Renee Andrews - Bride Wanted

Dear Bride-To-Be…

Troy Lee has been writing letters to his future bride since he was a boy. Still, she’s never been more than words on a page…until now. When he meets Destiny Porter, he thinks he may have finally found the woman he’s been waiting for. But Destiny came to Claremont with a single purpose—to get Troy’s permission to print his letters in her magazine. Yet once she lays eyes on the handsome Southern man, Destiny knows she’s in trouble. She can’t help dreaming about being Troy’s bride. But will he still want to be her groom when he finds out who she really is?

“You okay?”

A deep clearing of his throat brought her attention back to the guy outside the car. He tilted his head with the question.

Destiny noticed he’d leaned against the pump and crossed his arms, which drew more attention to biceps that would put every guy in her Atlanta gym to shame. And she suspected from his letters that he wasn’t the kind of guy to hit a gym. He’d mentioned putting in a good, honest day’s work every day. She also knew that he’d support his wife’s choice if she wanted to work outside the home, but if she decided to be a stay-at-home mom, he’d support that just as much.

She knew so much about this guy, but he didn’t know the first thing about her. She’d have to change that, and she couldn’t waste time about it. Those letters could save her magazine. So she had to gain his trust and then get the rights to run them.

No sweat.

RENEE ANDREWS

spends a lot of time in the gym. No, she isn’t working out. Her husband, a former all-American gymnast, co-owns ACE Cheer Company, an all-star cheerleading company. She is thankful the talented kids at the gym don’t have a problem when she brings her laptop and writes while they sweat. When she isn’t writing, she’s typically traveling with her husband, bragging about their two sons or spoiling their bulldog.

Renee is a kidney donor and actively supports organ donation. She welcomes prayer requests and loves to hear from readers. Write to her at Renee@ReneeAndrews.com, visit her website at www.reneeandrews.comor check her out on Facebook or Twitter.

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Though one may be overpowered,

two can defend themselves.

A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

—Ecclesiastes 4:12

This novel is dedicated to the real Jolaine Bowers, my mom. Mama, I hope you like your character (and before you ask, she’s only named after you; it isn’t actually you…or that’s my story).

I love you, Mom!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Excerpt

Chapter One

“RuthEllen was talking today at her shop about the reason she believes you haven’t married, and I think she may have it figured right.” Jolaine Bowers peeked beneath the hood of her Camry so that Troy Lee had no choice but to look up and face his grandmother head-on. “Do you want to know what she said?” Her brows were raised and her eyes were so wide he could see white all the way around the blue.

“RuthEllen Riley? At the beauty shop?” Troy wondered how many Claremont ladies had been getting cut, permed or shampooed while RuthEllen chatted about his marital status. Then again, she probably wasn’t the only one discussing it if his grandmother had been there, too. “Y’all were talking about me? At the beauty shop? Just how many women were there?”

“The regulars. Maybe a few extra since everyone is getting their hair done before all of the Fourth of July activities this week.” His grandmother raised a shoulder. “And we always talk about you, dear. We talk about everyone we care about.”

He kept checking the engine on the car. “There’s something not quite right about that.”

Her mouth flattened. “We only talk about you because we’re worried. So, don’t you want to know what RuthEllen said?”

He momentarily stopped trying to determine why her car was making what she described as a “weird rattle-rumble kind of sound,” climbed out from under the hood and answered her with the only response she’d accept. “Sure, what did she say?”

She stepped away from the car, took a quick breath then spouted, “She said you’re a player.”

Not at all what Troy expected. “A player?”

His grandmother nodded, then converted the move into one of those subtle head shakes that said she couldn’t believe his sad state. “Yes, that’s what she said, and everyone in the shop agreed.”

It was all Troy could do not to laugh, but she looked so serious that he held it in check. “Does RuthEllen even know what a player is? And do you?”

She fished a bottle of water out of her purse, unscrewed the lid and took a long swallow. Then she twisted the top on and dropped it back in. “I’ll be honest. I didn’t know until the girls at the shop explained it, but from what they say, it’s a guy who, you know, acts like he is interested in a girl and then drops her like a hot potato.” She settled her purse strap on her shoulder. “That’s you.”

He grabbed a shop rag from his back pocket, wiped the sweat from his brow and tried to determine the best way to explain to his sweet grandmother the difference between being a player and being selective. “I’m not a player. I just don’t continue dating someone if I can’t see myself marrying her.”

“That’s what I told RuthEllen, but she said that’s called leading them on, and I’m thinking she might be right. Troy, you’ve dated nearly every girl in Claremont once. Sometimes twice, but mostly once. They get their hopes up, and then you’re gone.”

Troy winced at the truth of her statement. He’d realized the same thing recently, when it seemed every time he ran into a female in town he received the awkward “what went wrong?” stare.

She grabbed her water bottle again and tilted it toward his face. “See, you know it’s true. But I don’t think it’s that you’re trying to be a player. You’ve set the bar too high, with all of that letter writing you do and envisioning the woman you want to marry and all. That was supposed to get you started thinking about the kind of woman you want. It wasn’t supposed to exclude every girl from fitting the bill.”

“I’m beginning to think I shouldn’t have even told you about those letters.” Troy had assumed his grandmother would instinctively understand the importance of those letters to his future bride. Now he wondered if every lady at the Cut and Curl knew about them. “You didn’t tell RuthEllen and the other ladies about them, did you?”

She blinked, twice. “No...why?”

“Because they’re private. I wrote them to one person, and she’s the only one I plan to share them with.” He paused. “Assuming I ever find her.” Troy’s first letter to his future bride had been written when he was twelve as an assignment at church camp. Most kids wrote the required letter and then let that be it, but he’d continued over the years. And as he wrote to her, he’d clearly defined the woman he wanted to spend his life with.