Chapter 3
3
S prawled in his favorite, stinky recliner, Holt propped his feet on the saddle, clicked the TV onto the weather station, and tried to relax. Not that he could. Not with Zeke’s words in his head. Jacey’s letter burned into his brain along with the worry that her fledgling faith would wither and die if he didn’t do something.
He didn’t want to get married again. He was too busy for a wife. He didn’t even know any eligible women who would give him a second look. Even if he did, he couldn’t risk involvement. Not again. In his experience, the pleasure was not worth the pain.
Even if he did get lonely sometimes.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, felt and heard the scratchy whiskers and realized he hadn’t shaved again today.
Too busy, too tired, and too much on his mind.
Yeah. Like women.
“Huh!” The sound came up from his chest and out of his mouth. “Women.”
What was that old saying? Can’t live with them. Can’t live without them.
But he was doing okay without a female in his life.
Except for that one teeny cute cowgirl who owned his heart. Jacey. Who wanted a mama.
He groaned, his gut churning like a cement mixer.
Zeke’s online dating idea wouldn’t leave him alone. It nagged. It gnawed. It beckoned.
All through supper and devotionals and then while getting Jacey settled for the night, he’d thought of little else.
Was it really possible to find a wife through a computer?
He pondered that for a while. Maybe online dating was the modern version of a mail-order bride. Those had worked out okay, he supposed. A mutual agreement. Sort of a contractual thing. A man needed a wife and a mother for his kids. A woman needed…what did a woman need? He’d never quite figured that out with Pamela. Well, except money. Which meant security, he supposed. Yeah, a woman needed security. And protection maybe. Men were natural-born protectors.
“Daddy?”
The tiny voice jerked him upright. He turned toward the hallway. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I think I had a dream.” Jacey rubbed at her eyes.
Holt squinted. “Are you crying?”
His tough girl rarely cried.
He clicked off the TV.
Jacey sniffled, her voice small and wobbly. “It was about my mommy.”
Oh man . Holt’s cement-mixer belly dropped to the floor.
“Come here.” He patted his knee.
Jacey rarely mentioned Pamela these days. She’d barely been three at the time of his ex-wife’s death. He’d assumed she didn’t remember much about her beautiful mother. Maybe he should dig out the photo album and videos he’d kept for her.
Looking vulnerable and tiny in her purple unicorn pajamas, Jacey padded in bare feet across the hardwood floor and snuggled against him. He lifted her onto his knee. She didn’t weigh a thing.
A fierce protectiveness gripped him. Yep. Natural-born protector.
“Want to tell me about your dream?”
Her head swished back and forth against his shirt front. “It was sad.”
She must remember more than he’d thought. Holt’s heart twisted. He patted her back, smoothed her tangled mess of hair, and wished he was better at this parenting thing.
“What was sad about it? Your mama loved you.” She didn’t love me, but definitely you. “Even from heaven, she watches over you.” He hoped Pamela had made it to heaven.
Jacey twisted her head to look at him, expression bewildered. “No, Daddy. Not my first mommy. My new mommy. In my dream, Jesus forgot to tell Santa, so he didn’t bring her.”
Oh. That mommy.
Holt cleared his throat. The situation grew stickier by the minute. “Listen, tumbleweed, Christmas isn’t here yet, and Santa hasn’t come. So you just had a bad dream. It wasn’t real.”
“It seemed real.”
“But it wasn’t. Remember? We haven’t even put up our tree yet.”
“Oh, yeah.” A long sigh escaped his child. “Can we put it up tomorrow? With lots and lots of lights?”
“We’ll talk about it in the morning. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Good. He’d dodged another bullet. Thank you, Lord, for the Christmas tree. “You ready to go back to bed now and dream about that Christmas tree?”
“Uh-huh.”
“No more bad dreams. Only good ones. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Holding her against his shoulder, Holt carried her back to her bedroom and tucked her in again, lingering a minute to be sure she was settled.
She gazed up at him with trusting eyes. “’Night, Daddy.”
He stood. “Good night, baby girl. I love you.”
“Love you, too.” She yawned as she rolled to her side and tugged the purple comforter to her ears.
Holt waited a few beats before going to the door to flip off the light.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“He won’t forget, will he?”
His eyes banged shut. She was killing him.
Searching for a truthful answer, he finally answered, “Jesus never forgets.”
Before she could say more and make the situation worse, Holt trudged down the hallway, too stirred up to relax in his comfy, smelly recliner. Instead, he paced to the double window that looked out on his front yard.
