Mail-Order Matty

New to e-book, a classic romance from USA Today bestselling author Emilie Richards…

At nearly 30, Matty Stewart answered a birthday dare that took her straight to the Bahamas—and into the arms of a mail-order husband. Damon Quinn was looking for a mother for his infant daughter, and after a career in pediatric nursing, Matty loved holdinga baby she could call her own, but she wanted more. The truth was, she wanted Damon, so now she had to be daring one more time in hopes of making Damon want her, too.

Originally published 1997

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

Cover

Back Cover Text

Title Page

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

PROLOGUE

Matty Stewart was well educated, mature and unfailingly responsible. She was also a wide-eyed adolescent when it came to resisting the siren call of champagne, particularly when her best friends were in charge of the bottle.

“Come on, Matty. A swallow for every year of your life.” Liza Fitzsimmons crooked a finger sporting a fire-engine-red nail that was longer than the brown hair that spiked her elegant head. “I’ve been counting. That was sixteen. Only sixteen.”

“Sweet sixteen and never been…” Felicity Brown wrinkled her forehead in concentration. “Never been…”

“Never mind what I’ve never been.” Matty giggled, and the sound alarmed her. Matty was not a giggler. Not a giggler, not a whiner, not a woman of extremes. She was just Matty, plain, intelligent, dependable Matty, who had turned twenty-seven that morning and been turned down for promotion that afternoon.

“Here goes…” Liza filled Matty’s glass again. “Seventeen and counting.”

Matty had never developed a tolerance for alcohol. In high school her small circle of friends had been “good girls,” relentlessly dedicated to keeping their heads in the unlikely case any “good boys” lost theirs. By the time she was in college, she was too busy caring for her invalid father to frequent fraternity parties or to sit for hours over pizza and pitchers of beer. And afterward, his comfort and happiness during the final years of his life were far more important than sowing her wild oats. But tonight there was no longer any reason to be good.

Which was why she was fast getting tipsy.

“Drink up now,” Liza insisted. “You’re not nearly done.”

The sensible part of Matty was off duty today or sleeping soundly. The champagne was cheap but effective. It had nearly silenced the memory of her supervisor’s voice regretfully explaining that once again a choice administrative position at Carrollton Community Hospital had gone to someone with less seniority but more guts. “Everyone likes you, Matty,” she had said, without quite meeting Matty’s eyes, “and that’s the problem. You get along too well. You compromise when you should confront. You give too much of yourself and don’t ask enough in return.”

Now Matty wrapped her fingers around the glass, sturdy, capable fingers with blunt trimmed nails and skin scrubbed so clean she sometimes wondered if her fingerprints would survive into middle age. She lifted the glass to swallow the contents, then thrust it out again. “More…”

“Thata girl…”

“You ever been sloshed, Matts?” Felicity, who worked in the hospital’s public relations department, was two years younger than Matty and Liza, with a yard of golden blond hair and eyes as blue as an Oklahoma sky. Coming to Minnesota as a teenager had softened the edges of her Tulsa accent, but the champagne was honing them again.

“To firsts…” Matty shook her head and thrust out her glass at the same time. The simultaneous movements almost un-did her.

“I like the sound of that. Firsts,” Liza said.

“Your firsts are definitely over,” Felicity told her. “S’nuthin’ you haven’t done.”

Liza patted Matty’s knee. “But Matty’s a different story, aren’t you, baby?”

“What first shall I try next?” Matty managed a smile by making sure she wasn’t doing anything else at the same moment. Smiling seemed easier now than it had that afternoon. She could almost pretend away her failures and loneliness. She was with her best friends, in the living room of the brick house she had lived in since her birth, and the champagne seemed to be opening up a world of possibilities.

“Travel? Distant exotic places?” Felicity laid an index finger against her soft pink lips.

“Flashy clothes and fast cars?” Liza closed one eye as if to see her friend better. “Dye your hair?”

“Sex?” Felicity said.

Matty sputtered and set her glass on the coffee table. “With whom?”

