Chapter One
Logan
“This is how you’re choosing to spend your last night of freedom?” Archer, my brother, mocks me.
We’re sitting together at the top of the Courage County water tower that overlooks the whole town. It’s a damn cold place to be in the middle of January, but we’ve been coming up here to drink together since we were in high school. “I thought we’d be out at the bar and finding some women to take home.”
It’s a fair statement. In years past, that’s exactly what I would have done. Except my boots haven’t been under a woman’s bed in a couple of years. Not that you would know that by the way the good ole gossip mill keeps churning.
“It’s his bachelor party. Shut up,” Ethan, my other brother, says. He drops his beer and I listen for the sound of it hitting the dumpster below.
When the glass finally breaks, I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding. Tomorrow, I’m getting hitched to a woman I barely know. A mail-order bride that I’ve never even laid eyes on. All I got about her was a profile with some general information. Same as her.
Marriage has never been on my radar. It’s just another way to tie yourself to someone who will up and leave you one day. I learned as a foster kid, it’s better to be the one that does the leaving. Goodbye doesn’t hurt so much when you say it first.
But my grandfather, God rest his soul, was a romantic. He had decades of wedded bliss and wanted to share this gift with his eight foster grandkids. So, the old man strong-armed us into this upon his passing. In order to inherit any portion of the ranch, every Scott man must marry. Old coot even went so far as to choose a mail-order bride service for us.
“The whole town is betting against you,” Archer warns. Out of all my brothers, he’s the blunt one. He never holds in anything he’s thinking or feeling. Yet somehow, the man is a millionaire.
He came up with some innovative design for tractors in high school and patented it. Now he’s an idea man, travels all over the globe, and consults with companies for millions of dollars. You’d think that would make him stuck up. But to hear Archer tell it, he still puts on his Wranglers same as everyone else. One leg at a time.
The knowledge the town is betting against me isn’t surprising. In high school, I started sleeping around and got a reputation as the playboy. Can’t say I’ve ever cared too much what people think so I didn’t pay attention to the rumors. But over the years, the reputation has followed me. Now, I can’t talk to a woman in town without tongues wagging.
“Everyone says you’ll cheat on her within the first three months,” Archer continues.
I’ve never cheated on a woman. Yeah, there have been more than a few in my life. But it never overlapped, and I was careful not to make promises I had no intention of keeping. To me, it was all good times until two years ago when it stopped being fun.
I don’t know what exactly changed. All I know is that the games got old and the chase got boring. I was craving something else though I still can’t tell you to this day what that something else is. Guess I’ll never figure it out now.
Ethan smacks the back of Archer’s head, and I take a sip of my beer to hide my grin. Archer will say anything on his mind while Ethan barely speaks at all.
“What do you reckon she’s going to look like?” Archer asks, shooting a scowl Ethan’s way. He scoots just far enough to be out of reach of our serious, older brother.
“Don’t know,” I grunt. I haven’t let myself spend too much time thinking on this. The way I see it, there’s not much point. After all, I spent hours building up the family for my new foster home. The social worker had talked them up and for the first time in a long-time, I was hopeful. I was old at that point. Thirteen, which is pretty much a death sentence in the system. Everyone wants the cute little babies who are still sweet and innocent. Nobody wants the big teenage boy who has a history of doing what it takes to survive.
But one look at the parents who got me, and I realized real quick there had been a mix-up. Their whispered conversation in another room wasn’t hard to overhear. They’d been wanting a cute little six-year-old boy, not the six-foot one teenager.
Now I can’t help wondering if this mail-order bride thing is going to be that all over again. She’ll take one look at me and be disappointed that I’m not everything she hoped for. I’ll be out on my ass in the rain.
“The important thing is to stay focused.” Ethan accepts it when Archer passes us fresh beers. “You get your portion of the land.”
Without each brother doing his part to save the Scott ranch, pieces of it will be sold at auction. Everyone knows the land is worth a premium on our side of the county, and there would be a lot of people eager to snap it up.
“I’ll do my part and get hitched,” I promise Ethan as I clink my beer to his.
Like me, all the Scott brothers were adopted by the late Scotts. But somewhere along the way, the rag-tag eight of us formed a brotherhood. One that’s solid and enduring. No matter what it takes, I won’t fail them.
***
Audrey
“I know it’s been hard. But I need you to be brave for a few more minutes,” I tell Paisley Jolene as I wipe the formula from her face. She’s just finished her afternoon feeding.
The six-month-old baby girl finally started to put on some weight last month. We’d moved into our first apartment together and it felt like things were falling into place for us. Until the rug got ripped out from underneath our feet.
