The Waitress's Secret

by Kathy Douglass

  Before Zach could let himself think about all the tragedy that had occurred back on his family ranch in Hardin, he heard the woman behind him speaking in an impatient voice.

  “No. Not tonight. I have to go now, Mom. I have a customer. Bye.”

  When he heard the phone click into place, Zach turned back to the desk to see the young woman, who appeared somewhere near his age, shoving away the tangle of curls falling about her face. She was wearing a green, loose-fitting T-shirt with the logo of some unknown rock band plastered across a pair of rounded breasts. Apparently the newspaper staff enjoyed a very relaxed dress code, Zach decided.

  “Sorry about that,” she said. “Now if you’ll tell me again exactly what it is you want, I’ll see that your ad makes the next issue.”

  His gaze dropped to the nameplate resting precariously on one corner of the crowded desk. “‘Lydia Grant. Assistant Manager,’” he read, then lifted a questioning glance to her. “Is that you?”

  Her head made a quick bob, causing several curls to plop onto her forehead. “That’s me. Assistant manager is just one of my roles at the Gazette. I do everything around here. Including plumbing repair. You need a faucet installed?”

  “Uh, no. I need a wife.”

  The announcement clearly took her aback. “I thought I misheard you earlier. I guess I didn’t.”

  Enjoying the look of dismay on her face, he gave her a lopsided grin. “Nope. You didn’t hear wrong. I want to advertise for a wife.”

  Rolling the pencil between her palms, she eyed him with open speculation.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked. “You can’t get a wife the traditional way?”

  As soon as Zach had made the decision to advertise for a bride, he’d expected to get this sort of reaction. He’d just not expected it from a complete stranger. And a female, at that.

  “Sometimes it’s good to break from tradition. And I’m in a hurry.”

  Something like disgust flickered in her eyes before she dropped her gaze to the scratch pad in front of her. “I see. You’re a man in a hurry. So give me your name, mailing address and phone number and I’ll help you speed up this process.”

  She took down the basic information, then asked, “How do you want this worded? I suppose you do have requirements for your...bride?”

  He drew up a nearby plastic chair and eased his long frame onto the seat. “Sure. I have a few. Where would you like to start?”

  She looked up at him and chuckled as though she found their whole exchange ridiculous. Zach tried not to bristle. Maybe she didn’t think any of this was serious. But sooner or later Lydia Grant, and every citizen in Rust Creek Falls, would learn he was very serious about his search for a wife.

  He hung his hat on his knee and raked a hand through his thick black hair. “Okay. Let’s start with her age. I’d like for her to be between twenty-two and twenty-five.”

  “That sort of narrows things down, doesn’t it?” she asked as she quickly scribbled down the information.

  “Well, since I’m twenty-seven, having my wife a few years younger would be best for me.”

  “So you’re not attracted to older women?”

  He frowned. “I’ve never dated an older woman. If that answers your question.”

  She shot him a clever smile. “Too adventurous for you, I suppose.”

  He should probably remind this woman that his personal preferences were none of her business. But she was so damned cute and quirky that he hated to come across like a jerk.

  “Something like that,” he said. “As for other requirements, put down that she needs to be an excellent cook and homemaker. I love homemade pies and I hate messy houses.”

  She began to write again. “You want that last sentence in the ad?”

  “Uh, no. That was for your benefit. Just to explain,” he added.

  She glanced up at him and he noticed the corners of her lips were curved into an impish smile. “No need to explain to me, Mr. Dalton. You’ll probably want to explain to the women who answer this ad, though. So are there any more conditions you require of your...applicants?”

  She made the whole thing sound so calculated and sterile. It wasn’t going to be like that, Zach promised himself. When he started dating the right woman, he figured there would be plenty of fireworks to heat things up.

  “Well, yes, there are more. It’s absolutely necessary that she loves kids.”

  “Kids,” she repeated as she continued to rapidly write across the pad. “So you plan on having children with the woman who ends up meeting everything on your checklist?”

  “She’ll be my wife. Naturally I plan to have children with her. And plenty of them, I might add.” He gestured to her notepad. “And you might as well add that she needs to get along with dogs and horses. No—change that line. She’ll need to love dogs and horses, just as much as she loves kids. I’m a rancher. So things would never work if the woman shied away from animals.”

  “Dogs and horses. Got it.” She lifted those sparkling blue eyes back to his face. “Is there anything else? What about looks? Do they matter?”

  Zach folded his arms against his chest. “I’m flexible. As long as she’s tall and willowy with long, straight hair, I’ll be satisfied.”

  “I’ll say one thing, Mr. Dalton, you know what you want.”

  “I like to think so, ma’am. You see, I’m a doer. I’m not one to wait around and watch the leaves fall off the trees before I decide to get ready for cold weather to hit.”

  A sly smile curved her lips and Zach wondered what Lydia Grant might look like if she attempted to fix herself up. From the early morning sunlight streaming into the room, he could see there wasn’t a speck of makeup on her face and she’d made no effort to confine her unruly hair. It made him wonder if she’d overslept and not had time to stand in front of a mirror applying all the gooey, colorful stuff that made women look so fetching. Could be she was just the natural sort. Or maybe she was married and her husband preferred his wife to have a casual appearance.

