The Most Eligible Bachelor: A Texas Love Story

by Bella Winters

  The piercing pain from the night before hit me again, and I winced, my hand automatically reaching for my chest as if it could somehow pull the pain out and relieve me from it. I squeezed my eyes shut, my head spinning. The car had pulled away from the curb, and when I opened my eyes again, Miles was watching me instead of the road.

  “Sir, are you…”

  “Eyes on the road, Miles,” I said, gritting my teeth against another burst of pain.

  “Mr. Ridder, are you sure –”

  I didn’t hear the rest of what he said. My vision blurred, and I felt like the world had somehow dumped me in a large carousel that was going a little too fast. I blinked, trying to regain some sort of focus, and was greeted by shifting images and bright spots. The heaviness against my chest only intensified.

  Am I having a fucking heart attack?

  I laid my head back and gazed out the window, the buildings looking like silhouettes of varying shades of gray. I felt the car pick up speed and turn sharply.

  “Miles, what are you doing?” I croaked.

  “I’m taking you to the hospital, Mr. Ridder.”

  I didn’t protest. The hospital sounded like a very good idea.

  I felt better. Not much, but enough to wish I could light a cigarette and maybe get a drink. The walls around me were surrounded by posters of the human body and motivational quotes telling me that my health came first, everything else second. I scoffed when I looked at the fake smiles of the models in the pictures, the frozen “jumping in the air” glee that was a little too happy for my taste.

  I need a drink. And a smoke.

  The door opened, and I shifted on the bed as the doctor walked in, holding a chart in his hands and flipping through the pages with great concentration.

  “Mr. Ridder,” he mumbled, frowning as he looked at my stats.

  That can’t be good.

  “How old did you say you were?” the doctor asked, looking at me from over the top of his glasses, his gaze making me feel like I was twelve again and being scolded for playing where I shouldn’t have.

  “Thirty-two,” I answered. “Isn’t that in your chart?”

  “It is,” the doctor nodded, flipping through the pages again. “The thing is, according to these reports, you should be fifty.” He looked up at me again. “Or dead.”

  “That’s great, doc,” I smiled. “Not much for bedside manner, huh?”

  The doctor placed the chart down on his desk and folded his arms across his chest. “Mr. Ridder, from what I’ve seen, bedside manner shouldn’t be your main concern at the moment. I’m going to ask you a few questions, and please try to answer them as truthfully as you possibly can.”

  As I possibly can? Really?

  “How many cigarettes do you smoke a day?”

  I shrugged. “Two packs, maybe three.”

  “And how much alcohol do you drink?”

  “I have no idea,” I replied. “In my line of work, there’s always some event or the other, and there’s always drinking.”

  “What exactly is your line of work, Mr. Ridder?”

  “Seriously?” I chuckled. The doctor raised an eyebrow, clearly not impressed. “I’m founder and CEO of Ridder Technology.”

  “I see,” the doctor said, jotting down something in the charts. “Do you get out much, Mr. Ridder?”

  “I’m always out and about,” I said.

  “Exercise,” the doctor stressed. “I meant exercise.”

  I wondered if sex counted, and was about to say that when the look on the doctor’s face made me think otherwise. Whatever this guy’s problem was, he was making me uneasy, and right now I needed to know what was in that chart.

  “No,” I said. “Listen, can you tell me the results of all these tests you made me do?”

  “In a minute,” the doctor said. “How about your diet?”

  “Steak and pussy,” I answered with a grin. He shot me a look that told me he was not impressed or amused. “Listen, doc, I appreciate the tough love antics, but I got enough of that growing up from my old man. So, let’s just skip to the part where you tell me what the fuck’s wrong with me.”

  The doctor looked at me for a beat, sighed, took off his glasses and blew out a long sigh. “Hypertension, high cholesterol, beginning signs of serious atherosclerosis, high levels of liver enzymes.” He stopped. “Should I go on?”

  “Yes, please do, only this time in plain English?”