I take a deep breath and push back the memories. I don’t want to think about that night or the way it makes me feel. What matters now is that Paisley and I are safe. Or at least, I think we will be in this place.
Glancing around the Courage County Bus Station, I’m glad we arrived a few minutes earlier than expected. It gave me time to feed Paisley and get her calm. As it is, my cowboy husband-to-be will show up with no idea that there’s a baby on my hip.
I don’t know what he’ll do when he realizes he got a package deal. Maybe he’ll send us away. The idea has my mouth going dry.
You don’t become a mail-order bride at eighteen with a baby because your life is filled with options. I had to find a way to keep Paisley fed and safe. Moving to a small, rural town where no one knew us seemed like a good start.
My only hope is that the cops haven’t tracked us this far. Then I remind myself that I’ve been on my own since I was fourteen. No one has missed me in four years. Why would someone start looking for me now?
As soon as I think that, an image of Calvin flashes in my mind. There was so much blood that night. He couldn’t have survived, right?
Paisley pats my face as if she’s reassuring me that the man who haunts my nightmares is truly gone. Then she gives me a grin, showing off that one little bottom tooth.
Even if I mess everything else up in my life, I know I did one thing right. I made Paisley, and this little girl needs her mama to be strong. She needs to know that unlike me, she always has a safe place to land.
Squaring my shoulders, I move to the bathroom to adjust my dark hair. It looks messy and oily thanks to the nearly thirty-hour bus ride. My groom offered a ticket on a plane or a bus.
I took the bus. I figured people were less likely to pay attention to us that way. So far, so good.
I scoop my messy hair into a ponytail and pause to pull a few tendrils loose to frame my face. Not that it does much. You can’t soften the look of a woman who’s spent as much time on the streets as I have.
Tugging on my short jean skirt, I wish it were longer. But leaving the apartment in the middle of the night with nothing but the clothes on our backs has meant that I’ve been scraping by on whatever I could find in those donation bins down in Miami. That explains the red, sparkly tank top that’s about a size too small and perfectly frames my large chest.
With one hand wrapped around my baby girl, I use my other one to apply a fresh coat of eyeliner and mascara. I have to juggle Paisley carefully because she keeps trying to grab for my makeup.
When I’m finally done with my face, I give myself a nod of approval in the bathroom mirror. “It’s time to go meet your husband.”
I settle in one of the cold metal chairs to watch the passengers come and go. But the entire time, I’m scanning the crowd and looking for one detail in particular. A man carrying a bouquet of violets.
There’s one cowboy that catches my eye. He’s tall, bearded, and big with the kind of confidence that shouts he knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to go after it.
He’s wearing tight Wranglers and a brown coat that’s open and layered over a white, button down. His matching Stetson and boots make it obvious he’s a local. I try to get a glimpse at his eyes but he’s wearing dark aviator sunglasses. He moves gracefully and fluidly through the terminal, scanning for someone.
Even before I spot the violets he’s carrying, I know he’s my cowboy. I’m looking at my future husband and damn, the man is fine. With no pictures being exchanged through the mail-order bride service, I figured I’d get paired with someone that was old and crusty. This cowboy is definitely not those things.
I stand to greet the man who’s already approaching me. He’s like a magnet pulling me in, and I feel the attraction all the way to my toes. I’ve never felt this way and I don’t know how to explain it.
When Paisley shivers in my arms, I tighten my hold on her. I remind myself that this cowboy will have to accept both of us for this marriage to work. I won’t be like my mother and choose a man over my baby girl. No, we’re a package deal and this is the moment of truth.
The cowboy reaches for his sunglasses and pulls them from his face. He’s a good ten years older than me with laugh lines around the corners of his eyes. Now that I can see that gray-blue gaze, I relax a little.
There’s something about his eyes. They’re filled with kindness and compassion. A reaction I didn’t expect, and it throws me off-balance. I expected anger or frustration. Maybe even betrayal.
He tucks the sunglasses in his shirt pocket at the exact moment that Paisley lunges for him. She’s never done that with anyone else, never reached out first.
To my surprise, the cowboy reaches for her and for a reason, I can’t explain I let him hold her. He smiles down at her and asks in a Southern drawl that’s as smooth as melted chocolate, “What’s your name, pretty girl?”
“Her name is Paisley Jolene.” My own voice comes out rough and scratchy. I’ve always figured my daughter would grow up like me, never having a real dad. But standing there with this big stranger cuddling my girl, I can’t help but hope that I’ve been wrong.
“Well, hello there, Miss Paisley,” he croons as he shrugs out of his coat while managing not to drop the flowers. He covers her with it and she snuggles into his chest. “What’s your pretty mama’s name?”