Liza wiggled her eyebrows. “Funny you should ask.”

“The question seems rev…rev…relevant.” Matty made a stab at dignity.

Liza drew a scrap of paper from her pocket and reclined regally against a stack of cushions they had removed earlier from the sofa and armchairs. The tiny living room was beginning to resemble the site of an orgy instead of the neat, uncluttered quarters of three of Carrollton Community’s most reliable staff members. White cartons of partially eaten Chinese takeout dotted the floor amidst birthday cake crumbs, discarded champagne bottles and wadded napkins. Soft rock rumbled softly from an outdated stereo system, and candles melted into wax pools on unmatched china saucers.

“I shall acquaint you with his attributes.” Liza waved the sheet of paper.

“Singles ads.” Felicity wrinkled her snub nose.

“Not quite…” Liza snapped her t’s with military precision. “Carrollton Alumni News.”

Matty could feel her eyelids drooping. Sober and wide-eyed, she was nobody’s ideal vision of American womanhood. She had a long, almost rectangular face ungraced by one outstanding feature. Had the beauty mavens of the world united to establish an average by which to judge young women, Matty would have set their standard. Nothing about her was too large or too small, too long or too short, too wide or too thin. Her hair was dark blond—dishwater blond, to be exact—her skin neither rosy nor sallow, her eyes neither clearly green nor brown. Her body was much the same, small-breasted and wider at the hips, with legs Lloyds of London would never have to insure and feet one size too large to look sexy in flirty little sandals.

“Alumni News?” Matty tried to discern a connection between eligible, beddable men and the newsletter of the college she and Liza had attended together.

“It came today. There’s an interview with Damon Quinn.”

Matty’s eyes were wide-open now, and the sudden explosion of pink in her cheeks wasn’t alcohol-induced. “Damon Quinn?”

“I believe you have eight good swallows to go.” Liza gave a vague wave toward the last of the champagne.

Matty held up her glass and let Felicity fill it again. Neither of them was as steady as she should have been, but luckily they wavered in the same rhythm.

When Liza seemed satisfied with Matty’s progress, she began to read. “‘Where Have All the Alumni Gone?’”

Felicity groaned.

Liza looked up. “Your alumni newsletter is better, I suppose?”

When Felicity answered by sticking out her tongue, Liza looked down and began to read. “‘The old newsletter caught up with Damon Quinn this week.’” She paused, obviously skimming before she continued. “‘Quinn, Carrollton’s science wunderkind, is still planning to cure cancer in between his other projects. And he has projects aplenty, including a brand-new daughter he is trying to raise by himself on a remote Caribbean island. When asked what he yearned for more than anything else, Quinn replied,” A wife. “It seems our wunderkind is up to his ears in dirty diapers and the cure for cancer is coming in a distant second. Any Carrollton ladies with fond memories of Damon, a penchant for Goombay smashes, and a deft hand with baby powder just might want to apply for the job. Send Damon a note care of the post office at George Town, the Bahamas. Who knows what might happen?’”

Liza looked up. “You can’t go wrong, Matty. Caribbean cocktails, Damon Quinn and tropical sunsets, with a baby thrown in for good measure. Beats staying around here and getting passed over for promotion again because you’re so good at what you do that none of the pediatricians wants to lose you.”

Matty worked in neonatal intensive care, and Liza and Felicity had been telling her all evening that the only reason she hadn’t gotten the promotion was that the pediatricians who staffed the unit had demanded that Matty stay right where she was. With Matty on staff, they knew their smallest charges had at least a fighting chance for survival. Matty was renowned for her persistence, her compassion and her creative solutions to even the most difficult problems. But Matty wasn’t thinking about that now or weighing the possibility that her friend might be right. She was thinking about Damon Quinn.

“You remember Damon, don’t you?” Liza sat up again.

Matty considered a denial, but the champagne was behaving like truth serum. “Clearly.”

“Who is this Damon person?” Felicity said.

