Chapter 4

4

H olt was about as disgruntled as a man could be. What good were online dating sites if no reasonable women used them? America was a big country. Women abounded. They'd certainly been plentiful during his rodeo days. Buckle bunnies had lined up like lemmings ready to jump the cliff for a night with a cowboy. Keeping his Christian values had been tough, which could have been why he'd married Pamela so fast.

Now, there wasn't a willing woman in sight.

Oh, there were plenty of trolls, women who blasted him as a jerk, a misogynist, and with a few other unchristian adjectives, but there wasn't a decent, motherly, matrimonial-minded female in the bunch.

Didn't anyone want to get married these days?

Maybe he wouldn't even bother to check the dating site tonight. Even though his cell phone burned a hole in his pocket, he didn't allow lollygagging on the job. Not from the hired hand. Not from himself. Talking, texting and checking messaging apps didn't get the work done. The only time he used the cell phone at work was for business. The rest could wait until he was back at the house.

Still, as he kicked hay out of the back of his dependable Dodge work truck to a herd of bellowing, head-butting heifers, he wondered about the dating service. Wasn't much of a service, if you asked him. In six days he hadn't had one legit message. Not one.

Was it something he'd said? Did his profile scream loser ? Or were there no women left on earth who wanted to raise someone else's child?

The last thought was like a knife in the heart. A twisty one. With a nine-inch blade.

His precious Jacey. She'd be devastated if her prayers for a mama weren't answered. And he wouldn't be able to tell her he'd tried, that he'd done the best he could, because she'd asked Jesus for a mother, not him.

"I'm doing a lousy job of finding her one, too."

He removed his hat and swiped a shirt sleeve across his forehead as he eyed the horizon. At the moment, it was only cool enough for a quilted vest. Tomorrow promised cold, but for now he'd worked up a sweat without Zeke. His hired hand had the flu.

Grimacing in sympathy, he unloaded the last bale of hay, surveyed the heifers for any problems, and then headed to the house.

He wouldn't look at the dating website. Not tonight. It was killing his ego. Maybe tomorrow.

But he had to turn on the computer to enter the latest health check results on his yearling bulls. No other reason.

With Jacey playing at Ava's until eight, now was as good a time as any to catch up on records.

Toting a freshly made ham-and-cheese loaded with pickles, he casually booted up the computer and munched while he waited.

Settling in, he updated the cattle records. That done, he started to shut down but paused, fingers tapping against the desk.

He was online. Might as well look at Lovebug. "Dumb name."

He signed in to the dating site, expectations low. As long as Christmas hadn't passed, though, he'd keep hoping. Maybe, like Jacey, he should pray about it, too.

Not a bad idea.

"Lord? Am I going about this all wrong? Or what? Should I forget the whole, goofy idea and stay single. I'd like that a lot better, but Jacey…well, You know how she is."

He sighed, long and loud.

Part of him never wanted anyone suitable to reply. Another part of him was a little wounded that none had.

As if the sigh had been all the air he had left, his breath stopped. A red dot hovered on the chat box. Blinking. Red, red, red. He had a message.

Would this be another verbal flogging? If so, he was done. Over and out. All hope gone.

But what if this was the one he and Jacey had been praying for? What if this tiny flashing light hid the woman of his daughter's dreams? The woman God intended to be his wife?

With a burst of adrenaline that tasted of dill pickle, Holt clicked the red dot.

The note was short.

He quickly scanned the words.

A woman was interested. She wanted more details.

Holt frowned at the screen. How much more detailed could he get? He wasn't telling her about the custom-made saddle in the living room. Not yet.

So, he wrote about his ranch and the animals he planned to market to the rodeo. Which reminded him of his life on the circuit, so he told her a little about that too, ending with, Tell me about you. Do you like horses and cows? Ever been to a rodeo?

He finished his sandwich while he waited and, when he'd nearly given up, the computer tinged.

Sorry. Not much time. I'm working late. My job's in retail, and Christmas season is so busy my boss asked me to stay until seven.

