“What have you been doing all day, trouble? I haven’t seen or heard a peep from you.” Her dad questioned her from his spot at the kitchen counter.
“I’ve been busy dad. I had things to do.” Chloe stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the kitchen activity. “Dad. Are we having pork chops, again?”
“Aw, come on Chloe – you know you love ‘em” her dad turned to her with a wink.
“No dad. I do not love them. Plus, we had them last night. I didn’t like them then, and I’m going to like them less today, because now they’re leftovers.” Chloe pursed her lips. This really stinks. She knew for a fact that Lucille never had leftovers, except on Sundays, and Sunday leftovers was okay.
“Well, well, well, I can hear a princess causin’ her old man trouble.” Josiah popped his head around the screen door, and shook his cap at Chloe. “That is no way for a young lady to behave!” He ran in and started chasing her around the table. Chloe squealed in delight and ran behind her father. He laughed and grabbed her, putting Chloe back in Josiah’s firing line. “Dad!” she yelled, “help!”
Just then Wesley walked in, and Chloe abruptly stopped hollering. He towered above her, sun-bronzed skin, and flashing Chloe a huge grin. “I heard a lot of yelling coming from in here,” he eyed Chloe, “You causing mischief, Miss Chloe Holt?”
“No. No, I wasn’t. I am annoyed that we’re having pork chops, again. This is the fourteenth million time, and I’m sick of them!” Chloe recalled her main gripe of the evening, and stood her ground.
“Hmm” Wesley looked thoughtful. “Well, that’s a shame.” He turned back to Chloe’s father who’d started to plate up the offending chops.
Josiah looked at Wesley and agreed, “It is. It’s a shame.” The old man shrugged his shoulders, and shook his head. Chloe’s father just looked bemusedly at both men.
“What?” asked Chloe, “What’s a shame?” they all just shook their heads at her. Staying silent, Chloe folded her arms and jutted out her chin. “Tell me. What’s a shame?”
“Well. I don’t know if you know about Mrs. Maybelle’s fair winning cream pie…” Wesley trailed off, as Chloe gave a small yell and jumped in the air.
“Really? Wes, do you really have Maybelle pie?”
He grinned at her, “Yep, really do. Josiah and I went town special for you, and bought it. But,” he paused, “I’m not sure you should be havin’ any, on account of you being all uppity about your dad’s food and all.”
“I’m sorry!” Chloe grabbed the proffered plate out of her father’s hands and carried it over to the kitchen table.
She ate happily, wolfing down her food. And, truth be told, it really wasn’t that bad. She wouldn’t have to put up with it for very long, she reminded herself. She might have a mom by next week, a mom who would spend all day in the kitchen creating special treats and delicious dinners for Chloe and her dad.
3
Heather put the phone down. It had been the third call with her lawyer in the past week. She sat still watching spring rains batter against the glass plane of the kitchenette window. She had things to do, laundry, lunch to make and receipts to go through, but she didn’t have the energy.
Heather’s lawyer had finally informed her of what she’d already known to be true; she was completely broke.
In a week’s time, her rental would run out on the apartment she was currently staying in, a grimy, run-down place that you couldn’t swing a cat in. She had no job prospects, and hardly any income. Since her break-up with Bertram she’d been living on a small amount of savings that she’d squirreled away over the years, and money from a few handbags, watches and jewelry she’d sold to make ends meet.
Ironically, from where she was sitting contemplating her life as an indigent, she could see in the distance the majestic high rise tower of AyerCooke, so tall it pierced the clouds above and gleamed, impenetrable and imposing over the grey New York day. It had been her father’s business – up until two months ago when he’d died suddenly of a heart attack. It now belonged to Bertram.
Her father had never been a particularly warm man, but he’d always been good to her. When Bertram started dating Heather, he was already an associate at her father’s business. Her dad had done everything he could to make hers and Bertram’s lives together easier. He’d bought them a beautiful apartment, made Bertram’s rise up the Manhattan social ladder easy, and eventually made him partner in the company.