“The dark prince of Carrollton College. The brightest of the bright, with a face for the Bront;aue sisters to write about and a body that…” Liza paused and shrugged, as if she’d run out of superlatives. “A grrr…eat body.”

“Why does a guy like that have to advertise?”

“He’s not,” Matty said. “It sounds like something he tossed up—off—in conversation.” The last word came out in four separated syllables, and she felt proud to have gotten them in the correct order.

“Damon Quinn wouldn’t be anyone’s vision of the perfect husband,” Liza said. “He’s so brilliant he probably can’t concentrate on anything as mundane as earning a living or raising kids. Ask a guy like that to go to the store for a gallon of milk and he’ll stop by the lab on the way home to reformulate its proteins.”

“No. He’s not…he wasn’t that way.” Matty shook her head and wished that she hadn’t.

“What way was…is he?” Felicity asked.

“Kind. Access-ible.”

“Did you really know him that well, Matty?” Liza turned the champagne bottle upside down, but not a drop remained. “He never gave me the time of day.”

“I didn’t really know him.” But Matty had shared one experience with the great Damon Quinn that had convinced her of his integrity. And that day so many years before, she had fallen instantly in love with him, one hundred percent in love, as only a plain young woman with expansive romantic fantasies and a difficult reality could do. She had loved him desperately, completely, as well as from afar, until the day he had walked out of Carrollton and her life into a prestigious Ivy League fellowship.

Felicity’s eyes were glazing over, and her words drifted into whispers. “Well, why is this guy off on some deserted island if he’s so brilliant? I mean, why isn’t he working for a big pharmaceutical company, or the government, or…something?”

“I don’t know,” Liza said. “‘Sa mystery.”

“Whatever the reason, it’s a good one.” Matty closed her eyes.

“Devoted,” Liza said to Felicity. “She’s obviously devoted to this guy.”

“Write him.” Felicity widened her eyes, as if to demand that they stay open. “You can be his wife, Matty.”

Matty had been trying to picture Damon Quinn’s face, and for a moment she didn’t notice the silence. Then her eyes flew open. “What?”

But Liza was already scrambling through the drawers of the old walnut secretary that stood in the nook by the entry hall. “You’ve got to do something. You’re going to live your whole life in Carrollton if you don’t. You’re going to die in this house, Matty. You want adventure, don’t you? A husband? A baby?”

Liza found a box of notecards and held them up victoriously. “Your ticket to a new life.”

“I’m sure this Damon person will want you, Matty,” Felicity said. “We’ll just tell him the truth.”

Liza plopped back into position on the floor. “I’ll write it for you. He won’t know. What’ll I say?”

“‘Dear Damon,’ for starters,” Felicity said, ignoring Matty’s bursts of laughter.

“Got it. How about ‘You don’t remember me,’?” Liza looked to Matty for approval.

Matty managed a small nod. It would be true, of course. “Say I was two years behind him, but we were in Evolutionary Biology together. And Advanced Biochemistry.”

“Matty was studying for medical school,” Liza told Felicity, although the other woman already knew. “She graduated at the top of our class.”

Felicity didn’t ask what had happened to Matty’s dreams. She and Liza had moved into Matty’s house after Frank Stewart’s death two years ago. Both women knew about Matty’s sacrifices. “Be sure you tell him about Matty’s work in neonatal. Tell him how good she is with babies. Nobody’s better.”

Liza scribbled frantically. “‘I have always lived in Carrollton,’” she read as she wrote. “‘I’m ready for new adventures and a warmer climate. I’ve always done the expected and the safe. Now I’m looking forward to taking risks.’”

Matty wondered if that part, at least, was true. The letter to Damon was just a joke, but even her alcohol-fogged brain cells could realize that at their root the things that Liza was writing were no laughing matter. She could spend her entire life in Carrollton, living in this house, working at the hospital taking loving care of newborns someone else would have the joys of raising. She had respect and friendship here, an adequate income. But unless she took some drastic steps, she would never have anything else.

