Wyoming Cinderella

by Melissa Senate

  He looked out at the faces staring at him. No one looked bored. All the kids seemed to be listening—really listening. And it inspired him. He talked some about what he did with that paycheck, spending half and saving half, and he saw a few kids taking notes.

  “When I graduated from high school,” he continued, “I left town and put myself through college in Cheyenne with two jobs, one working in the mail room of a big company. Within five years, I had my own office in that company. Within ten, I was a vice president. You can be anything you want to be. Let’s say you want to be an NBA player. Work for it. Who says it can happen for one kid but not you? Let’s say you want to be a brain surgeon. Make it happen. Mechanic—make it happen. FBI agent—make it happen. Anything is possible.”

  He then launched into how to trick yourself into saving your money when you wanted to buy a new bike or video game, how to put blinders on when it came to following your heart, following your passion. You just had to keep your eye on the prize and not let anything or anyone tell you it was unattainable.

  And then his talk was over, and Noah was actually hugging him. Sara had tears in her eyes and said she might have to ask him back every month. A bunch of kids came up to him to shake his hand and tell him they got a lot out of his talk. That they liked knowing it really was possible to make it on your own, that you didn’t have to be a golden boy.

  “Well, all that sounds good but forget it for me,” a kid with dark hair and hazel eyes said as he kicked at the floor, his hood up and his shoulders bunched. He wore a My Name Is sticker on his shirt, Jeremy scrawled in blue pen. “I can like what I want and I’m never gonna be anything. My dad’s in jail and my grandfather was in prison and I probably will be, too, by the time I’m nineteen.”

  “Your dad’s in jail?” Zeke asked. “That has to be rough on you.”

  The kid nodded and looked at the ground.

  “That stuff I was talking about—about what you like to do, makes you feel better, gets you excited. What is that for you?”

  “Forget it,” Jeremy said. “It’s not like it’s gonna happen.”

  “But it could. If you make it happen.”

  The kid rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna be a social studies teacher like Mr. Reinhart? Right.”

  “What’s he like?” Zeke asked.

  “He really knows his stuff. You can tell he really cares about what happened in history. And the way he teaches it is really interesting. He talks to us with respect, too.”

  “That can be you in five years. You graduate, you go to college, could be community college right here in Converse County, and you get a degree in education for teaching social studies in grades seven through twelve. You get hired by a school district, and suddenly you’re Mr. Reinhart, inspiring a new group of kids.”

  “That’s how it’s done? I go to college for teaching social studies?”

  Zeke nodded and pulled out his card. “When you’re a senior next year, you can call me and I’ll help you with the process of applying to college if you want. You can utilize your school guidance counselor or any inspiring adult who’ll help you. But if you need my help, you just call.”

  Jeremy’s eyes widened. “Really? Why are you helping me?”

  “Because it would have been cool if someone had done that for me when I was your age. My older brother tried, but there were five others to worry about.”

  The boy stared at Zeke, his expression having slowly morphed from wary to possible.

  “You decide your path, Jeremy. No one else. You.”

  Jeremy looked back at the card. “Thank you.” He nodded a few times, then put the card in his back pocket and walked away toward his table.

  “I heard most of that,” Noah said. “I could use you regularly with the program if you’re interested. I had no idea you could be so inspiring.”

  Zeke laughed. “Me, either.”

  “I think it’s the truest thing you can say to a kid—that you decide your own path. No one else. You. For a long time I let the crap I went through make my decisions.”

  “Yeah, I’m still doing that at age thirty-one,” Zeke said, shaking his head. Who did he think he was, giving advice when he couldn’t take it himself?

  “So stop,” Noah said. “Just decide to stop—make that your goal. When you come down to it, you’re just being stubborn at your own expense. And hell, I don’t even know what we’re talking about—specifically, I mean.”

