She sank back into her chair and sobbed. She knew she was right, but why did being right have to hurt so badly?
Chapter Fifteen
Three months later
Rachel stared out the window at the gloomy, rainy Seattle day. Luckily, Kitty’s Corner Bookshop, where she worked, was always cheerful with its shelves of colorful books, its cozy nooks and corners filled with overstuffed chairs, flowers and plants, with plenty of good light for reading. Potpourri scented the air and blended pleasantly with the tang of newly printed pages.
The bell over the front door jingled, and Kitty Conover, the store’s owner, entered. She furled her dripping umbrella, placed it by the door and shucked her sopping raincoat.
“Mail’s here, Rachel,” she called. “Take a break. You have a letter.”
Rachel deserted the shelves she was restocking. “It must be from Uncle Harold.”
Kitty, a plump woman in her fifties with graying hair and smiling eyes, shook her head. “This one’s postmarked Montana.”
After pouring a cup of Russian tea from the ever-present pot warmed by a quilted cozy, she handed it to Rachel, along with the letter, slightly damp from the rain.
“Take your time,” Kitty said. “Enjoy your letter.”
Rachel curled in a window seat at the back of the shop, placed her cup and saucer beside her and contemplated the envelope, addressed in Jordan’s childish scrawl. The letter, she knew from experience, would be printed from his computer.
Jordan had written her faithfully once a week since the day she and Wade had parted in Memphis. She had made Wade promise not to contact her, but he’d managed to convince her to correspond with Jordan, explaining that the young boy wouldn’t understand her abandonment.
Hell, Wade had said, he didn’t understand it himself, but he was willing to abide by Rachel’s wishes as long as she didn’t break Jordan’s heart, too.
Rachel always found Jordan’s letters bittersweet. She loved hearing what the boy was doing, and especially his accounts of his father’s activities, but they left her feeling homesick and discontent for hours—until she managed to throw herself into the activities of her new life. And until the next letter arrived.
Dear Rachel,
We had some snow last week, but the sun came out and melted it away pretty quick. I was glad, ’cause I’m working on my rock collection. Dad is helping me. I will enter it in the competition next month at the County Harvest Festival.
Last weekend, Dad sold a bunch of his cows at auction. They brought a good price, but it didn’t make Dad happy like it used to. Dad never seems happy since you left us. When are you coming back? Dad says I’m not supposed to ask you, but I was hoping you could be here for the festival to see my rock exhibit.
I hope I spelled everything right. I used the spell checker on my computer.
Love,
Jordan
Rachel smoothed away a tear with her index finger and glanced up to find Kitty staring at her over her own steaming mug of tea.
“Why do you read those letters?” Kitty asked. “They always make you cry.”
Rachel had told Kitty her whole story shortly after Kitty hired her, because the woman had become her friend as well as her employer.
“He’s just a little boy. He won’t understand if I don’t answer him.”
“Well, I’m an old lady, and I don’t understand, either,” Kitty said with a grimace, settling onto the window seat beside Rachel. “If I were you, I’d be making tracks for Montana the fastest way I could get there.”
“But I—”
Kitty held up her hand. “I know. After being married to Ray, you’re afraid of being a doormat all your life.”
“That’s why I came here,” Rachel said defensively. “To take charge of my life.”
“Honey, did Wade Garrett hold a gun to your head when he proposed?”
“Of course not.”
“Did he ever beat you?”
“No!”
“Verbally abuse you?”
Rachel shook her head.
“Tell you how to run your life?”
“And your point is?”
“That if you married him, it would be of your own free will, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, but…”
Kitty regarded her with kind eyes. “The best way to avoid being a doormat is to take charge of your life. Do what you want to do. If you’re not marrying a man you love because of Raymond Reid, then he’s still controlling you from the grave.”
Rachel flinched at Kitty’s piercing words. “I never thought of it that way before.”
“Well, maybe it’s time you did.” The bell jingled over the shop door, and Kitty stood. “Finish your tea, then back to work. We’ve got customers.”
