Chapter One
Laney
I feel like Cinderella. Only instead of waiting for the clock to strike midnight, I’m holding my breath and waiting for two o’clock in the afternoon. It’s my favorite time of day since he started calling.
Archer Scott, the hunky bearded cowboy from Courage County, North Carolina. One look at him and you can tell he’s an old-school kind of cowboy. The tan, leather skin from working outside. The deep blue eyes that don’t miss a detail and could probably make a girl feel like she was the only person in the world. The soft Southern drawl to his voice when he calls my name.
Too bad he’s my client. Not just any client either. He’s a very important one. He’s made his millions revolutionizing the tractor industry and now travels around the country, advising other companies that create machinery for farmers.
I run my own business too, but mine is very different from his. I use an algorithm to pair lonely cowboys with mail order brides. It’s a small boutique agency that I’ve been running for five years.
Brokering a marriage for Archer will put my company on the map. We could become the go-to source for men in rural areas who need or want wives. But to get there, I’ll have to ignore this pesky attraction to him and the way my heart always beats fast when I hear his deep, rich voice. That should be easy.
My phone rings, and my finger shakes as I swipe accept on the call. “Hello, Mr. Scott.” Is that my voice that sounds so breathless and squeaky?
“Hello, Laney,” he practically purrs the words. But it’s not a nice purr like a kitten. No, this is a deep and primal noise. More like the sound a lion makes right before he pounces on his prey. I certainly wouldn’t mind being prey to a man who looks like Archer. “Were you waiting for my call?”
“Oh, yes,” I put just the right amount of sarcasm in my tone, “I’ve been looking forward to it all morning.”
He laughs and I can’t help grinning. As the matchmaker involved in finding him a bride, I probably shouldn’t enjoy this as much as I do. But Archer’s daily calls for a status update make me ridiculously happy. We’ve fallen into a rhythm that’s mainly flirty banter and witty quips.
“Do you want to know what I have for you today?” I ask, forcing myself to slip back into business mode. I keep presenting him with options for women and he rejects each one.
It’s not a looks thing. As a rule, the cowboy and his bride are never allowed to see each other. I haven’t made an exception for him, and my algorithm keeps generating women that would be a perfect match for Archer. A fact that makes my stomach hurt.
One of these days, he will accept a potential bride and I’ll have to pretend that it doesn’t sting. Though, I’m not sure why I’m getting so upset. Archer wouldn’t choose me even if I were an option. I have too many scars and too much baggage to think anyone would accept me.
“I always want to know what you have for me,” he answers and in the background, I hear a truck starting. I wonder if he’s going to the feed store like he was the last time he called.
“She’s twenty-two, a waitress working her way through college and she’s—” I rush to get as much information to him as possible, already knowing what he’s about to say.
“Pass,” he says. A country music station plays softly in the background. But it’s not that new country sound. No, this is Patsy Cline singing her heart out to I Fall to Pieces. Somehow, I’m not surprised this is his type of music.
Even without the extensive profile about him that I’ve read over and over again, I feel like I know this man better than I know myself. But I still can’t resist huffing about his answer, though I’m secretly glad over it. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s not you,” he answers. It’s the same thing he says every time, and I wish things were different. But they’re not. This handsome cowboy can’t be mine.
I kick off my shoes underneath my desk and flex my toes. I have an obsession with cute heels, but by the middle of the day my feet are usually hurting. “Archer.”
“Yes, sugar?”
I love it when he calls me that. There’s something about the way he says it that has a shiver dancing down my spine. But I force myself to ignore it. To shelf my attraction to this man. “I’m beginning to think this is all a game to you.”
“Oh, I’m very serious about finding a wife,” he answers.
I say the words that taste sour in my mouth. This is my job and I’m damn good at it. Except I don’t usually have to talk the man into wanting a wife. Most of the cowboys in these rural areas don’t have a lot of options and are grateful for a woman. “Then maybe it’s time to pick someone. All of the women I’ve suggested have been—”
“How about this? I’ll pick someone if you let me take you out on a date,” he counters.
I tried dating in college once after the accident. But one look at me, and he hightailed it out of the room fast. I don’t particularly want to put myself back through that again, even if it were for a date with Archer. “As I’ve already told you, Mr. Scott, I am not on the available menu.”
So maybe late one night last week, I ran the algorithm. I wanted to know if it was possible that I could be a match for Archer. But the compatibility score was so low it was laughable.
My parents had the perfect marriage because they were compatible. I’ve built my business around matching cowboys and brides that are highly compatible. It’s why I have such a high success rate. I’m not just putting two lonely people together and hoping it works. I’m using data and scientific analysis to predict the best possible outcome.
“Besides,” I continue my argument as I reach in my desk drawer for a lollipop, “we’re not even in the same city.”
We’re almost seven hundred miles apart. Not that I checked before I ran my algorithm. Not that I thought about booking a plane ticket and just showing up to see Archer. That would be silly. This supposed connection I think I feel between us is nothing more than my own loneliness, my desperate hope to find a man who could want me back. It’s not going to happen.
