attention to the road.

  “I—” he began.

  “I’m an adult, Jordan.” Afraid of Wade’s answer, she had cut him off. “I can take care of myself.”

  Wade raised one eyebrow, and his eyes sparked with sudden mischief. “I’ll remind you of that if you find a spider in your room or run into a grizzly on the porch.”

  Her fears lessened at Wade’s teasing, and her mood brightened. “Are you telling me chivalry is dead?”

  “Not dead, ma’am,” he drawled in a voice she recognized as an imitation of Leo’s, “but feeling poorly.”

  “Is Shil Ree going to die?” Jordan asked, with such seriousness that Rachel stifled a laugh.

  “Chivalry,” Wade explained, “is acting polite and considerate toward others.”

  “Like your father was to me,” Rachel added, “when he invited me to your ranch because I don’t know where my home is.”

  Jordan tilted his chin and considered her with a sorrowful gaze. “Are you lost, Rachel?”

  The question floored her. In a single word, Jordan had captured the sum total of her amnesia.

  “Hey, what kind of shopping trip is this?” Wade asked before she could respond. “You two have faces as long as Emmaline.”

  Jordan giggled.

  “Who’s Emmaline?” Rachel was glad to shove aside the coldness Jordan’s question had caused.

  Jordan giggled again. “Daddy’s old cow. And I mean really old.”

  Rachel glanced at Wade in surprise. “You name your cattle?”

  “Not all of them,” he said a bit too casually. “But I helped deliver Emmaline. Raised her from a calf.”

  “She’s a pet?”

  “Not really.” From the affection in his voice, she guessed otherwise. “I just never could send her to the slaughterhouse.”

  Rachel smiled with satisfaction. For all his rugged looks and man-of-steel muscles, Wade Garrett had a marshmallow core, sweet and soft. The notion pleased her, renewing her hope. Maybe he wouldn’t have the heart to break their agreement and send her away.

  From what little her dream had revealed of her former life, returning to it wasn’t an option, even if her full memory came back. Every day strengthened her inclination to remain with Wade. And if he let her stay, she’d bust her bones to make him and Jordan happy.

  Or die trying.

  WITH A SAD HEART, Wade watched Rachel and Jordan laughing together. How unlucky could he be? He’d found the perfect mother for his unhappy son, only to discover she wasn’t the woman who’d agreed to his marriage bargain.

  That puzzle had kept him awake most of the night, tossing and turning until his sheets were knotted. In the predawn darkness, he’d placed a call to Dr. Sinclair at the hospital before she began her morning rounds, and explained about Crutchfield’s visit and Rachel’s unknown identity.

  “Should I tell her we don’t know who she is?”

  The doctor had been firm. “Absolutely not. The poor girl’s suffered enough. You’ll either have to find out her true identity or wait till she remembers. Throwing another curve at her now could set her recovery back, maybe permanently impair her remembering.”

  He’d fixed a pot of coffee, not in the newfangled coffeemaker Ursula used, but the way his daddy had always made it, boiled on the stove in an old enameled coffeepot with a raw egg, shell and all, stirred in to settle the grounds. While the coffee boiled, he’d dispatched Lefty to the main gate with orders to keep Larry Crutchfield and his blue Mercedes off the ranch. Then he’d drunk almost the whole pot waiting for Dan Howard to report to work at the sheriff’s office.

  When Wade finally reached his old friend on the phone, he’d told Dan the whole story, and they’d set up a plan for the morning. Now all he had to worry about was getting Rachel into the sheriff’s office without giving away his hand.

  “Is something wrong?” Rachel’s musical voice broke into his musings, and he turned to find her staring at him, green eyes wide, forehead creased with worry.

  “Wrong?” He had trouble concentrating on her words when she looked at him like that.

  “You’re scowling at the road like it’s your worst enemy.”

  “Don’t worry, Rachel,” Jordan piped. “Dad always looks like that.”

  Wade glanced at his son in alarm. Was that really the way Jordan saw him? He rolled his shoulders to relax them and forced a smile. “Only when I don’t get enough sleep at night.”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Jordan’s expression fall. “Were you worrying about your burned timber? I’m sorry—”

  “Nope.” With a playful yank, he jerked Jordan’s hat down over his eyes. “I was thinking about what we’d do for excitement in town this morning, short stuff.”

  Jordan shoved back his hat and smiled. “For excitement?”

  “Yeah, for fun.” Wade warmed to his deception. “Now, Rachel here, we don’t need to worry about her having fun.”

  “Well, thanks a lot.” She pretended to protest, joining in the lightness of the moment.