  “You’re a step away from a heart attack or stroke that will probably kill you, Mr. Ridder,” he said, setting the glasses back on his thin nose. “Is that English plain enough?”

  I ignored my calls.

  For most of the day, I sat in complete shock on my couch, staring out at the Austin skyline, an unlit cigarette in one hand and the doctor’s words rolling over and over in my head.

  A heart attack.

  A stroke.

  Fuck, I’m only thirty-two.

  I couldn’t believe it. I remembered the warning signs, subtle but there, enough for any man to take notice if he didn’t have his head so far up his ass. Dennis had told me the drinking would kill me. Alice had tried to get me to quit smoking over and over again. Even my mother had commented on the stress I was under, telling me that it was the stress that had taken my dad away.

  Funny, I always thought it was his good nature and care for others.

  My mother hadn’t thought that was funny, and right now, neither did I.

  I laid my head back, rolling the cigarette between my fingers as I rubbed at my chest. Dying was not on any of my to-do lists. To say I wasn’t ready for it was an understatement; it fucking terrified me. Not that I didn’t have anything to show for my thirty-two years. I was a multi-billionaire. I could roll tobacco in hundred-dollar bills and smoke three dozen of them a day for years, and still I wouldn’t see a dent in my bank account. I was on top of the world, doing what I wanted, when I wanted, partying and fucking every night. Whoever said money couldn’t buy happiness didn’t have the money I had.

  Much good your money’s doing for you now.

  I frowned, suddenly angry at the doctor who tried to convince me to stay at the hospital for more tests. What the fuck did he know? I could buy good health if I wanted to. I could pay the best doctors in the world to turn all these test results around. I could pay the fucking angel of death to leave me the fuck alone!

  I snapped the cigarette in half and threw it angrily at the window. I felt my entire body shake, and my heart began to pound in my chest. I felt the beginning of sweat beads collecting on my brow, and there was a sudden crushing weight on my chest. I closed my eyes, took in deep breaths and let them out in long exhales. Slowly, my heart’s beating returned to normal, and the weight on my chest lifted.

  You’re going to kill yourself.

  I knew that, but had no clue what I was going to do about it.

  My phone rang, and I turned my head lazily to see who was calling. The word MOM flashed on my caller ID, and at that precise moment, I knew what I needed to do.

  You’re kidding, right?”

  Dennis stood angrily at the threshold of my bedroom door, watching as I packed my bags. I had called him right after hanging up with my mother, and he had wasted no time driving over and trying to talk some sense into me.

  “Nope,” I replied. “I’m serious as a heart attack.”

  “You can’t just fucking take off,” Dennis said. “Not now. Not with everything that we have going on.

  “I can,” I said. “And I will.”

  Dennis threw his hands up in the air and finally stepped into the room, grabbing my arm and stopping me in the middle of packing. “You can’t leave,” he said, stressing on each word as if he were talking to a lunatic. I thought it was sweet, if he didn’t look like a complete moron doing it. He reminded me of the kid I spent four years of college with.

  “I’m not leaving forever,” I replied. “It’s a break. I need a break.”

  Dennis shook his head quickly. “You don�
�t need a break, you need a second opinion,” he said. “You said it yourself, the doctor was an ass. Who knows what he would say just to scare you a bit. He probably has something against rich and successful people.”

  “So if I was poor he wouldn’t have told me I was killing myself.” I shook my head and went back into my walk-in closet to get a second pair of jeans.

  “Chance!”

  “I saw the results, Dennis,” I said, holding up my hands in defeat. “It’s not a lie. It’s not a trick. This whole thing.” I paused, gesturing around me. “This is getting to me, man. It’s going to kill me if I don’t ease up a bit.”

  “Then stop the drinking, quit smoking, and do some fucking exercise,” Dennis suggested. “Just don’t leave Austin. You can’t leave the company in the middle of what’s going on. We have shareholders breathing down our necks, clients constantly asking for updates and sending in requests, and three new products hitting the market in the next few weeks.”