Jacey’s trust in him was absolute. It hadn’t always been that way. He’d worked hard to earn her confidence in those early days when she’d been lost and grief-stricken, crying for her mother. He’d simply been lost. He’d do anything to keep that trust.
Her trust and faith in Jesus were even stronger. And there lay his dilemma.
Jacey’s faith was way more important than his aversion to marriage.
As if someone out there in the darkness held up a flashing neon sign, the online dating idea rose in his head.
Dating and marriage were two different things. Could a man really find a wife on the internet?
Not a real wife with love in the equation, but someone willing to become a permanent mother to his little girl.
A fly-by-night nanny wouldn’t work. A kid needed permanence. Jacey’d had enough losses. He couldn’t let her be hurt again by women moving in and out of her life. A woman would have to commit long-term. At least until Jacey was grown. Twelve or fifteen years should do.
Yeah. Okay. He was warming to the idea.
Having a woman around to cook and clean a little and to teach Jacey some girly stuff might be all right. If the woman in question would abide by a few simple rules.
In other words, a marriage of convenience. A deal. A contract. No emotional entanglement. Jacey would get her mother. And the woman would get…what? Security. Protection. A good home. A good provider. A Christian man guaranteed not to abuse or cheat.
What woman wouldn’t want that?
Buoyed by this new realization that marriage didn’t have to be about love and all that messiness, Holt crossed the living room to his office.
After clearing off a pile of paperwork and unread ranching magazines, he found a paper and pen and wrote out a list of rules and qualifications. First, he wrote, must be pretty but quickly crossed that out. A pretty woman could be trouble. Pamela certainly had been. Plain was better. Ugly was perfect. But he wasn’t dumb enough to put that in writing.
Once satisfied with the list, he booted up his laptop and began a search for dating sites. Zeke had mentioned a couple of them by name, but Holt quickly ruled those out. They required a photo, and he didn’t want anyone, certainly not his rodeo pals, to get wind of this business. Not now. Not ever. He wanted to remain anonymous. Was that possible?
“Should have asked Zeke,” he muttered, pecking at the next dating service on the list. And then the next. And the next.
After an hour of reading, he sat back in his desk chair and stretched. This was stupid. He didn’t want to do this anyway. Might as well give up.
But what about Jacey’s prayer?
“Yeah. That.” Resigned, he turned back to the search.
Five minutes later, he gave a mini fist-pump. ”Jackpot.”
A dating site that favored personality over physical appearance. No photos allowed. Names and locations were optional until a match was made. Sounded promising.
He read and reread the particulars, and when he was confident this was an answer to prayer—Jacey’s anyway—he signed up.
It took him a while to create the profile. Getting it right from the start was crucial. No misunderstandings. Lay his plan out straight. Make sure the lady knew exactly what his intentions and expectations were and what she’d get out of the deal.
He typed in his nice, tidy list of rules and requirements, adding a couple at the bottom. Jacey’s wish list. After all, this whole finding-a-wife business was for her.
Satisfied he’d included absolutely everything of importance, he moved to the finish button. His finger froze, hovering above the icon, as if all of his considerable misgivings had suddenly flooded to that one digit. His finger actually throbbed. So did his head. Like a loud, warning drumbeat.
This was the dumbest thing he’d ever done. And he’d done plenty. Maybe he should sleep on it. Think about it some more. Talk to Zeke again.
Finding the right woman could take time. Time he didn’t have much of. Christmas was coming on fast.
Jacey was worth the possible humiliation.
Before he could slam the laptop shut and run out of the office, he clicked.
And the deed was done.
After an extremely busy Saturday, Monday was restocking day at Rachel’s Cards and Gifts . With the holidays imminent, cartons of Christmas decorations and specialty gift items arrived daily to fill the storage room and spill over into the craft room.
AnnaLeigh dragged yet another box of wrapping paper across the tile and into the main showroom. They’d sold a stunning amount at Saturday’s sale. Refuge, it seemed, was gearing up for Christmas, though AnnaLeigh was too anxious and sick most of the time to care one way or the other.
Her back ached, which added insult to the nonstop morning sickness. Morning, noon and night sickness. Did all women experience this constant queasiness?
Wishing she had someone to ask, she pressed a hand to her back and stretched.
At the register, Rachel, looking serene and pretty in a bright red cardigan and silver jewelry, bagged up a wreath for Meg Clifton. Meg owned the bakery next door, and the smell proved a constant torment for AnnaLeigh’s stomach. Behind Meg, another woman waited.
“AnnaLeigh, will you wrap this for Dakota, please?” Rachel indicated the waiting customer, who held a fuzzy pet purse complete with a stuffed white puppy hanging over the top. “She’s already checked out.”