“Say, ‘I’m slender and attractive, with a terrific smile.’” Felicity tapped her lips again. “And say, ‘I’m bright enough to understand at least half of what you talk about.’”

“More than half.” Liza scribbled some more. “Anything else?”

Matty spoke up. “Tell him I’ve never forgotten the way he came to my rescue one day, and now I’d like to return the favor.”

Liza frowned. “What?”

“Just tell him.”

“It’s your proposal, not mine.” Liza finished with a flourish. She reread the letter silently, then slipped it into its envelope, which she addressed with a bold scrawl. “Stamps?”

Matty was suddenly all too aware of how much champagne she had drunk. She watched Liza rise to rummage through the drawers again. “Liza, don’t waste stamps. We’ve gone far enough.”

“Of course we haven’t.” Liza gave a lopsided grin. “Damon Quinn’s not nearly good enough for you. Nobody is. But he’s a start.”

“We’re not mailing that letter….”

“Watch me.” Liza glued a row of stamps in the proximity of the right-hand corner of the envelope, then wove her way to the mail slot in the entry hall and stuck it halfway through. “There!”

Matty began to giggle again, and by the time Liza had rejoined them on the floor, all three women were laughing so hard they were gasping. They fell asleep that way, heads pillowed on cushions, bodies covered by worn afghans they’d thrown over each other, cuddled together like teenagers at a birthday sleepover.

Matty didn’t even bother retrieving the envelope before she fell asleep. The mail always arrived in late afternoon, as it had every day since her childhood. Damon Quinn would never see the letter that had been nothing more than a birthday salute from her best friends. He would never know that Felicity and Liza had used him to try to open her eyes to the world of possibilities that existed beyond the safe, familiar confines of Carrollton, Minnesota.

She fell asleep trying to visualize Damon’s face, and she was still sleeping soundly early the next morning when the mail carrier, following the map of his newly divided route, removed the letter addressed to Damon and stuck it in his pouch.

CHAPTER ONE

Miami International was every bit as crowded and harried as Damon had expected it to be. His flight in from George Town had been uneventful, but as he’d neared Miami, he had asked himself again and again exactly what on earth he was doing. He had made some huge mistakes in his life. He had trusted the wrong people. He had looked at the world through a distorted eye, refusing to see that the ordinary events of everyday life were as important, as earthshaking, as anything he could discover in the laboratory. But never, at any time in his life, had he set out to unfairly use another human being.

Not until now.

An airline official in quasimilitary garb began to announce the arrival of another flight at the nearest gate, and Damon watched idly as people who had been lounging in the chrome-and-imitation-leather chairs began to stand expectantly. He didn’t join them. Matty Stewart’s flight had been rerouted due to a freak blizzard in the Midwest, and nobody seemed to know which alternate flight she had been switched to, because computers had succumbed, as well. She’d had no way to reach him, of course, so he had been forced to meet every potential flight, hoping that she was on board and, more important, that they would recognize each other if she was.

He was about to marry a woman who might pass right by him and never know she’d done it.

A trio of casually dressed young women, one with a baby slung over her shoulder, passed just in front of him to line up outside the roped-off exit. He wondered whom they were meeting, and if the baby had been lugged through the busy airport for a tender reunion or simply because baby-sitters cost too much money.

The first passengers stepped through the jetway, and Damon watched without getting to his feet. He counted four men in business suits, a middle-aged couple with three carryons apiece, a mother and father dragging a screaming blond-haired toddler between them. The parade of passengers continued as he ticked them off mentally. By the time he began to lose interest, the three young women had disappeared with three equally young men.

Unlike the last flight he’d met, there hadn’t even been any near misses on this one. The two unaccompanied women of the right age hadn’t begun to match Matty’s description or resemble the photo she’d sent him. One woman had been short and dark-haired, and the flurry of Spanish she’d uttered when she caught sight of a dark-haired young Romeo behind the rope had confirmed his opinion.