  Zeke smiled. “I’m afraid I’m gonna be like Dad. That’s his blood is running in my veins and I’ll screw up a kid’s life. Make him feel like Jeremy.”

  “I’d think about what you said to Jeremy and then follow your own excellent advice.”

  If he wanted Molly in his life, he’d have to try.

  Chapter Thirteen

  On Tuesday morning, Molly stood in the doorway of Zeke’s office and cleared her throat. He was reading something on his desktop, his dark hair lit up from the sunlight pouring in through the window behind him. He looked so handsome.

  Her mind flashed to their night together. And how he’d left. Now it was time for her to leave. She wasn’t going to chase a man’s love. Either he did or he didn’t.

  All weekend she’d thought long and hard on what to do and this morning, when she’d been putting on her off-white wool pantsuit, the one she’d worn on her first day at Dawson Solutions, Inc., she’d looked at herself in the mirror and knew. Tears had welled in her eyes but she’d blinked them away.

  The same thing threatened now. Good thing the light application of mascara she wore was waterproof or she’d have raccoon eyes the minute she blurted out what she’d come to say.

  “Hi,” he said, snapping her out of her thoughts.

  She walked into his office, stopping behind the chair facing him. Don’t sit. Just say what you came to say.

  “Zeke, I love my job.” I love you. “But this last week has just been too hard on me. I’ve decided to leave Dawson Solutions and I’m happy to give you two weeks’ notice but I’d rather not. I’d like to finish out today by getting everything in order for my replacement and I’ll even arrange for a temp and list my job opening. But I can’t do this anymore.”

  He dropped his head in his hands, then looked up at her. “Dammit.” He shook his head and said dammit a few more times.

  She said nothing.

  “I was afraid of this,” he said.

  She glared at him. “Afraid that I’d quit and you’d be out a great admin or afraid I’d walk out of your life?”

  He stood up and came around his desk, leaning against it. “The latter, Molly. Of course.” He shook his head again, and stood up straight, then leaned again.

  At least this was rough on him. At least she had that.

  She lifted her chin. She’d thought about the various ways he could react, and her plan B was dependent on it. She had to admit she was relieved that he seemed to be tied in knots. Because she sure as hell didn’t want to walk out of his life. But she would.

  “Oh,” she said. “Well, in that case, you have until the end of the day to make something right between us.”

  A risk. One that might work in her favor. Their favor. Or one that would leave her where she’d been two minutes ago: about to quit, prepared to quit. To say goodbye to the dream that was Zeke Dawson.

  He stared at her, and she could see he was thinking about it. That was a good sign.

  Or again, maybe the queen of wishful thinking was at it again. She’d been her own fairy godmother but she couldn’t be her own Prince Charming. She needed him to realize what he had, what they had, and decide that whatever had him gripped in the past needed to be cast aside.

  “Five p.m.,” she said, then turned and left, nervous as hell.

  * * *

  For most of the day, Zeke had paced his office, his head about to explode. All day, he’d felt like he’d h
ad that little angel on one shoulder and the devil with his pitchfork on the other.

  Angel: Don’t let that woman walk out of your life. She means so much to you!

  Devil: You’re just like your dad. You can’t escape it. You’re going to be a terrible husband, just like he was. A terrible father to that sweet baby girl. It’s in your blood, your cells.

  Back and forth. Angel. Devil. Angel. Devil. Every time he thought, Of course I’m choosing Molly over a life without her, he’d be right back where he started.

  Scared of something that made no damned sense. He wasn’t his father. He wasn’t anything like his father.

  Yes, because you’re single. Because you don’t have children. Of course you’re not like him. But just wait...

  He’d been called a commitment-phobe since his first relationship back in high school. And with every woman since. He’d tried hard to overcome it with his last girlfriend but luckily her true colors had shown themselves before he’d twisted himself into a pretzel for her.

  Molly was special. Molly was worth twisting himself into discomfort for. Change isn’t going to be easy—isn’t that what you’d had to say to clients?