“Not in the same city?” He drawls softly. “Don’t you know that’s why God invented airplanes, sugar? I could be with you in just under two hours. I’ll even let you hold up one of those silly signs at the airport. It could say waiting for Archer, my future husband.”
I bark out a laugh at how ridiculous he’s being. He’s a shameless flirt. But before I can say anything, my friend Reese is hurrying into my office. She shoves back the oversized glasses that are always falling down her face and says loudly, “You have a meeting with the investor in five minutes then dinner scheduled with him, Laney.”
I glare at her and put down the lollipop that I didn’t even get to unwrap. I know what she’s doing. She doesn’t like Archer. She thinks he’s playing with me. We became friends in the burn ward, and we’ve had each other’s backs ever since. “I have to go now.”
“Good luck, sugar.” He sounds genuinely disappointed that our call is coming to an end, I can’t help but wonder if he looks forward to these chats as much as I do.
I don’t need luck. I’ve already done all of my research, crunched the numbers, and even ran the data. There’s absolutely no reason that Mr. Wilson should say no to investing in Brides for Cowboys. It’s a perfect match for the tycoon that’s known for taking small boutique dating agencies and turning them into household names. “Thanks for that.”
“And Laney? I was serious about that sign,” he insists. He sounds as if he’s talking about the real deal.
Waiting for Archer, my future husband. I can’t help chuckling as I hang up. That man is crazy. There’s no other way to put it.
Reese sighs and shakes her head. “You really shouldn’t flirt with him. You know it’s not going anywhere.”
I grab my long-sleeved cardigan from the chair behind me and put it on. The burns are hidden under two long-sleeved shirts and what the shirts don’t cover the makeup does. I look like a schoolmarm, not a former pageant winner who had dreams of becoming Miss America. But that’s what happens when your whole life changes in the blink of an eye.
“That’s exactly why I flirt with him,” I explain as I follow her out the door of my office to the downtown hotel where I’ll meet Mr. Wilson in a big conference room and pitch him on my ideas. I’ve worked my ass off for this moment. It’s going to happen. I can feel it.
***
By nine o’clock I’m on my couch and in my pajamas. My makeup is still on and my hair is perfectly styled. I don’t like that moment when it comes off and I’m forced to acknowledge what I really look like. It leaves me feeling too exposed, too vulnerable.
My phone rings and I expect it to be a consoling call from Reese. But it’s not Reese’s name on the ID. It’s Archer’s. He’s never called me after work hours, and common-sense dictates that I shouldn’t answer.
But right now, I’m feeling pretty damn miserable, and talking with Archer always lifts my spirits. “If you’re calling to tell me you’re in Chicago, I can’t pick you up. I’m all out of posterboard for the sign.”
He chuckles, the sound easing my sour mood just a little bit. “Now, I’m heartbroken. Might just have to get on the next plane back home.”
“Let me know when you’re here. We’ll do a tour of the harbor,” I promise. It’s one of my favorite things to do. After the accident, I spent months inside the hospital. When my mom took me on an afternoon out, we went on one of those tours.
“How did the meeting go?” For some reason, it means a lot to me that he called about this. He could have just waited until tomorrow to ask me. But he didn’t. He took time out of his evening to call me.
I pause and listen to the sounds around him, like I normally do. I always wonder where he is and what he’s doing. Tonight, I hear the sounds of loud laughter, clinking dishes, and the latest country song playing.
“Well, Ben and Jerry are here,” I explain as I pop another spoonful of the cold, creamy treat into my mouth. I’ve been eating a lot of this stuff lately. It’s not helping the size of my thighs but if I don’t find an investor soon, my company will go under.
“Hey, it’s just part of the game we play,” he says, the music and noise in the background quieting. It sounds like a door closes behind him and gravel crunches underfoot. I already know his boot size from the profile he filled out. Size thirteen feet.
“The game we play?” I ask since I was temporarily distracted and wondering if other things on his body are as big as his feet.
I hear him slam a vehicle door. “Yeah, the entrepreneurial game. We’re always looking for that next edge, the thing that’s going to take us to the next level. Sometimes, it all comes together and sometimes, it doesn’t. Can’t control everything.”
“Well, I have to figure something out soon,” I admit. Getting Archer married would definitely help. It could bring some positive publicity my way. He’s not exactly a celebrity but he is well-known in farming and ranching communities. Half of the tractors manufactured now have his emblem on them.
“You will,” he reassures me. “Now, you want to hear the crazy shit I had to deal with today?”
For the next twenty minutes, I listen as he tells me about the insane consulting fee he was paid from a company whose CEO wouldn’t listen to a single one of his suggestions. By the time he’s done telling the story, I’m laughing so hard my stomach hurts.
After we’ve drifted into silence for a few minutes, he says, “It’ll be OK, Laney.”
I know he’s right, but I also know that I shouldn’t have done this. I shouldn’t have accepted his call or spent the past hour swapping stories with him and talking about what it’s like to be an entrepreneur. “I have to go.”
“Get that posterboard ready,” he teases.
“Goodnight, Archer,” I say, a smile in my voice when I hang up.
As I pad back to my bedroom to slide beneath my sheets, I can’t help but wonder what a life with Archer would look like. Could he accept me for who I am? Would he be able to look past my scars and love me?