  I didn’t respond. I couldn’t because I didn’t know what else to say.

  “Chance, could you just stop and fucking listen to me?” Dennis shouted.

  “I am!” I yelled back, slamming my fist into the wall.

  Dennis winced and took an involuntary step back. I felt my heartbeat pick up tenfold, and I gasped for air. I leaned against the closet door, closed my eyes and tried to control my breathing.

  “Okay, fine, I’m sorry, Jesus,” Dennis said.

  I waved his apology away. “Forget it,” I said. “Listen, I get it, okay? I know you’re worried, but that’s why you’re here. You can do what I can do, and you know everything there is to know about the company. Keep the ship afloat until I come back, and then we can think about my future life changes. But right now, I need to get away from everything if I want to hit that restart button.”

  His voice softened a bit as the reality of the situation set in. “You actually think this is going to help?”

  I shrugged, feeling my heartbeat return to normal as I took a few deep breaths. “All I know is that the company’s stressing me out. It’s probably why I’m drinking the way I am, why I’m smoking the way I am. I just need to get it out of the equation for just a little bit, and maybe I can kick everything else. Just a few weeks, that’s all I’m asking. Nothing too serious.”

  Dennis looked at me, and it seemed like we stayed like that forever before he finally nodded. Sighing and running a hand through his hair, he looked at my bag, then at me.

  “So, Booth, Texas, here comes Chance,” he said, unimpressed.

  “It’s been a while since I’ve been home,” I replied, finally finding the jeans and stuffing them in the bag with everything else.

  “So, your father dies, and you don’t go back, but a doctor says you might have a heart attack, and it’s home, home on the range?”

  “Don’t be a dick.” I frowned and cocked my head to a side. “And don’t get too comfortable in my chair. I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “Just do me a favor while you’re there,” Dennis said. “Don’t fucking die. I’m not coming all the way to Booth just to plant your sorry ass in the ground.”

  “Fair enough,” I said, giving him a hug before going through the door. “Fair enough.”

  Because I owned the building, I had an entire section of the underground garage closed off just for me. The only other people with access to it were Miles and Alice; even Dennis had been banned from it ever since he had decided to borrow my classic Jaguar and then crashed it into a tree while drunk. I remember telling him that if he had died, I probably would have still been pissed about the car.

  I opened the garage door and made my way past my prize possessions. The Ferraris and Porsches and Teslas stood side by side, while the classic ’65 Mustang brought up the rear. I wasn’t interested in them today, though. I was going back home, and I wanted to stay as anonymous as possible. None of these would have done that for me. Instead, parked to a far corner and covered in a tarp, was what I would be using on the trip home.

  I hadn’t laid eyes upon the old 1978 Chevy pickup truck since college.

  It had belonged to my old man, probably the only good thing I had gotten from him back in college when he had suddenly decided that I had become somewhat of a man. And a man needs to drive a real vehicle, he had said. I remembered the slight twinge of what I could only call appreciation that I had felt for him when he handed me the keys. It had been one of those rare moments I actually felt like I had a father.

  I loaded the back of the truck with my bags and dusted my hands across my jeans, feeling more than awkward wearing them along with my boots and denim shirt. At one point in my life, the ensemble was the only thing I would ever be caught dead in. Now, though, I felt a little out of place, and had a feeling it would take a while before I felt any better about it.

  The sound of screeching tires and a car door closing brought my attention around. Alice walked into view, carrying a laptop in one hand as she made her way towards me. She hesitated for a second, her perfectly professional gait wavering for a second when she laid eyes upon me, and then she smiled.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You look like my cousin Billy Ray,” she said.

  “I’m honored.”

  “You shouldn’t be,” she said. “He’s a dick.”

  I chuckled and took the laptop off her, chugging it into the back with everything else.

  “For a guy wanting a break, I really don’t see why you need that,” Alice said, gesturing to the laptop.

  “Just in case,” I said.