WADE TURNED THE COLLAR of his denim jacket up to ward off the stiff north breeze, and headed from the barn toward the house. He pulled up short when he found Jordan huddled on the front steps, shivering in the cold, his face streaked with tears.
He lowered himself beside the boy. “What’s wrong, son?”
Jordan shook his head and swiped at his face with the sleeve of his jacket. “I know boys aren’t supposed to cry. I’m sorry, Dad.”
Wade put his arm around his son and tugged him close. “How about sharing your problem with your old man?”
“It’s Rachel.” Jordan tried to swallow a sob, but didn’t succeed.
Fear struck Wade and ricocheted down his spine. Jordan had been his only line of communication with Rachel since the fateful day he’d left her in Memphis. “Is she ill?”
Jordan shook his head. “No, Rachel’s fine. She loves that bookstore where she works. She even sent me the whole set of Harry Potter books.”
Wade breathed a sigh of relief. “Then what’s the trouble?”
“Tomorrow’s the festival, and Rachel won’t be here to see my rock collection.” Jordan lifted his tear-stained face, and his obvious unhappiness wrenched Wade’s heart. The boy began sobbing openly and buried his face in Wade’s jacket. “I’m sorry, Dad. I know you don’t want me to be a sissy crybaby, but I can’t help it. I miss Rachel so much.”
Wade clasped his son tightly against his chest. “Go ahead and cry, Jordan. I’ve shed quite a few tears over Rachel myself.”
His confession shocked Jordan’s tears away. “Gosh, you cried? But I thought grown men aren’t supposed to cry.”
Tears welled in Wade’s eyes. “Some things, like Rachel, are worth crying over, son. I love her and miss her, just like you do.”
The screen door slammed behind them as Ursula stepped out of the house onto the porch, tugging her sweater tightly around her. “Don’t you two have more sense than to sit out here in the cold? I’ve made hot chocolate and—”
She broke off at the sound of a car coming up the drive from the main road. “You expecting company?”
Wade stood and pulled Jordan up beside him. “Go on in, son. It’s probably those damned Realtors. I’ll get rid of them.”
He had started down the steps toward the approaching car when he heard Jordan shout behind him and thunder down the stairs. “It’s Rachel!”
Wade’s heart somersaulted in his chest before he stomped down hard on his rising anticipation. Afraid some blond real estate agent had falsely raised Jordan’s hopes, Wade grabbed his son by the collar as the boy headed for the slowing car. “Hold up, Jordan. It isn’t—”
The car stopped and the door opened. Rachel, dressed in jeans and a pullover sweater the color of her eyes, and looking even more beautiful than Wade had remembered, stepped out.
With a joyful shout, Wade released Jordan. They both raced toward her, and Rachel ran to meet them. Wade scooped her into his arms. Their lips met, and the taste of her sent his blood roaring through his veins. Jordan wrapped his arms around both their legs, hugging for all he was worth.
Coming up for air, Wade pulled back and gazed into Rachel’s laughing eyes.
“Still looking for a mother for this kid?” she
asked playfully.
“Sure am. But only under one condition.”
Her expression sobered. “Not a strictly business proposition?”
“No way,” Wade said. “Only under the condition that you let me love you for the rest of my life.”
Rachel laughed aloud. “Sounds like a heck of a deal to me.”
Their lips met again, and Wade was only dimly aware of Jordan running in circles around them and whooping with joy, and of Ursula beaming happily from the porch.
“What made you change your mind?” Wade asked.
Rachel smiled. “I realized when I found myself that I was lost without you and Jordan.”
“We’re a real family now,” Jordan cried happily. “Aren’t we, Dad?”
“There’s one thing missing,” Rachel said.
“What?” Wade asked in alarm.
“I’ve always wanted a dog.”
“Rachel, darlin’, if it makes you happy, we’ll open a kennel.”
With one arm around Rachel, the other around his son, and his heart overflowing, Wade led them toward the house.
ISBN: 978-1-4603-6790-2
MONTANA MAIL-ORDER WIFE
Copyright © 2001 by Charlotte H. Douglas
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* Identity Swap
Montana Mail-Order Wife Page 19