  At 4:59, Molly stood in his doorway again and cleared her throat. “One minute to quitting time. Either way.”

  No. He wasn’t letting her go. There had to be a way for him to get ahead of this thing gripping him, the thing that kept him up at night and sent chills down his spine when he thought about marriage, about parenthood.

  “Forty seconds,” she said, eyeing her gold watch.

  “Maybe we should go on a proper date,” he said out of the blue. He had no idea where that had come from but now it seemed like a good idea. “We can take it one step at a time. You have to admit that we skipped a few steps.” He turned all this over in his mind. Small steps. Yes. It didn’t have to be all or nothing, a huge rush into the polar opposite of his life’s plan for himself.

  She tilted her head, a bit of a smile on her face. “I’ll admit that we never did go on a proper date. And I happen to be free tonight.”

  He smiled, relief flooding him, and reached a hand to her curl, which was springing in her face. He tucked it behind her ear. “Me, too. Pick you up at 6:45?”

  “See you then.”

  She turned and left, the slightest scent of her perfume in the air. A proper date with Molly. That would mean dinner, perhaps slow dancing. He knew just the place to take her.

  And then afterward? Who knew?

  * * *

  All her life, Molly had been the “plain Jane,” the girl who faded into the background, even with her wild mop of curls. She’d been the woman in the beige pantsuit and sensible shoes.

  Tonight, she was once again going to be her own fairy godmother and turn herself into a hot tamale—which had meant calling in the big guns: Danica Dunbar.

  Now, one hour before Zeke would be picking her up, Danica looked through Molly’s closet. “My goodness, how many beige pantsuits do you own?”

  “Five, in various shades of ecru.”

  Danica laughed. “Well, no beige tonight, my dear.” She turned and studied Molly, tilting her head to the left and to the right, clearly thinking deeply about fashion and beauty—all the things Molly never gave a thought to. “Okay, so you want to be you, just enhanced.”

  “Me, enhanced. Yes, that sounds just right.”

  Danica nodded and slid things on hangers, occasionally pulling something out, shaking her head, then putting it back. Repeated that four times. “Wait a minute, what do we have here?” This time she pulled out a black dress Molly had bought years ago after reading in Wyoming Woman magazine that every woman’s closet should contain a little black dress. There had been photos of what that meant, and Molly had bought a classic sheath with a V-neck. It was more formfitting than she’d ever feel comfortable in, which was why she’d never actually worn it. “We have the dress. Now, the shoes. Please tell me you have a pair of black pumps that are not work-or walking-friendly.”

  “I do have black patent stilettos that my cousin Erin bought me for my bridal shower. They went with a black lace teddy my other cousin got me. Not that I ever wore that, either.”

  Danica stared at her like she couldn’t fathom letting such treasures go to waste. She bent down and shoved shoes around. “Oh, my God,” she said, emerging with the shiny pumps in her hands. “Yes! These are perfect!” She turned and looked at Molly. “Next, outerwear other than the puffy coat and the peacoat?”

  Molly thought about that. “I have a trench coat. The traditional kind.”

  “Hmm. I’m not feeling it for this outfit. I have at least five black wool coats. I’ll drop one off after we’re done here.”

  They might be worlds apart in many ways, but they actually wore the same size.

  “Okay,” her friend continued. “Outfit, check. Now jewelry. Earrings of your choice, perhaps a bangle bracelet, and you’re done. Then I’ll do your makeup—again, just an enhanced you. Natural but date-ish. Hair—loose. And here comes the Molly no one’s ever met before.”

  Molly laughed. “Even me.”

  A half hour later, Molly gasped at herself in the mirror. She looked exactly as Danica had said: enhanced. Her dress was a little sexy, in her opinion, and she’d never choose it normally for a date, but this wasn’t a normal occasion. This was her first proper date with the man she loved, the man of her dreams. The man she was going to make hers forever.