The customer, who looked vaguely familiar, was about AnnaLeigh’s age, maybe a little older, in worn jeans and boots and a rough work coat that had seen several winters. Her thick red hair was scraped back in a snug ponytail that emphasized enviable apple cheekbones. She might have been pretty, but like AnnaLeigh, she wasn’t making much effort.
“Christmas wrap?” AnnaLeigh closed the distance between them.
“Please. Apparently these are the rage in first grade, and Ellie hasn’t asked for anything else, so I thought I’d better grab one before they sold out.”
AnnaLeigh took the toy and moved to the wrapping table, talking as she walked.
“Ellie? The cute redhead who participates in Cards by Kids? ” So that’s where she’d seen the woman. She or an older gentleman picked up Ellie every week after class.
“That’s my girl. Ellie Skye.” The pride and love in the declaration shined from tired blue eyes. “You’re new in town, aren’t you?”
“Only been here a few weeks.” AnnaLeigh boxed up the pet purse and set it in the center of elf-printed paper.
“Refuge is a good community. I hope you’ll like it.”
“I already do. Everyone is very welcoming.” Without being too nosey. AnnaLeigh liked people. She just didn’t trust them much.
Dakota smiled. Hers was a weary smile from a face void of makeup. AnnaLeigh suddenly had a flash of Ellie’s Christmas letter to Santa. She’d asked him to bring money to her mama.
Sympathy pinched inside her chest. She knew about money struggles. Was having some of those herself. But she didn’t have a child to support. Yet.
A shiver of fear prickled the hair on her arms. Would she be able to provide for her baby?
Stubbornly shaking away the thought, she finished the gift wrap, adding a handcrafted multi-colored bow and a sparkly dangling snowflake ornament especially for Ellie. “How’s this?”
“Beautiful. Thank you.” Ellie’s mother took the gift and left the shop as a tall woman entered. AnnaLeigh recognized her as one of Rachel’s close friends and a regular customer.
“Hi Courtney,” AnnaLeigh said. “May I help you?”
“I need to pick up the gift basket Rachel was putting together for me.”
Courtney was that kind of woman. Tall, sophisticated, and uber stylish, any gift from her would come in a fancy basket or a designer box complete with a bow no normal human could tie. Today she wore skinny jeans atop five-inch heeled boots that made AnnaLeigh’s back ache. And she polished those off with a brown leather jacket, matching purse, and a giant plaid scarf. With fringe.
Courtney was, to put it mildly, so perfect, she made AnnaLeigh feel as attractive as a wet mouse.
“It’s in the back.” She motioned toward the craft room. “I’ll get it for you.”
When AnnaLeigh returned, the shop had emptied of customers other than Courtney who was saying to Rachel, “If you want a good laugh, look on LoveBug.com . A rancher somewhere is advertising for a wife.”
“What’s so unusual about that?” Rachel took the basket from AnnaLeigh and started fussing with the bow. Anything less than perfection did not leave this shop. “Isn’t that kind of the point of online dating?”
“Yes, but—“ Courtney waved her hand and laughed. “Just read his profile. You’ll see what I mean. It’s hilarious. I’m into online dating myself and have read a lot of profiles, but this guy takes the grand prize for idiocy.”
Poor man, AnnaLeigh thought, to be ridiculed for being lonely. She quietly put away her wrapping tools, but couldn’t help tuning in to the conversation.
“You’ve made me curious. I have to look.” Rachel handed over the basket and moved to the computer behind the counter. “What do I type in?”
Courtney followed her around the counter and bumped with one hip. “Scoot. I’ll find him for you.” She laughed. “I’m way more experienced at this than you.”
Rachel arched an amused eyebrow. “I wonder why?”
Courtney pointed an index finger. “Just wait, I’ll convince you someday. It’s so much fun. A new guy every week if I want one.”
“I don’t think so.” Shaking her head, Rachel stood to the side while Courtney typed.
Curious, AnnaLeigh joined them. She knew nothing about dating websites. Like Rachel, it wasn’t her thing, though given her track record, she’d have been better off dating a total stranger online than going out with Alan whom she’d met face to face.
“Here he is.” Courtney pointed at the screen.
Rachel leaned in. “There’s no photo.”
“This site doesn’t allow them at first, not until you’ve made a connection. They’re into personality over physical characteristics.”
“Not a bad thing.”
“Well, this definitely is. Read what he posted. He’s either completely clueless or the worst chauvinist on the planet.”
The three women huddled around the computer. AnnaLeigh peered at the screen as Rachel read aloud, and couldn’t help noticing that Courtney smelled better than the perfume counter at Macy’s.
