Renee Ryan - His Most Suitable Bride

Simon had said something similar to Callie when they’d first met at a theater production of As You Like It. His leading-man good looks and smooth, practiced words had turned her head. Only when it was too late had she discovered his declarations of love held no substance. He’d been playing a role with her, merely acting a part as he did on the stage.

As a result, she carried the shame of her foolishness with her every minute of every day. “There’s nothing special about me. I am a very ordinary woman.”

“Now that’s just false humility.” Mrs. Singletary all but stomped her foot in outrage. “You are anything but ordinary. I never want to hear you say such a thing again.”

Callie bristled.

Mrs. Singletary laid a gentle hand on Callie’s shoulder, her gaze holding her eyes with deep sincerity. “You are a beautiful child of God, never think otherwise.”

What a lovely thing to say. How she adored this woman. Mrs. Singletary had come into Callie’s life when she’d been at her lowest, when the three most important people in her life had left her without a backward glance.

She could have returned to her family’s ranch. But she couldn’t see herself there anymore.

She couldn’t see herself anywhere.

Where do I belong, Lord?

“Tell me, dear, why do you hide your true self from the world? What are you afraid of?”

If the widow knew what Callie had done, she would dismiss her on the spot. Mrs. Singletary may have a reputation for being unconventional in business matters. But she was an upright, faithful Christian woman who lived a blameless life. She would expect nothing less of her companion.

“I asked you a question.” The words were spoken as gently as if she was speaking to a hurting child.

She knew Mrs. Singletary meant well. The widow only wanted to help, but Callie hesitated still, fearful of relaxing her guard and thereby spilling the entire story.

Her foolishness was not something she wanted to revisit, ever. The gullible belief that she was the most important woman in a man’s eyes had nearly been her ruin. How foolish she’d been, falling for the famous actor’s ploy. But Simon had only wanted her as a temporary substitute, until he could marry the woman he truly loved.

“I dress this way because it is respectable.” Too late, an ugly voice in her head whispered. It is far too late to regain respectability now.

“What happened to you? What terrible trauma did you suffer that has made you afraid to embrace who you really are?”

“You...you wouldn’t understand.”

“You might be surprised.” The widow closed her hand over Callie’s. “I have my share of secrets and I’ve certainly made mistakes in my day. You’ll find no judgment from me, no condemnation. You can tell me anything.”

“I...I...wouldn’t know where to start.” That was certainly true. “It’s complicated.”

“Now I understand. The cause was a man.”

“Yes.” The cost of admitting that was so great tears welled in Callie’s eyes. She stiffened her spine, refusing to allow even one to fall.

“However he betrayed you—”

“I didn’t say he betrayed me.”

“You didn’t have to.”

As if sensing her distress, Lady Macbeth hopped on her lap. Callie hugged the animal close, burying her nose in the thick, silky fur.

In much the same way she would pet the cat, Mrs. Singletary ran a hand over Callie’s hair. “Whoever he was, he didn’t deserve you.”

Callie lifted her head, felt the burn of tears in her throat and dropped her face back to the cat’s neck.

“There is a man out there just for you,” the widow said. “He will love you and care for you. Even the most mundane details of your life will matter to him. He is out there, Callie, and I will find him for you. I promise.”

“No, Mrs. Singletary.” Callie’s voice hitched over the words. “Please, don’t try to match me with anyone. I—” Give her a reason. Any will do, even the truth. “I...I’m not ready.”

Crouching in front of her, the widow waited for her to look into her eyes. She studied Callie’s face longer than was comfortable, her eyes searching, boring in as if she could read the very secrets of her soul. “No, perhaps you aren’t ready,” she decided at last. “Not yet. But you will be soon.”

* * *

Reese went straight to his office after leaving Mrs. Singletary’s home and shut the door behind him. He needed privacy, craved it as badly as air.

He laid out the contracts on his mahogany desk and began reviewing the changes he’d scribbled along the margins. He lost himself in the process, managing to focus for several hours before his mind wandered back to his morning meeting across town.

What had he been thinking? Agreeing to allow Beatrix Singletary to help him find a suitable bride?

He blamed the weak moment on the melancholy he’d been unable to shake since his disastrous evening at the opera.

Now he was stuck.

If he cried off from their agreement at this point, Mrs. Singletary would only continue her quest without his assistance. He’d seen her do it before. Several times, in fact. She wouldn’t rest until she had him happily married off.

Reese wasn’t opposed to getting married again. But he’d already had his chance at happiness. It had slipped away like water through splayed fingers. A split second had been all it took. One unseen root in the ground and Miranda’s horse had gone down hard, landing on top of her after the initial tumble, crushing her delicate body.

Reese had spent the next three days at her bedside, holding her in his arms even as it tore at his heart to watch her life slip away one strangled breath at a time.

Shutting his eyes against the memory, Reese drew in a slow breath of air. He would never love again. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t know how to go at it half measure. He’d learned during his brief marriage to Miranda that he was a man who felt too much, gave too much, needed too much in return. Unspeakable pain accompanied such uninhibited emotion.

Thus, he would insist the widow keep to their agreement, and only suggest women who met his specific requirements.

With that in mind, he pulled out a fresh piece of paper and began constructing his list. He came up with seven items, the number of completion.

Fitting.

A familiar, rapid knock, knock, knock had him folding the list and setting it aside. “Enter.”

The door swung open and his father’s broad shoulders filled the gap. Other than the graying at the temples and the slightly leaner frame, it was like looking into a mirror and seeing himself twenty-five years from now.

As always, Reese Sr. got straight to the point. “I need to speak with you immediately.”

Unsure what he heard in the other man’s tone, Reese pushed away from his desk. “Of course.”

He started to rise.

His father stopped him with a hand in the air. “Don’t stand on my account.”

Reese settled back in his chair.

Face pinched, his father strode through the room, then flattened his palms on Reese’s desk and leaned forward. “I’m worried about you, son.”

“There’s no need to be.”

“You left the theater abruptly last night.” He searched Reese’s face. “I need to assure myself you are well.”

“I had contracts that required my final review.”

“That wasn’t the reason you left early.” Pushing back, the older man stood tall. “I haven’t seen that look on your face since...”

He hesitated, seeming to rethink what he’d been about to say.

“Since when?”

“Since Miranda’s accident.”

Reese’s stomach took a hard roll. They never spoke of Miranda, or the accident that had taken her away from him. Now, after last night at the opera, Reese couldn’t stop thinking of her, or how he’d sat at her bedside, willing her to stay alive, begging her to come back to him, praying for God to intervene.