The Maverick's Bride-To-Order

Chapter Two

“I’ve never seen anything so ridiculous in my life! Advertising for a wife! Who ever heard of such a thing?”

Phillip Dalton tossed the newspaper aside and glanced down the long dinner table until his disapproving gaze landed on his second-youngest son.

Zach tried not to squirm in his chair. Not with his four brothers, two cousins, and an aunt and uncle looking on. “Dad, advertising for a wife isn’t a new concept. Back in the eighteen hundreds during the gold rush days, lots of men used the mail-order-bride system.”

Phillip shook his head with dismay. “That’s right, son. But those men were miles from civilization. They were desperate!”

Across the table, Zach’s brother Garrett let out a smug chuckle. “Zach is desperate, Dad!”

Phillip’s stern expression grew darker. “I realize everything is fun and games to you, Garrett. But this isn’t a laughing matter.”

“Oh, leave the boys alone, Phillip. Zach knows what he wants. He’s just going after it in a different way than you and I did.”

Phillip shot his brother Charles an annoyed look. “Damned right it’s different. You and I did it the traditional way. We fell in love.”

Zach purposely shoveled a forkful of roast beef into his mouth to stop himself from saying something to his father he might later regret.

Next to him, Shawn, the baby of the family, spoke up in his brother’s defense. “Well, I think Zach’s idea is a darned good one. It’s a way for him to meet women who are interested in marriage. He can always worry about falling in love later.”

“Thank you, Shawn,” Zach told him.

Garrett said, “That’s right, Shawn. And maybe Zach will be kind enough to give us some of his leftover telephone numbers.”

At the end of the table, Phillip’s expression turned to stone, while the only female at the table nervously cleared her throat and rose to her feet.

“I think it’s time for dessert,” Rita suggested. “Apple cobbler tonight. Maybe that will put everybody in a good mood.”

Later that night, in the bedroom he shared with his older brother, Zach studied his ad in the fresh edition of the Gazette. His picture looked okay, he supposed. At least his eyes were open and there were no specks of food in his teeth. But he’d be the first to admit his expression was a bit goofy. Like he’d had one too many strong margaritas.

Maybe that was because Lydia Grant had left him a little dazed. Although the woman had seemed warm and friendly, he’d gotten the impression she’d believed his “wife wanted” advertisement was foolish. And that had gotten a bit under Zach’s skin. He couldn’t put his finger on why it had bothered him. Especially when she was clearly a person who followed a different drummer. Her opinion of him shouldn’t matter one way or the other.

So why had he been wondering if the newspaper woman was married or engaged? Why couldn’t he forget about all that curly brown hair or impish smile that tilted her lips and sparked her blue eyes?

“What’s wrong, brother? Having buyer’s remorse?”

As his brother and roommate, Booker, strolled into the room, Zach tossed the paper onto the nightstand.

“I can’t have buyer’s remorse. I haven’t bought anything yet,” Zach reminded him.

Shaking his head, Booker sat down on the opposite twin bed. “You bought an ad. One that you believe will buy you a wife. That’s what I’m talking about.”

Groaning, Zach stretched out on his own bed and stared up at the ceiling. The textured plaster was better than looking at his brother’s know-it-all face. Not that he didn’t love Booker. Zach loved all of his family deeply. But so far none of them seemed to really understand where he was coming from. And being five years older than him, Booker had a tendency to always tell him what to do and how to do it.

“I didn’t hear you spouting off at the dinner table,” Zach said. “Are you in Dad’s court, too?”

Bending over, Booker began to tug off his cowboy boots. “Not exactly. You have to admit your plan to get a wife is a little unorthodox, but that’s your choice. Not Dad’s or anyone else’s.”

Encouraged by his brother’s fair-minded attitude, Zach sat up on the side of the bed and looked at him. “I tell you, Booker, I was really surprised by Dad’s reaction. He’s usually open-minded about things.”

Booker set his boots aside and began to unbutton his shirt. “This is different for Dad, Zach. He and Mom were crazy in love up until the day she died. They had something really special together and he wants that same thing for you. And for all of his sons.”

Zach swallowed hard in an effort to dislodge the hot ball of emotion stuck in his throat. Losing his mother in the wildfire that had swept over their family ranch up in Hardin in January was still so fresh he could hardly bear the pain.

“Yeah. Well, that’s exactly why I’m doing this, Booker,” he said in a raw, husky voice. “For a long time now I’ve wanted to have a marriage like our parents had. And for just as long, I’ve been going the traditional route—dating and waiting and hoping to meet a woman I’d fall in love with. But that just hasn’t happened. Hell, I’m even beginning to wonder if love means the same thing to me as it does to other guys.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Zach made a palms-up gesture. “As far as I’m concerned, just having a wife who cooked and cleaned and gave me babies would be enough to satisfy me.”

