Chapter Three
Marshall
I should have stopped her from coming.
I had every chance to call off the engagement. Dr. Tabitha Carter is nothing if not an excellent communicator, while I’ve undoubtedly given her the cold shoulder. I should’ve told her that it wasn’t going to work.
That my proposal was a drunken mistake.
Instead, I’ve allowed this to move forward.
She’s handled every step of her move from her own personal belongings to the equipment needed for her lab and arranging for her staff’s lodging.
I haven’t lifted a finger. Another woman would be miffed by my lack of help, but she is full steam ahead.
Last week boxes began to arrive at my cabin and the first members of her staff have already settled in at the Firefly Inn.
She’s going to step off that plane, take one look at my missing leg, and turn right back around. I should have told her about it. Now she’s gone through all the trouble of moving her work out here. Other people are involved now.
The staff who picked up their lives to move out here to participate in a field study and further their careers. Harriet, the innkeeper who is celebrating that she’s booked through winter and not just the summer and fall tourist season.
I’ve caused irreparable damage to Tabitha’s career. They might never trust her to lead another field study.
Waiting for her plane to land is tedious. The conversation that’s about to occur is going to be uncomfortable. I can only hope that she can bounce back from this.
I see her first. Even with the tourism center we don’t get many people flying into the Bramble airport and the curvy brunette stands out amongst the small crowd. Surrounded by a dozen people who look like they rolled out of bed and onto the plane she looks like she walked out of a business meeting.
She’s dressed in a matching black blazer and pencil skirt with a bright white button-down shirt. With her hair pinned back into a tidy professional bun and her glasses she looks like a librarian ready to scold a loud student. The brief glance I gave her profile was criminal.
Sending her a marriage proposal while I was deep in the bottle is making more sense the longer I look at her. Dark green eyes and pouty pink lips highlight the straight line of her nose and the soft curve of her jaw. If I had the skill to paint my ideal woman, she would put the canvas to shame.
Seeing her in person tempts me to keep my mouth shut.
Physically she’s every schoolboy fantasy brought to life, and I already know from her messages that she’s a practical woman.
It’s been years since I’ve felt this intense pull, but memories of my last relationship are enough to shake off the pang of longing.
Cara and I knew each other for years before I proposed. Before I enlisted. We were high school sweethearts, and she couldn’t even make it as the fiancée of an enlisted man. She outright refused to live in base housing.
She never considered moving with me even when they stationed me abroad.
Every time I mentioned the inevitable distance, she would mention the wedding.
She kept asking when I'd finish playing soldier so she could set a date for the invitations.
She failed to understand that I was in the Army to build a career, and I failed to understand that she wanted a husband who would put her first before everything else.
Tabitha Carter is not for me.
Even if the bright sunny smile that lights up her face when she notices me makes my mouth dry and my jeans tight.
Damn this is going to hurt. Rejection isn’t new but the attractive and intelligent woman who came all the way to Colorado to marry me knocks the air from my lungs. She could be my future in another life.
A different life.
One where I didn’t lose my leg to an IED blast and become a veritable hermit. I wait patiently for her to notice my prosthetic. I’ve done nothing to hide it, the leg of my jeans rolled up to display it prominently. The eyes of people around us catch on it and linger.
Let them look. I’ve had years to look at it, and it hasn’t gotten any prettier with time. When she sees it, it’ll all be over. She’ll be polite. One thing I noticed in her messages is that she’s always polite. Even when I’m dismissive and curt.
She’ll make excuses, blame herself, and that will be it.
I’ll offer to pay for her room at the inn until she can organize a flight home.
Or she’ll move into one of the long-term rental cabins close to town.
Her career doesn’t have to suffer. Tabitha could stay in Crescent Ridge and do her field work.
I’m hardly ever in town so it’s unlikely we would ever run into each other.
I just need to not fuck this up. This isn’t her fault. I’m the one who signed up for that stupid app and proposed to her while I was drunk. This is on me. I won’t let her blame herself for this mess.
“Howdy,” she says with a cheerful wave.
Her smile has only grown wider and the genuine joy in it makes my stomach hurt. I’ll be damned if she loses a drop of that sunshine of hers. Not on my watch.
I should have stopped her from coming.