  “Oh, Molly. He’s going to faint. I’m going to faint. I’ve never seen you look like this. Not even on your wedding day.”

  “I might have gone a little too poufy that day. The poufy dress and poufy hair canceled each other out.”

  Danica was beaming. “You look amazing. You always do, but wow.”

  The best part? Zeke Dawson had found her beautiful and sexy as the “Molly before.” So tonight was all about showing him other tantalizing aspects of herself. If she wanted him to see he had other sides he had trouble accessing, then she could certainly do the same. Stepping out of the ole comfort zone—into the rest of her life.

  Molly knew a sexy dress and glossy lips weren’t going to make Zeke Dawson want to be her husband or Lucy’s stepfather. That had to come from him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Molly dabbed her favorite perfume on her wrist and behind her ears and she was ready. Any second now, Zeke would ring the doorbell and the night she’d been dreaming of since she was thirteen was finally going to happen.

  Her parents were babysitting Lucy. She’d told her Mom all about falling for Zeke and how tonight was a first step toward things maybe working out between them, and Abby had insisted on watching Lucy overnight. Molly was not to even think about picking her up till at least noon. She’d given Molly a sly smile and a big hug before leaving with Lucy right before Molly started getting dressed for the big event.

  The doorbell rang.

  When she opened it, Zeke gasped.

  She laughed. “I clean up well, huh?”

  “You sure do. You look absolutely stunning. You always do, Molly. But tonight—whoa.”

  “You look amazing yourself.” And he did. He wore dark pants and a charcoal button-down shirt with a jacket, his wool overcoat.

  “I’ve made reservations for 7:15 at Arabella’s in Prairie City. You once mentioned you’ve always wanted to go there.”

  Only the most romantic restaurant in Converse County. There was even a gazebo-like dance floor adjacent to the dining room.

  He helped her into her snazzy black wool coat—thank you, Danica—and out they went. On the way to the restaurant, Zeke put music on low and they started chatting easily like old times about everything and anything—their favorite bands, TV shows, what was binge-worthy and all the restaurants they’d been to in the area. Zeke hadn’t been to many in the short time he’d been back.

  “Well, if
we have a second date, we can go to Margarita’s Mexican Café,” Molly said. “The food is so good.” She tilted her head. “Oh,” she added. “That’s where your parents met. I’m not sure if it has good or bad associations for you.”

  There would be a second date. There had to be. And a third. And a millionth.

  “It’s a sweet story,” he said. “Their marriage might not have lasted, but that’s my history in Margarita’s.”

  “I guess I shouldn’t remind you of our history in margaritas,” she said with a slight smile. “The drink.”

  “I like to be reminded of that night, Molly,” he said very seriously. “I’m not proud of how I reacted the morning after, but I’ll never forget that night. It was very special to me.”

  She was so surprised she couldn’t speak for a second. “Me, too,” was all she could manage.

  “You know what I did this past Saturday?” he asked. “I did something that knocked some sense into me.”

  The Teen Rancher’s Summit. He’d mentioned his brother Noah had asked him to give a talk and that he was looking forward to it. “The talk to the at-risk teenagers?” she said as though she didn’t have even his non‒work schedule committed to memory.

  He nodded. “It went very well. And afterward, I was talking to a kid named Jeremy, sixteen years old, who couldn’t seem to see beyond his everyday world, and the advice I gave him was that he decides his path, no one else. His future is up to him.”

  “That’s beautiful and powerful advice.” Please apply it to yourself. Please.

  His smile was so warm that she wanted to reach out and squeeze his hand. “And between that talk with Jeremy and you about to quit my life, I got to thinking that I should mean what I say. I’ve got to let go of the past, how I was raised, the bad memories. I can’t be controlled by what my father did or didn’t do. And it’s possible I’ve been using all that as an excuse to avoid commitment. I’m thirty-one and the longest relationship I’ve had is six months.”