  “It’s true,” Wade insisted. “Give a pretty woman a credit
card, turn her loose in a store and she’s happy as a pig in mud.”

  “You have a point,” Rachel agreed. “But what will Jordan do for fun?”

  “That,” Wade said with a wink, “is a surprise.”

  Jordan’s face lit up like Fourth of July fireworks. “A surprise? For me, Dad?”

  Wade nodded and swallowed an unexpected lump in his throat. The sight of Jordan’s excitement almost wiped the smile from Wade’s face. Hell, was there so little pleasure in the boy’s life that a simple trip into town could cause such elation?

  Guilt coursed through him. He hadn’t planned his scheme for Jordan’s amusement but as a ruse to get Rachel into the sheriff’s office.

  That the boy needed someone to mother him was more evident now than ever—ironically, since as of last night, his prime candidate for that job had been placed on the ineligible list.

  “I’ll only use your credit card on one condition,” Rachel said.

  “What?” Wade silently cursed himself. If he didn’t stop woolgathering, Rachel would guess something was up. “What condition?”

  “That you allow me to pay you back as soon as I’m able.”

  “That won’t be necessary—”

  “No bargain, no shopping.”

  From the look on Rachel’s face, Wade decided arguing was futile. “Suit yourself.”

  Jordan giggled beside him.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You made a joke, Dad.”

  Rachel laughed, too, an alluring sound like water bubbling over rocks. “Shopping for clothes. Suit yourself. Get it?”

  Wade grinned. Jordan laughed harder, and soon they were all laughing. With a start, Wade realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed like this. Or the last time Jordan had laughed at all. Damn. Rachel was good for both of them, and if his plan for the morning worked, he’d be hurrying her out of his life.

  Before Jordan became any more attached to her.

  Before he followed his son’s lead.

  With Rachel and Jordan singing along with “Mammas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys” on the radio, Wade turned off the highway onto Libby’s main drag. The street was clogged with shoppers, mostly tourists who flocked to the lake outside town to escape the summer heat. On alert for a blue Mercedes, he eyed the parked cars, but Crutchfield’s vehicle was nowhere in sight. Wade pulled the truck into an empty parking space in front of the department store.

  He tugged his wallet from his jeans, removed his credit card and handed it to Rachel. “Jordan and I will meet you here in—”

  “Aw, Dad, can’t we go with her?”

  With raised eyebrows, Wade looked at his son. “You want to shop for ladies’ clothes?”

  “For Sue Ann Swenson’s barn dance,” the boy said. “We can help Rachel pick out something special. She’ll be the prettiest lady there.”

  Jordan had that right. Rachel would be the prettiest woman there, even if she went wearing a flour sack. But the idea of helping her select a dress created too much intimacy for a man who was working hard to keep his distance.

  “I don’t know, son. Buying clothes is women’s work—”

  “Phooey,” Rachel said with a smile. “I’ll be spending your money, and if Jordan is going to be my date—” she pulled off the boy’s hat and ruffled his hair, causing him to blush with pleasure “—I might as well have you two approve my choices.”

  Wade couldn’t think straight when she looked at him with her head cocked to one side, blond hair blowing in the breeze and a soft smile on lips that begged for kissing.

  “Why not?” He forced a grin and followed Rachel and Jordan into the store, feeling as if he had lead in his boots and every soul in Jackson County was watching his back and guffawing at his predicament. At one time, Maggie’d had him wrapped around her little finger, leading him around by the nose, with him so lovestruck he hadn’t seen what was coming.

  But even memories of Maggie did little to cool his blood when Rachel stepped out of the dressing room. The green gingham dress with its fitted bodice and spaghetti straps matched her eyes. Her waist appeared so tiny he could span it with his two hands, and the full skirt over white, ruffled petticoats flounced above legs so perfect they made his mouth water.

  “Awesome,” Jordan breathed in approval, then he bunched his face in a frown. “But won’t you get cold?”

  Cold was the last thing on Wade’s mind. The sight of those perfect shoulders, lightly tanned skin as smooth as fine china, and the tiniest hint of cleavage had his blood simmering.

  “There’s a matching sweater.” Mrs. Grant, the saleswoman, flicked the sweater from beneath a counter and spread it out for Wade’s approval. “Green cashmere with gingham trim.”

  Rachel twirled gracefully in front of the three-way mirror and turned to face him. “What do you think? Mrs. Grant says it’s perfect for a barn dance.”

  Wade sucked in a deep breath and tried to act nonchalant. As far as he was concerned, she could wear the dress to the White House and she’d knock ’em all dead. “Mrs. Grant’s the expert. We’ll have to take her word.”