Considering AnnaLeigh’s queasy condition, any fragrance was not a good thing.
“Single, trustworthy, Christian rancher seeks permanent mother for his young daughter. Will marry and provide a good home to the right applicant. Contract required.”
Rachel looked up, her eyes round and dancing. “A contract?”
Courtney laughed. “Uh-huh. And, he’ll provide a good home. Sounds like he’s adopting a cat.”
AnnaLeigh laughed too. “It is a little insulting.”
“Oh, you haven’t heard the best of it yet. Get this.” Courtney scrolled down to read.
Requirements of the perfect matrimonial candidate:
Must love his child.
Must be a Christian.
Makes no demands on him, his time, or his money. Especially his money.
Adequate cook and house keeper-Not that picky.
Is desperate enough to go along with his rules without negotiation.
Plain Jane preferable. He has no need to find her attractive and no time to worry about her cheating on him.
Doesn’t mind being stuck out in the country for long periods of time. (See number 3)
Healthy
Smiles a lot and smells good.
Knows how to fix girl hair.
(Daughter added numbers 9 and 10.)
“He sounds like he’s advertising for a mail order bride.” Rachel laughed, shaking her head. “This can’t be real. Someone’s pulling a joke.”
“Either that, or this guy is lost in a previous century,” Courtney adjusted her scarf. Not that it was anywhere near out of place. “No woman would agree to this list of ridiculous expectations. Marriages of convenience went out with the Pony Express.”
“I don’t know,” Rachel said. “There are some lonely people out there desperate to find someone.”
“Go ahead then, Rachel,” Courtney teased, with a grin. “Message the guy.”
Rachel backed away, one hand raised. “I’m not desperate. I’m not even in the market. You message him. Find out if he’s on the up and up.”
“Not me! I’m a city girl. I don’t do country.”
“Or clean or cook.”
“See?” Courtney flipped her scarf to one side with an airy toss. “I’m not qualified. Such a downer. And here I was longing for a cowboy. Not!”
The two women giggled and rehashed the outrageous profile rule by rule. There was more. Something about him being loyal and promising not to cheat or mistreat a wife. And offering a salary. The latter caused more laughter. He was willing to pay someone to be his wife?
Like Rachel, AnnaLeigh couldn’t help wondering if the post was genuine. Probably not. But if it were, what kind of man would be desperate enough or arrogant enough to write it?
He was either a creep and a jerk or a man out of options.
She knew all about being out of options.
Like a gnat, a teeny tiny idea buzzed at the back of her brain. She mentally swatted it. It was a crazy idea, too crazy to consider.
Yet, the gnat went right on buzzing all the rest of the day and followed her home that evening.
Once alone in the comfort of her cozy apartment, AnnaLeigh was unable to resist a second look. She downloaded the dating app and opened the profile on her phone.
As she reread, she started to believe the post was real. The man had a little girl who needed a mother. No one would make that up, and there was something sort of sweet and noble about a man who would go to such links for his child.
Maybe he wasn’t arrogant at all. Maybe he was at the end of his rope. Like she was.
Rule number five stood out to her. He wanted someone who was desperate enough to go along with his rules without negotiation.
The hair on her arms tingled. How desperate was she?
Like him, her focus was her child.
Marriage meant a name change. And a husband. Both could mean security and protection. For her. For the baby.
A fist seemed to squeeze her heart, cut off her air. Was she actually considering a marriage of convenience to a stranger?
Maybe she was. Maybe this was the safety net she and her baby needed.
But what if he was just another version of Alan?
“Don’t be insane.” She closed the app and decided to forget the cowboy and his proposal.
Days passed, and the idea was never far from AnnaLeigh’s thoughts. To make matters worse Courtney popped in regularly to update them on the clueless cowboy who still waited for his woman.
One night, while waiting for a chicken breast to bake, the idea gnat in AnnaLeigh’s head buzzed so loudly, she clicked on Facebook to silence it. She missed her friends and was grateful for Jazmine, who maintained frequent contact through messages.
Eager to hear from her friend, she opened the messages icon. As if protecting the treasure within, her belly clenched. Alan. Again. She’d hoped, wished, he’d have moved on by now.
Hand against her stomach, AnnaLeigh scanned his words.
Don’t think you can walk out on me and get away with it. No one leaves unless I say they leave. No one. I will find you, you ? —
The note went on, cruel, threatening, and obscene.
Keep your mouth shut or else.
Blood rushed to her cheeks until they felt on fire. Her mouth went dry. Fear raced through her blood, roared in her ears.
