Stella Bagwell - The Maverick's Bride-To-Order

“I never take a good picture.” Especially when quirky Lydia had been chattering on about what a woman liked in a man. Was she a specialist on the subject? Maybe the next time he visited the newspaper office, Zach ought to ask her that very question, he thought.

Linking his hands at the back of his head, Booker stretched out on the bed. “I can understand you wanting to get married and move out on your own. As much as I love Uncle Charles and Aunt Rita, I’m getting tired of being cramped up like this. The house is about to burst at the seams. We don’t have much privacy and neither do they.”

Zach sighed. “You need to remember the reason we came here in the first place. Sure, we rebuilt Dalton’s Gulch after the wildfire, but we ended up selling it. The place didn’t feel the same without Mom. Especially for Dad. He was grieving so much I was getting concerned about his health. I think we could all see that he needed the support of family. More than just we boys could give him. It’s been good for him to be living here with Uncle Charles and Uncle Ben.”

“Good point, brother. And he has been searching for property so that we can build our own ranch again. In the meantime, I guess we should just be happy he isn’t sitting in a dark room staring at the wall.”

“Right,” Zach replied. “I only hope his anger over my newspaper ad dies down. I hate it when Dad is disappointed in me.”

Booker let out a sleepy grunt. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Zach. I figure by tomorrow Dad will have his mind back on cattle and hay and land. And he’ll have forgotten all about your desperate quest for a wife.”

Zach sat up and reached to pull off his boots. “Desperate? You got it wrong, brother. I’m determined.”

“The way I see it,” Booker said in a drowsy voice, “you’re living in a dreamworld. But I figure there’s a woman out there somewhere who’s going to come along and shake you awake. And when that happens, you’re going to think you’ve grabbed a bull by its tail.”

Booker knew all about bulls. At ten years of age, he’d believed he was big enough to ride one. As a result, he was still sporting a limp from a badly broken leg. But as far as Zach knew, Booker was hardly an authority on love or women. He couldn’t predict Zach’s future love life any more than he could predict the Montana weather.

* * *

In a pair of yellow cotton pajamas, Lydia was sitting cross-legged on the couch as she stared in disbelief at her laptop. Only one day had passed since Zach Dalton had strolled into the Gazette office and placed his ad for a wife. But already the inbox on her work email was inundated with messages for the man. She’d had a feeling the response to his ad was going to be big. She’d just not estimated how big.

Scrolling to the latest message to come in, Lydia opened it and began to read.

Dear Zach,

I’m twenty-two years old and can cook a mean apple pie. I have a German shepherd named Fritz and a horse named Hula Hoop. Once I’m married, my plan is to have several children, so I truly think we’d be a perfect match. Please call.

There was a photo attached, and as Lydia stared at the beautiful young face, she felt both sick and sad. There was no doubt that Zach was going to be happy with this bridal candidate. She had the smoothest, straightest blond hair that Lydia had ever seen. Plus a pair of full pouty lips and big brown eyes. How could he not like this woman?

Her silent question was interrupted by a faint knock on the door. Since it was getting close to ten, Lydia couldn’t imagine who would be stopping by.

Leaving the couch, she glanced through the peephole to see her mother standing on the small square of concrete that served as her porch. Rhoda Grant was bundled in a hooded sweatshirt and held a plastic container of food with both hands.

Lydia quickly opened the door. “Mom! What are you doing out so late?”

“Hello to you, too,” she said as she stepped into the small living room. “I happened to be on my way home and thought I’d drop off some extra spaghetti we had left over from the dinner the women’s club put on tonight. The funds we made will go to the flood relief. You know there are still parts of town that need to be restored.”

At fifty years old, Rhoda could’ve been a very attractive woman. Her complexion was still smooth and her brown hair held only a few threads of gray. But instead of trying to look her best, Rhoda didn’t care that her waistline had thickened and her face was as colorless as a sheet of printer paper. The few times Lydia had brought up Rhoda’s appearance, she’d promptly told her daughter to take a good hard look and store the memory away. Because Lydia would look the same way if she ever allowed herself to believe a man’s lies.

Rhoda handed the container to Lydia, then noticed she was already dressed in pajamas. “Were you getting ready for bed?”

“Not yet. Just making myself comfortable.” On her way to the kitchen, Lydia shut the laptop so that her mother couldn’t peek at the screen. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No. I can only stay a minute. My shift has changed at the nursing home. I go in at seven in the morning now, so I don’t like to be up late.”

For years, Rhoda had worked odd, mostly menial jobs as a cook or waitress, until finally she’d managed to study and become a practical nurse. Although the nursing home in Kalispell where she worked required a twenty-five-minute drive one way from Rust Creek Falls, the pay was much better and her mother seemed to like it. Which was saying a lot, since Rhoda was the type of person who didn’t find much happiness in anything.

“Surely you can sit down for a minute or two,” Lydia called over her shoulder as she shoved the container on the top shelf of the refrigerator.

“How’s work going?” she asked as she returned to the living room to see her mother had made herself comfortable in the only armchair in the room.

“Same as usual,” Rhoda said. “Snow Valley has gotten a new entertainment director and she’s been brightening the place up with music and movies and games.”

Careful to set the laptop aside, Lydia sank down on the end cushion of the couch. “That’s good. The residents need something enjoyable to do.”

Rhoda let out a weary sigh. “One of these days I’ll be just like the residents of Snow Valley. Too helpless to take care of myself and nothing left in life but a few faded dreams.”

“Mother! Would you stop it! You make it sound like the end of your days is almost here. You’re being ridiculous.”

Rhoda sighed again. “You don’t understand, Lydia. You won’t until you lose something that’s precious to you.”

Rhoda was never guilty of being a positive person. And most of the time she was full of self-pity, but she usually wasn’t this morbid and Lydia had little patience for the unwarranted attitude.

“Look, Mom, you’re still relatively young and you’re healthy. If you truly wanted it, you could have a very full life. You just need to make changes. The first one being to put a smile on your face.”

Rhoda scowled. “Smile? When I think of what your father—”

“Yes, Mom, I’ve heard a thousand times how he just up and walked out on you and me. Well, you know what? I’m not going to waste my energy or my life wondering about what he did then or what he’s doing now. You’ve got to forget it and move on.”

“Well, you’d best not forget what a man can do to a woman’s life,” she retorted. “Otherwise, you’ll be in the same boat as your mother.”

If Lydia tried her hardest she could never be like Rhoda Grant. “You mean miserable and old before your time?”

Rhoda gasped with outrage. “Lydia! That’s an awful thing to say!”