  In any case, it didn’t matter, Zach assured himself. Lydia Grant couldn’t be any further from his type. He liked girlie girls who wore dresses and lace and were all soft and feminine. This woman looked like she could easily help him build fences or round up cattle.

  She tore the sheet of notes from the pad and placed it by the keyboard connected to a computer tower. “If you’ll give me a moment to figure this up, I’ll tell you the cost. How long would you like for the ad to run? A week? Two?”

  He leaned forward and was surprised when he caught a faint whiff of perfume coming from her direction. It smelled like a particular flower. He didn’t know its name, but he recalled the scent emanating from his mother’s garden.

  “Oh. I doubt a week will get the job done. Or even two. Better keep it up and running until I tell you to stop. I understand that will be more expensive. But in the long run it’ll be worth it,” he added with a wink.

  She started to reply and the phone rang again. This time she let out a long breath and swiveled her chair so that she was facing an open doorway leading to the rear of the building.

  “Curtis, get that, would you?” she practically yelled. “I’m with a customer!”

  So much for intercom systems, Zach thought. He wanted to suggest that if money was that tight here at the newspaper, they might invest in two tin cans and a string to help with communication.

  She turned the chair so that she was facing the computer. After she’d fed it a bunch of information, a printer situated on a table several feet away spit out a piece of paper. As she left her chair to retrieve it, Zach noticed she was medium height with curvy hips that filled out a pair of dark blue jeans. The brown ankle boots on her feet were the rugged hiking sort, instead of the pointy toe and high-heeled kind.

  “All right, Mr. Dal
ton, your ad will run in each edition of the Gazette. I’ll have the typesetter outline it in a bold box so it will be noticed. This is the cost for three weeks,” she said, pushing the paper across the desk at him. “If you want it to run longer, just stop by the office and we’ll start again. Is that agreeable with you?”

  He reached into the back pocket of his jeans for his wallet. Pulling out a debit card, he said, “Sounds great. I’m in town fairly often, so it won’t be a problem to stop by.”

  He scanned his card and she handed him a receipt.

  * * *

  While Lydia watched him slip the item back into his wallet, it suddenly dawned on her that she’d forgotten to ask him for a photo.

  Snapping her fingers, she exclaimed, “Gosh, I nearly forgot! Did you bring a photo of yourself to use in the ad?”

  From the blank look on his face, she could see he’d not yet realized that he was actually advertising himself.

  “A photo? Uh, no. I didn’t think about that.” He frowned. “Do you think a photo is necessary?”

  Lydia fought hard to keep from laughing. Was this guy for real? Did he honestly not realize he was a walking dream?

  “Trust me, Mr. Dalton. A woman wants to know what she’s getting. And a pic of you will show her—the outside part, that is.” She cast him an impish smile. “It’ll be up to you to show her the inside.”

  Clearly deflated, he said, “I was planning on getting this project rolling today. I have my driver’s license photo. Will that do?”

  “Those things always look like mug shots.” She opened a drawer on her desk and pulled out a digital camera. “If you’re not particular about the pose, I can snap one right here.”

  “Right here? In this chair?”

  Lydia couldn’t stop her chuckles. “I’m going to focus on your face. The background won’t matter much.”

  He tucked the tail of his plaid Western shirt even deeper into his jeans, then tightened the string bolo tie until the tiger eye slide was pushed up against the collar. After combing fingers haphazardly through his black hair, he said, “Okay. Guess I’m ready.”

  She studied his rugged features for a moment, then shook her head. “No. You’re missing something. Put your hat on. Your potential wife needs to see she’s getting a cowboy. Right?”

  “Oh yeah. No chance of my profession ever changing. Not for any woman.” He skewered the black hat onto his head.

  Lydia lifted the camera to her eye and tried not to let out a wistful sigh as she centered the lens on his handsome face. “That’s good. But a smile might help,” she suggested. “You don’t want to look grumpy.”

  His lips spread into a dazzling smile and Lydia instantly pressed the button to capture the image. Then pressed it again to make sure she’d have at least one clear pic for the paper.

  “That’s it for the photo. But there’s still one more detail,” she told him. “Do you want your name on the ad? And how do you want these potential wives to contact you? Phone? Email? Snail mail?”

  “Hmm. That’s a question I’d not thought about,” Zach admitted. “I don’t have a personal computer—unless you count my smartphone. And I’d rather keep that email for private use. I’m not sure I want to field phone calls without having some sort of background on the woman first. That might get a little awkward.”

  “Yes. Awkward might be the word,” she agreed.

  He thoughtfully rubbed a finger along his jawbone. “I suppose that I could do the snail mail thing, but I share a post office box with other family members, including my dad. That might get a little—uh—uncomfortable.”