She pressed shaky fingers to each temple.
Alan thought she knew too much about his shady business practices. She didn’t. She’d been suspicious and had left, in part, because of those suspicions, but she possessed no evidence. If she did, she’d have already gone to the police.
Alan wasn’t a man to mess with. If he thought she knew something, he wouldn’t stop until he’d found her.
He didn’t want her back in Colorado because he loved her or missed her. He wanted her back so he could shut her up.
AnnaLeigh’s stomach revolted. She shot upright and rushed to the bathroom, where she heaved over and over again.
When the sickness ended, she slid to the cold tile floor, head in icy, trembling hands.
Stress this bad couldn’t be good for the baby.
What was she going to do? How could she protect herself and her baby against a criminal who she knew, all too well, had no qualms about violence?
Times like this she wanted to believe in God, in Someone somewhere bigger than herself, bigger and stronger and smarter than Alan.
How many times as a child had she prayed? For a family, or not to move again. For someone to love her forever. After a while, she’d given up.
But what did she have to lose? Even if praying didn’t help, it couldn’t hurt.
“God, if you’re real,” she whispered to the white ceiling tile, “I’m asking for your help.”
That was it. That was the only prayer left inside her. A prayer spoken without a shred of faith.
Struggling to a wobbly stand, she took her cell phone from the vanity and went to lie on the couch. When she closed her eyes, the rancher’s dating profile appeared on the dark screen of her eyelids. Again.
She wanted to laugh—at herself, at him, at the lunacy of the whole thing, but there was something poignant and endearing about the man’s awkward, bumbling attempt to secure a mother for his daughter. He was willing to marry a stranger for the sake of his child.
Was she willing to do the same?
Though she’d avoided it for days, AnnaLeigh opened the dating app one more time and went straight to the rancher’s profile. The man obviously liked kids. And he sounded financially able to support a wife and a child and a ranch. He promised not to cheat or abuse, two amazing promises she’d never gotten from Alan.
But the requirement list gave her pause. What kind of man created relationship rules?
Not that the rules were terrible. In fact, several were inviting, reassuring even.
Consider rule one, for example. Clearly, the man loved kids, at least his own. She loved kids, too. Unless his daughter was a monster, AnnaLeigh could love her. Or fake it. She’d learned to fake a lot of things in her days in foster care.
Rule two, on the other hand, gave her trouble. She wasn’t a Christian, didn’t know the first thing about loving Jesus. She wasn’t necessarily opposed to the concept, and she was glad the rancher was a Christian. In her foster care experience, most Christian families were kind. So, she could fake that too. Truth was, she’d agree to love Jesus or brussels sprouts or about anything if doing so would protect her baby.
Moving on to rule number three, AnnaLeigh stuttered. Make no demands on him or on his money. The cowboy didn’t need to worry about her wanting anything from him…personally or romantically. Alan’s…forcefulness had erased any fantasy she’d ever had about romantic love.
But what about the money rule? The cowboy promised to provide for a wife, but would he agree to care for a baby, too?
A teeny worry-hammer started whacking against her temples.
Once this cowboy learned of the pregnancy, he’d turn her down flat, click her profile into the trash bin. She’d be right back where she’d started—with Alan breathing down her neck.
Besides, marrying a stranger could be every bit as dangerous as going back to Alan, even if the stranger claimed to be a Christian who obviously loved his child. She had no way of knowing if he told the truth.
Other choices, however, weren’t exactly banging on the front door.
Alan could be— would be—if she didn’t do something quickly.
Moving to another town or even another state wasn’t the answer. If she left Refuge, she’d have to keep moving forever. With the pregnancy, she simply did not have the energy to keep running. Her baby deserved a better life than that.
She glanced at the cowboy’s profile again. She could send him a message, ask for more information.
Yes. That would work.
A single, anonymous message wasn’t a commitment, nor was it dangerous. She could find out more about him, gauge the kind of man he was, and then delete her profile if he seemed creepy in any way.
Giving herself a minute to consider, AnnaLeigh carried her cell phone into the kitchen to check on the chicken. The smell actually enticed tonight.
What would it hurt to message the man and ask for more details?
After a brief search to understand how this particular online dating service worked, she filled in the free registration form, careful to provide as little information as possible. Fortunately, the site required no photo and only a generalized location. Perfect.
“Done.”
Then, pulse pounding like a marathoner’s, she returned to the cowboy’s profile, typed in a short message and hit send .
Feeling strangely relieved and kind of buoyed, AnnaLeigh went to the kitchen and enjoyed the first meal she’d kept down in weeks.