Neither of them could have guessed what a snake he’d turn out to be, dumping Heather within a month of her father’s passing, and kicking her out of the apartment which, of course, was in his name.
Bertram had behaved criminally, which made the phone call she was now about to make all the harder to stomach. She dialed the number with a heavy heart, and half-prayed she’d get his voicemail.
“Bertram Cooke, speaking.” A familiar voice sounded at the end of the line.
She took a deep breath. “Hi Bert, it’s Heather.”
“Ah. Heather. Hi! How are you?” His voice was a perfectly bland, as though she was a business acquaintance.
“Well, I’m not great Bertram. I need to speak to you -”
“I’m so sorry to hear that Heather, but I’m a bit tied up at the moment, any chance this could wait?” He interrupted her smoothly.
Heather shut her eyes tightly and gripped the table top, trying to control the fury she felt at his dismissive attitude. “Not really, Bertram. I’m broke. As in, I can’t live. I don’t have any option but to call you.”
Bertram gave a theatrical sigh. “It’s not really my problem, Heather. Why don’t you get a job? I’m sure you have plenty of skills suited to the workplace.” His tone was much cooler now, but Heather could detect the mocking beneath.
“Bertram. Please, I’m going to be homeless in about a week. I literally can’t live. I’m not exaggerating. I’m just asking you to release a few funds, help me with a few months’ rent until I get back on my feet. You owe me that much, surely?” Her voice had turned slightly wobbly, and Heather moved her mouth away from the phone so he couldn’t hear her shuddering breaths.
“Owe you? I don’t owe you a thing, Heather. I kept you in the lifestyle to which you’d become accustomed, and now that we’re no longer together, I won’t.” The line went dead.
Heather’s fingers gripped the phone so tightly the tips turned white. It was such lies. When Heather had first met Bertram, it had been at her father’s company event, a summer party to welcome the new-year recruits. Bertram was one, a shy bespectacled man who sat at the edge of the action, quietly observing all the other Harvard business school recruits dancing drunkenly to the live band.
Heather had felt sorry for him, and went up to introduce herself. They had a fairly pleasant conversation, nothing particularly scintillating, but nice. At the end of the evening Bertram found her again, and asked for her number. She had given it to him, but she hadn’t sensed a spark between them, so she had not expected a call.
Two months later, when Heather had all but forgotten about the incident, Bertram had called her up. Awkwardly he’d asked her out on a date the following Friday, and Heather, charmed by his vulnerability and shyness, agreed. When he showed up at her door, she’d hardly recognized Bertram. The glasses were gone. The cut of his suit had vastly improved, as had his confidence. He wined and dined her that evening, and the next day, he had sent a dozen bouquets of flowers to her apartment.
The spark never materialized, but Bertram hadn’t given up on his efforts to woo Heather. He very quickly told her that he loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Heather couldn’t resist his seemingly ardent devotion. She ignored her own doubts and threw herself into life with Bertram, making every effort to return his attentions.
She didn’t know when, or how, the tables had turned, but they had. Soon it was Heather putting all the effort into the relationship, with Bertram controlling her every move, what she wore, who she saw, what she did in her limited fr
ee time, even what books she read. In the end, she was left humiliated and ashamed that she’d let herself be treated that way, as if she were a woman with no mind of her own. The final blow had come when she realized that Bertram would be leaving her with nothing. Everything they owned, everything that was gifted by her father, was now in his name. She had left their home with two suitcases of clothes, all that belonged to her in the world.
Heather had taken a walk. Her coat was wrapped around her tightly, and she hadn’t bothered to bring an umbrella. She knew she looked like a bedraggled mess walking the streets of New York, but she honestly couldn’t find it within herself to care. She kept her eyes glued to the pavements as she marched, not knowing where she was headed, just knowing that she needed to get moving, to try and think of a way out of her current situation.