The other woman, a willowy blonde in a pale gold sweater and dark stretch pants, had seemed too self-possessed to match the voice he’d come to know so well. Matty had a sweet voice with an unmistakable flutelike waver that said everything about how unsure she was that she was doing the right thing by becoming his bride.

And how could he blame her? He was asking a total stranger to give up the next year of her life, perhaps much longer, to make his own life more convenient.

There was more to it than that, of course. Heidi’s future was at stake, too, a reality that eclipsed anyone’s convenience. And even though fatherhood was a relatively new experience for Damon, he had already learned that a father did anything for his child. Anything and everything and the entire spectrum in between. A father even begged a stranger to marry him if it meant that his daughter’s future would be safe and secure. And that was exactly what Damon had done.

The flight attendants strolled through the exit, chatting and pulling their black flight bags behind them. Damon glanced at his watch, then back at the gate. But obviously the plane was empty now and Matty was on a different flight. He consulted the list he’d been given at the ticket counter to check what he already knew. The next possibility didn’t arrive for two hours. He was stuck in the Miami airport waiting for a woman he was going to marry, a woman he didn’t know. And when and if she ever arrived, he probably wouldn’t even recognize her.

He was hit with such a wave of self-disgust that for a moment nothing else mattered. Then, as he leaned over to pick up the bouquet of pink and white carnations he had bought at an airport gift shop, he heard his name over the intercom.

“Would Mr. Damon Quinn please come to the airport information booth in front of…”

He listened intently to the entire message and wondered how many times it had been repeated before he had registered the words.

And what would he find when he arrived at the booth to get his message? That Matty had been seized with an attack of good sense and skipped the flight altogether? That something was wrong with Heidi back on Inspiration Cay and no one there knew what to do about it? That Gretchen’s parents had arrived on the island, warrant in hand, to take his daughter to a new home in Ohio?

All disasters. All possible. For a moment he couldn’t move; then, clutching the flowers in an iron grip, he went to find out which calamity had struck.

* * *

Matty tugged at her gold sweater and wished it were a few inches longer to completely hide her hips and rump. Liza had bought it as a going away gift, along with the black leggings, the butter-soft ankle boots and the long gold chain that hung between her breasts. Her suitcases were stuffed with clothes from her other friends, too. The Carrollton female staff had given her a shower unlike any she’d ever witnessed. Liza and Felicity had orchestrated it, first shepherding Matty to a salon to have her colors done, then to have her hair cut and streaked with subtle warm highlights. The shower had come one week later, and all the clothes had mysteriously matched the new colors she was supposed to wear. Soft golds and delicate greens, rust and camel, and a turquoise the color of the ocean that would surround her new home.

When she looked in the mirror now, the Matty peering back at her was altered. Short wisps of hair framed her face and tapered to her shoulders. Long light bangs brushed her eyebrows and emphasized the wide set of her eyes. The effect was pleasant and gave her a surge of confidence when she caught sight of herself. But she was still essentially the same, still the same plain Matty Stewart who was about to sell herself for the promise of adventure and warmth, and the presence of people in her life who might one day come to care about her.

“Miss Stewart?”

She turned to give the young man behind the information booth a wide smile. “He doesn’t seem to be coming, does he?”

“Would you like me to try again?”

“That would be terrific.”

She watched him lift the microphone and start his announcement again. She guessed he was no older than twenty-one, dark and tanned, with a salad bowl haircut she recognized from teenagers on the Carrollton pediatrics ward. Six other people had demanded his attention since she had asked for his help, but the young man still hadn’t forgotten her.

She was always surprised when she heard complaints about how rude people were to each other. True, she had run across difficult people at the hospital, but most of the time they were in pain or immersed in the worst throes of grief. She was drawn to people like that, the healer to the sufferer, and she discounted their rudeness as temporary and in some perverse way therapeutic. But in her experience most people were kind and helpful, willing to go the extra mile on the flimsiest evidence. Despite her work, despite some of the horrors the hospital had dealt with, she had never lost faith in her fellow human beings.