With a look of disgust, Booker tossed his shirt to the end of the narrow bed. “I can’t see that ever working. Not for me. I’m not exactly looking for a wife, but I can tell you one thing. I’d want her to love me. And only me. Otherwise, the whole thing would be meaningless.”

So Booker had the same opinion as his cousins, who’d been busily sending him text messages since his advertisement had hit the newspaper stands. All of them believed he should be thinking about falling in love first and acquiring a wife later. But that was easy for his cousins to say, Zach mentally argued. Most of them were engaged or already married. Their worries of finding a special woman were over.

Groaning, Zach raked fingers through his dark hair, then flopped onto his back. “You don’t understand, Booker. Nobody seems to. But the way I see it, time is flying by. I don’t want to keep waiting around hoping I’ll meet some girl that puts a goofy look on my face.”

“You mean like the one you’re sporting in the newspaper photo?”

Zach’s first instinct was to sit straight up and tell his brother to go jump in the river, but he stopped himself short. He didn’t want to give Booker the idea that he was trying to hide the fact that someone had already put the look of love on his face.

“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!”

Jumping from the couch, Lydia sat on the arm of her mother’s chair and gave her a tight hug. “It is awful, Mom,” Lydia agreed. “Because it’s the truth. And I’m saying it to open your eyes. Because I love you. And I want you to be happy. Truly happy.”

Shaking her head with surrender, Rhoda pushed a hand through her short, curly hair. “I know that’s what you want for me, honey. But I—well, after Leonard walked out, my heart turned to stone. I don’t know how to change it. Or make it different.”

Lydia stared at her mother, amazed that for the first time she could ever remember, Rhoda was admitting she had a problem.

Reaching for her mother’s hand, Lydia rubbed her fingers over the back of it. “I think you just made a big start in that direction, Mom.”

Rhoda pressed Lydia’s hand to her cheek. “You are my one bright spot, Lydia.” Looking up at her daughter, she smiled wanly. “It’s getting late. I need to get on home.”

Lydia rose from the arm of the chair and Rhoda started to stand, then paused.

“Oh, before I go, someone at work happened to bring in a copy of The Rust Creek Falls Gazette and I heard a few of the women on staff talking about an ad they saw in the classifieds. Something about one of those new Dalton boys advertising for a wife. Is the ad supposed to be a joke or what?”

Lydia shook her head. “The man is completely serious, Mom. He wants a wife and thinks that’s the best way to go about getting one. Frankly, I think the whole thing is ridiculous, but it’s not my business to stick my nose in a customer’s personal life.”

Shaking her head with dismay, Rhoda stood and started toward the door. “I don’t know what’s come over this town. It’s like some of them are still drunk on Homer’s punch. Especially the Daltons. All of a sudden Travis gets himself engaged and gets on a ridiculous reality TV show. Now another one advertises for a wife. Makes you wonder what’s going on with that family.”

Even though Lydia agreed that Zach’s search for a wife was not taking the normal route, she wasn’t willing to call him either strange or wrong.

“Some folks just have different ideas, Mom. And Zach seems like a very nice guy. Not the weird sort.”

With her hand on the doorknob, she looked at Lydia. “Don’t tell me you’re going to sigh over the guy. All day at work, the young nurses were going on and on about how dreamy he looked in the photo and all the sacrifices they’d make just to have one date with the man. It was all so silly and sickening. I hope you’re smart enough not to make a fool of yourself over the man.”

A strange little pang of regret touched a spot inside Lydia, but she carefully hid it with a casual laugh. “Oh, Mom, that’s the last thing you need to worry about. Zach Dalton would never take a look at me. And even if he did, I wouldn’t want a man who plans to choose a wife on how well she can cook.”

Seemingly satisfied that she had no reason to worry about her daughter, Rhoda opened the door. “That’s my girl.”

Lydia walked over and kissed her mother’s cheek. “Bye, Mom.”

“Good night, honey.”

Her mother stepped outside and Lydia quickly locked the door behind her, then turned back to the empty living room.

I hope you’re smart enough not to make a fool of yourself over the man.

Her mother had spoken the words in all sincerity and that had made them all the more painful. Maybe it was true that no matter the reality, mothers viewed their children as beautiful. But even Rhoda should be able to see that her daughter wasn’t the sort that men were attracted to. When a man looked at Lydia, he wasn’t inspired with thoughts of babies and matrimony. No, she was the sort a man wanted on his softball team. She was the buddy he wanted to share a beer with and share his troubles about his real girlfriend.

Hating herself for having such self-pitying thoughts, Lydia walked over to an oval mirror hanging on the wall and stared at her pale image.