  “Well, it’s clean, just like you wanted. Only thing on there is Chrome, and you’re already logged in with a new account.”

  “Good,” I nodded. “Don’t give the account to anyone. Only you. Just in case.”

  Alice nodded and smiled. “Can I just say I think you’re doing the right thing?”

  “Careful, Alice,” I said, opening the truck and pulling myself up into the driver’s seat. “You’re starting to sound supportive.”

  “Just don’t do anything stupid,” Alice said, rolling her eyes.

  I stuck the key in the ignition, turned, and waited for the engine to burst into life. It took a couple of tries, but eventually, the old girl coughed up and sang.

  “You’re going to be okay,” Alice said.

  “I know,” I replied. “Do me a favor, lock up here, and keep an eye on the company.”

  “Don’t worry, but Dennis can handle things.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about,” I said with a grin. “Just keep your eyes on him.”

  Alice smiled and nodded. I gave her a wink, shifted gears, and pressed down on the gas. The truck lurched, almost died, then roared back into life as I pulled out of the garage.

  In the rearview mirror, I could see Alice watching me with a wide smile on her face. I wasn’t sure why, but I felt like going home was going to be good for me in more ways than one.

  4

  Ashlyn Carter

  I loved living in Ludwig, Texas; population not that many.

  Growing up, my mother had always believed I’d find my way out of the small town and make it big in the city. She’d tell me stories of what I was destined to do, who I was meant to become. Sometimes, I was big shot lawyer standing in court and bringing justice to the world. Other times, I was a talented artist, singing my way to the top of the charts and wooing millions. In some, I was a doctor, healing the sick and fighting the good fight. All of them were always successful stories, and most importantly, involved leaving Ludwig, a little spit of a town that she always hated.

  I hated to disappoint her, but in the end, I never left home. The truth was, I loved it here. I hated the big city with its noise and inhospitality, where no one knew who you were, and no one really cared. I didn’t want the crowd, the skyscrapers, the air that smelled like the world had a bad case of flatulence.

  Give me the small-town life any day, and I was just fine. I cherished the relationships I had
here, the mornings spent in my greenhouse, the nights when I could look up in the sky and actually see the stars that weren’t hidden behind the smog of the city. I liked being able to walk around without worrying about anything more than coming up with good conversation starters and wondering which book I’d be reading next.

  Ludwig was my kind of town. My home. I wouldn’t give it up for the world.

  “Hey, Ashlyn, beautiful morning!”

  I smiled as I walked past the motel’s front office and waved to Chuck, trying my best to keep the flowers in my arms balanced. I carefully made my way around Chuck’s pickup and set my bundle down, one by one. Chuck came out to greet me, carrying his signature red mug with the words ‘World’s Best Dad’ in bright yellow colors printed on it.

  “I see you’ve brought the lilies,” he said with a wide smile.

  “Martha says the guests love them,” I replied, nodding as I looked about the motel and took note of what I would be replacing and what I’d be tending to.

  “The few that we get do,” Chuck laughed. “Tell you what. How about you finish up with those and come in for some coffee and slice of apple pie? Martha made a fresh one this morning. Happy to spare you a slice.”

  “I’d love to, Chuck, but you know I need to be on my way,” I said. I glanced around nervously and mustered a smile.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, lowering his voice just a bit. “That son of a bitch stopped coming here. He knows better since the last time.”

  I tried my best to keep my smile in place. “Don’t want to risk it,” I said. “Better get to work.”

  I grabbed two pots of flowers and got to work putting out fresh flowers in all the rooms.

  The son of a bitch that Chuck mentioned was Earl Lee Greene. And he was what my daddy would have called “my piece of shit ex-husband.”

  In any other time or place, our marriage would have been a fairytale of the perfect Ludwig couple. We grew up together, our fathers were poker buddies and our mothers almost like sisters. Ever since middle school, I couldn’t keep my eyes off him and once we were teenagers, he couldn’t keep his hands off me. He was the guy all the girls wanted to be with, and I was just grateful to be his friend.