There was one solution that she hadn’t tried yet. She had a cousin in California. They hadn’t spoken in months. Bertram hadn’t really liked her. Lila was free-spirited. Although she and Heather had grown up together, going to the same elitist high school and Ivy League universities, Lila had broken away from their lives and set up a crystal healing shop in LA. She always claimed that their upbringing was too oppressive for her, and had longed to leave the cutthroat atmosphere of the Upper East Side.
As Heather contemplated what was looking like the only feasible option she had, her phone buzzed in her pocket.
“Hello?” she picked up, not recognizing the number.
“Ms. Ayer? This is Wendy from Delivery Bride, are you free to speak?” the woman on the line was very softly spoken, a vast improvement from the stern tones of Mrs. Atkinson.
“Hi Wendy, I’m free.”
“Lovely. We have good news. We think we’ve found a likely match for you. The gentleman owns a ranch in Wyoming, one daughter, never been married. We received a letter, if you’d like to read it?”
“Oh!” Heather was shocked. After her meeting with Mrs. Atkinson, she really hadn’t expected anything to come from it. “Well…” Heather hesitated, wondering if she should decline. The entire idea was starting to become faintly ridiculous, an act of desperation.
“Maybe you just want to come and read the letter, and then decide?” Wendy prompted, gently.
Heather looked up at the street sign nearest her. She was about four blocks from the agency; what harm would it do to keep her options open?
“Okay, sure. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes, is that okay?”
“That’s great Ms. Ayer, we’ll see you shortly.”
She hung up the phone, slightly dazed. She turned the corner, heading in the direction of the agency. It had stopped raining, and the sun was starting to break through the gloomy day. For the first time in weeks, Heather felt things were looking up.
4
The engine rumbled to life and Heather strapped herself into her first-class seat on the Delta Airlines flight. There were few passengers on the aircraft, and the aisle seat next to her was empty except for the three books she’d purchased at the airport to entertain her on the six-hour flight from New York to Wyoming.
“Would you care for a glass of champagne, ma’am, or a hot towel?” the stewardess leaned forward with the tray. Heather smiled gratefully but only took an orange juice. She didn’t like drinking on flights, it made her feel woozy.
She watched New York get smaller from her window, and soon all she could see was an expanse of crisp blue sky that seemed to go on for eternity. She leaned forward under the seat in front of her and retrieved her bag, taking out the letter that she’d been given by the agency. She’d opened it a few hundred times since first receiving it, but each time was touched at the sentiment that leapt from the pages.
Dear Heather,
Thank you for sending your picture. You are beautiful. I love your kind eyes. I am a nice, kind man who lives on a ranch, with a paddock that has five horses, and I would love to take you riding with me. I also have a daughter named Chloe. She is ten and also very lovely. I hope that you like to cook and can do complicated hair styles. I can’t. We are a happy family and we love each other very much, but I am missing a wife and my daughter is missing a mom. It would be very nice if you could come and join us.
I’m looking forward to meeting you.
Tanner Holt.
In the end, what had persuaded her to make the trip was the reference to his daughter. He was clearly putting her needs first, and Heather knew she could feel warm and compassionate toward a man who evidently loved his daughter so much he was willing to request a mail order bride to ensure he found her a mother. Heather believed that she could be that woman.
She had always known, ever since she was in her teens, that she wanted to be a mother. Finding out that she couldn’t have children had been a horrible experience, she felt like her life had been robbed of meaning. She thought Bertram felt the loss as keenly as she did, but in retrospect, she realized what she had assumed was his cold and distant way of dealing with misery, was probably relief as he put his plan to separate from her in motion.
Putting the letter carefully back into the envelope, she took out the accompanying photos. There were two, one of Tanner Holt standing in the sun with the Wyoming mountainscape behind him and another of his daughter Chloe, being given a piggy back ride on his shoulders. She must have been about six in this photo, all gangly legs and a beautiful freckled face.