  Lydia Grant nodded. “I don’t have a father—not one that counts, that is. But I have a mother. And if I started receiving correspondence from men, I wouldn’t want her to see it. That’s for sure.”

  He looked at her as another idea struck him. “Would it be possible to have responders reply to me in care of the newspaper office? I’d be glad to pay extra for the service.”

  Tilting her head to one side, she studied him thoughtfully. Then after a moment, she said, “It’s okay with me, but I can’t speak for my boss. Give me a minute and I’ll see what he thinks about the idea.”

  “Fine. Plead my case for me, will you?”

  Grinning, she shoved a fist in the air in a typical cheerleader gesture. “Three cheers for your marriage! I’ll do my best.”

  * * *

  A few years ago when the flood had hit Rust Creek Falls, Curtis Randall had been a young reporter working at a big-city newspaper. Like countless other media people, he’d traveled to the small town to cover the tragic event. For reasons Lydia had never learned, the man had hung around during the aftermath and somehow ended up assuming the job of managing editor of the Gazette.

  At the time, the office space assigned to his position had resembled that of a hoarder. The room had been stacked with papers and books, archaic computers, monitors and keyboards, all of which had been shelved from service years ago. After the mess had been carted from the building, Curtis had quickly turned the space into a bare, sanitized space that always made Lydia think she was stepping into a hospital room instead of her boss’s office.

  As for the man himself, he would definitely be a cutie if he’d ditch the cardigan and black-rimmed glasses and let his sandy-blond hair get a little mussed. But in spite of his nerdish fashion choices, Lydia found him easy to work with, and that was the most important thing to her.

  Rapping on the frame of the open door, she asked, “Got a minute, Curtis?”

  Scowling, he looked up from the latest edition of the Gazette. No doubt he’d been reading the op-ed, a piece he took great pains in writing himself.

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  She made her way to his desk. “There’s a man in the main office putting an ad for a wife in the classifieds. He wants to know if responders can contact him via the newspaper. He says he’ll be glad to pay extra for the bother.”

  His brows pulled together. “That’s rather an unusual request, isn’t it? Especially for such a personal advertisement.”

  Lydia rolled her eyes. “If you ask me, the whole thing is more than unusual. It’s downright weird. But it takes all kinds, I suppose. And we’re in business to make money.”

  “True,” he agreed. “But it might turn out to be more of a nuisance than it’s worth. Is this man a local? Someone we know?”

  “He’s one of the Dalton gang,” she told him. “I’ve never met him before, but I got the impression he’s new in town. I’ll make a prediction, though. This guy is going to get the paper plenty of attention. And we could certainly use all the free publicity we can get.”

  Unimpressed by her positive forecast, he waved a dismissive hand at her. “What makes you think he’ll cause extra readers to pick up the paper?”

  Probably because just looking at the guy was enough to give a woman a heart attack. When the single women around here learned he was looking for a bride, all hell was going to break loose, Lydia thought.

  To Curtis, she said in the most nonchalant voice she could muster, “He’s a cool-looking cowboy. The women around here go gaga for his sort.”

  Still frowning, he tilted back his office chair. “Are you still asleep this morning, Lydia? This is Rust Creek Falls, Montana. You can find his brand on either side of the street every day of the week. But—” Seeing she was about to argue, he held up a hand to stop her words before she could get them out. “If you’re willing to deal with the extra work of handling the responses to the ad, then I don’t care.”

  A part of Lydia wanted to let out a squeal and dance a happy jig, while the more reserved part of her wondered if she was taking on a huge mess. The only thing she knew about Zach Dalton was that he had a smile that could melt a snowdrift and the type of woman he was looking for in a wife couldn’t have been more opposite
Lydia.

  Tall and willowy? With her chin up and her shoulders back, she might be considered average height. And her build was more lush than willowy. As for the long, straight hair... Her mane could be long if she spent hours ironing out the curls that caused it to spring up several inches shorter than its natural length.

  No, she decided, Zach Dalton would never look at her as a potential bride. But he might like her as a friend. And since Lydia was a woman who knew her limitations, being friends with the man would be enough for her.

  “Thanks, Curtis. I’ll go tell him and get everything set up.” She tossed him a clever grin as she turned to leave the office. “You’re not going to regret this decision.”

  Snorting, he reached for his coffee cup. “That’s right, I won’t. But you might.”

  Biting her tongue, Lydia hurried back out to the main lobby, where her desk was located, and found Zach Dalton still sitting in the plastic chair where she’d left him.

  Even before she gave him Curtis’s verdict, he smiled at her and Lydia could only wonder why some woman hadn’t snagged him before now. And what in the world had pushed him to the point of advertising for a wife? It didn’t make sense to her, but then Zach Dalton’s love life was none of her business.

  “Good news, Mr. Dalton, Curtis is agreeable to your suggestion. So I’ll have the ad direct all interested females to send their correspondence here to the paper. You’ll be welcome to pick them up as they come in.”

  “That is good news. Thanks. And please call me Zach. We’ll probably be seeing each other a few more times in the coming days.”

  “Sure, Zach. And you can call me Lydia.”