  A hint of disappointment glittered briefly in Rachel’s eyes, and Wade could have kicked himself for a fool. He’d avoided women so long, he’d forgotten his manners. He started to issue a belated compliment, but Rachel had already returned to the dressing room.

  Less than thirty minutes later, they exited the department store and heaped packages in the pickup. Some women, Wade knew, would have dawdled all day picking out a wardrobe, but Rachel, with practical good sense, had quickly selected jeans, shirts, a jacket, boots, shoes to match her dress, underwear and two flannel nightgowns. Not exactly a trousseau, but, he reminded himself, she wasn’t going to be needing one. Rachel, or not-Rachel, might already be married to somebody else. The sooner he and Dan Howard found out, the better.

  “Now, Jordan, it’s time for your surprise. Follow me,” he stated.

  Fairly jumping with excitement, Jordan fell in step beside him, with Rachel on the boy’s other side. They walked the two blocks to the sheriff’s office, pausing to nod and speak briefly to neighbors. Wade noted the speculation in his friends’ eyes as they spoke to Rachel, and he wished he could have introduced her as his fiancée, according to his original plan. He’d seen her questioning glance each time he omitted that information, but he’d save them both embarrassment later by a little awkwardness now.

  Between greetings, he kept a wary eye out for any sign of Crutchfield.

  “Here we are.” He stopped in front of the sheriff’s office, where two patrol cars were parked at the curb.

  “What are we doing here?” Jordan asked.

  “Come on in. You’ll see.” Wade held open the glass door, then followed Rachel and Jordan inside.

  Wade stopped at the desk of the dispatcher and asked her to tell the sheriff they’d arrived. Within seconds, Dan Howard, moving with the dynamism of a tornado, swept into the entry room. Although he saw Dan often, Wade was always taken aback by how little his high school buddy had changed over the years. His hair was shorter, closely-cropped to department standards, but not a gray hair marred his crew cut, and his brilliant blue eyes and boyish grin made the tall, well-built sheriff look like a mature teenager.

  “Dan, this is Rachel O’Riley,” Wade said. “And you know Jordan.”

  Dan shook Rachel’s hand, and if Wade hadn’t known him so well, he would have missed the flash of approval as Dan greeted her. The sheriff turned to Jordan with the same welcoming smile. “I remember Jordan as just a little feller. You’ve grown six inches since I saw you last.”

  Jordan gazed up at the uniformed sheriff in awe. “Dad said we’re here for a surprise.”

  “You betcha,” Dan said. “I promised your father I’d show you how we process criminals when we arrest them.”

  Jordan’s face crumpled and his lower lip trembled. “You’re going to arrest me, aren’t you?”

  Dan blinked in surprise. “Why wo
uld I arrest you?”

  Jordan swallowed a sob. “’Cause I burned down my dad’s timber. That makes me a crin-crinimal.”

  Dumbfounded by his son’s reaction, Wade stood speechless. He glanced away from Jordan to find Rachel glaring at him with accusing eyes.

  “How could you?” she reproached him.

  “But I didn’t—”

  Dan came quickly to his aid. “Horse puckey, son. You’re no criminal. Your daddy’s prouder of you than a grizzly with a fresh-caught salmon.”

  Jordan stood straighter. “He is?”

  “Sure he is. He asked me to show you around, thought maybe I could make you a junior deputy.”

  Wade breathed a sigh of relief when Rachel lost her disapproving scowl and Jordan straightened his shoulders. The boy grinned at Dan. “Can I wear a badge?”

  “You betcha. Now you folks follow me, and I’ll show you how we book a prisoner. Ready, Junior Deputy Garrett?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Jordan followed Dan through a door into a hallway that led to the back of the building. Wade motioned Rachel to go ahead of him, but she hung back.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I jumped to conclusions.”

  Wade raked his fingers through his hair, remembering Jordan’s tortured face a few minutes earlier. “It’s my own damn fault. I should have realized what he’d think.”

  Rachel nodded. “He’s a complicated little boy. Takes a lot of blame on himself, even for things that aren’t his fault.”

  “Like what?”

  Jordan called from the hallway. “C’mon. We’re going to have our mug shots taken.”

  The excitement in his voice made Rachel smile, and the sweetness of her expression had Wade’s heart doing flip-flops. He had to pull himself together before he grabbed her and kissed her right in front of Annie, the sheriff’s dispatcher, who’d broadcast the news in minutes, and by sundown, the whole durned county would know.

  Besides, Wade couldn’t afford to show his feelings. Rachel didn’t know their marriage was off or that she might be leaving them soon. Somehow he had to keep their lives on an even keel until the sheriff tracked down her identity.

  “Wade?”