She studied Tanner more closely. He was the only aspect she was confused by. The man was heart-stoppingly gorgeous, tall, broad and strong, with beautiful brown eyes and dark hair that fell messily around his chiseled face. She didn’t understand why he was using an agency to find a bride. This man should have absolutely no problem finding a woman. She could think of ten women she knew off the top of her head who would happily drop their Manhattan lives in a New York minute to spend time with this man.
She supposed this was a part of him putting his daughter first. Maybe his feelings didn’t really come into account. Maybe he wanted a good mother for his daughter above all else, and he would simply settle for companionship. She admired him for that. She smiled to herself, and looked away from the photo. She hoped he did want more than just companionship. Tanner Holt was delicious, and she didn’t know if she could handle having a platonic relationship with that physique.
5
Sweet fresh air hit her as soon as she exited the plane. Heather had slept through the majority of the flight. She’d ignored her books and the inflight entertainment system in favor of the best sleep she’d experienced since her father’s death.
She’d woken up as they were landing. The landscape was spectacular, large open fields were interspersed with dense forest. Sweeping mountains had emerged from the tops of clouds as the plane made its decent. The lakes looked like pools of cut glass from the plane, cool and crisp. As they got closer, Heather could see that they reflected the mountain ranges in the distance, making the horizon look eternal. The plane took its time circulating, and eventually dove down at the foot of a mountain.
As soon as she exited the arrivals lounge of the tiny airport, she was met by a local taxi driver holding a name card. Heather was so grateful she almost wept. Tanner Holt had thought of everything, paying for the first-class ticket, and transportation to and from the airport.
As they made the drive to Tanner’s ranch, Heather enjoyed the beauty and peacefulness of Jackson. After a few miles of farm land, they passed through Jackson Hole, the main town. It was full of rustic charm. Most of the structures were made of pine, giving the area a ski-lodge feel. The town was bustling, but this time of year, Heather supposed there was a lot of tourism.
“How far are we from the Holt’s place?” asked the taxi driver.
“Not far ma’am. Tanner’s out by Cache Creek. It’s just a couple of miles from the town,” replied the Taxi Driver, affably.
“Do you know Tanner?”
“Yup. We all pretty much know everyone round here ma’am. I drink with Tanner in Jake’s Place sometimes, a bar in
town.”
“Is he,” Heather hesitated, “a nice man?” She wondered if it was strange of her to ask. If all went well she would be presented as his fiancée at some point, but perhaps the man wouldn’t remember.
“Tanner’s a good man. You a friend or relative?” The driver eyed her in his rear-view mirror.
“I’m a friend.” Heather didn’t elaborate, but smiled winningly at the man. She hoped he wouldn’t ask more questions about her relationship to Tanner. But the man merely nodded in response and gave a short grunt of approval.
“Well, it’s nice around here. You here on vacation?” He asked, trying to keep the conversation going.
“Yes. Here on vacation, but, well, we’ll see.” Heather blushed. She wasn’t very good at being vague, but she certainly didn’t want to reveal her situation to a stranger.
“If you don’t mind me saying, looks like you could use one. Pretty girl like you shouldn’t look so tired and sad.”
Normally Heather might be offended by a stranger being so forthcoming, but she reminded herself that this is what small town living would be like. As he said, they all knew each other around here. She also didn’t think the man meant anything rude by it. He was probably right, she’d had a brief look at herself in the restroom mirror at the airport. She looked tired and drawn.
She pinched her cheeks, trying to get some life into them. She hoped she would have a few moments before meeting Tanner to clean up a bit.
The man smiled at her, “Aw, honey, I didn’t mean to make you self-conscious, you’re a beautiful woman. Just look like you could do with a good sleep, fresh air, and some feeding. Well, you come to the right place.” Heather smiled back at him gratefully. The next moment he spoke again, “It’s just up here.”
He turned the corner on the dusty dirt road that they’d been following for the last ten minutes, and started to follow a rough tire-track road.
Werebear's Mail Order Mate Page 2