I love animals, but I've never owned one, and I've never been to a rodeo. It might be fun to attend one, though. I like the peace and quiet of the country, and I'm a decent cook. Not gourmet, but basic. I probably can agree to your "rules." But I have to be sure that this isn't a joke and you're not laughing at me for being stupid enough to respond.

Holt blinked at the message. Was that the problem? People thought he was joking?

No joke. Cowboy's honor. His fingers moved over the keys. My daughter is six, and she wants a mom for Christmas. She asked Jesus for one, and I don't want her faith to be crushed. Personally, I'm not the least bit interested in romance. Platonic all the way. All I want is a good mother for my girl. He went on to explain his reasons for marriage instead of a nanny. Then, I'm eager to tie the knot. Name the day.

There. No use wasting time. The worst she could do was end their chat.

Her reply came quickly. Too quickly. Can we chat tomorrow night? I have to get back to work.

Holt could have kicked himself.

He'd spooked her. He should have waited a day or two to propose. But, for crying out loud, Christmas was coming!

Sure, he typed. Tomorrow after eight when my daughter goes to bed . He'd almost typed Jacey's name but realized complete anonymity was best for now.

When no reply appeared on the screen, Holt ended the chat, figuring he'd never hear from the woman again.

AnnaLeigh barely slept that night. When she finally dosed, she dreamed of cowboys and hatchet murderers that looked like Alan and sweet faced little girls, awaking in a tangle of sheets and emotions.

Needless to say, the dark circles under her eyes were more pronounced than usual as she went about her work at Rachel's Cards and Gifts.

Was she seriously considering a contract marriage to a total stranger?

But even as she wrestled with the absolute insanity of the idea, she was buoyed by the conversation, however brief, with the cowboy. He hadn't seemed threatening or scary at all.

Now, as she prepared the long, low tables in the shop's craft room, she tried to block out the growing anticipation for tonight's chat. Today was Cards by Kids , a weekly event she'd come to love. The preparation and facilitation required her full attention. First graders were the cutest little people, but they were lively and needy.

"Do you think I've prepared enough cards?" she asked when Rachel joined her from the front.

While her boss manned the retail area, she'd spent most of the afternoon drawing measurements onto the card stock and preparing two different card examples for the kids to choose from. She and Rachel had discovered the class went better if the adults did the pre-work, leaving the design fulfillment to the students.

"Should be." Rachel pondered the two stacks on one end of the table. "But if not, we'll make more next week. These pop-up designs in particular are really popular. They're selling out fast."

The Christmas tree and gift pop-up cards were reasonably simple to create and, with kids adding their own creative flourish, each was unique.

"I'm amazed at how well the community has embraced this project."

"That's Refuge for you," Rachel said, "and probably why the town thrives instead of dying like so many small towns."

"All for one and one for all?" AnnaLeigh joked.

Rachel plunked a container of crayons in the center of the table. "Refuge loves anything that generates business and draws visitors to town. Valentine's Dance, Easter Eggstravanza, July Fourth parade to name a few.

"And, of course, Christmas?"

"Of course." Rachel smiled.

AnnaLeigh smiled back, grateful to this woman who'd given a stranger an opportunity. If her boss had guessed AnnaLeigh's condition, she was too considerate to ask. Maybe she was waiting for AnnaLeigh to say something. And AnnaLeigh would. In due time . Due time being the ironically perfect phrase.

Suddenly, the cowboy was back in her head. Maybe he was the answer to her prayers. Was she the answer to his? He seemed to think so.

Was she willing to take the chance? And if she didn't? What then?

She was content here, working in Rachel's shop, getting to know the friendly folk in Refuge. She'd made a few acquaintances that she'd hoped would become good friends. She'd even been invited to church, and she considered going.

Alan lingered in the background, behind the pleasant life she'd found in Refuge, a danger to her baby.

Unless the cowboy proved to be a maniac real soon, he was her only viable option.

"AnnaLeigh? AnnaLeigh? Are you okay?"

AnnaLeigh blinked up at her boss, who stared at her from across the low tables. "Sorry. I was…daydreaming, I guess."

She busied herself with the paper punch tools that were popular with scrapbookers. Kids loved punching out their own stars, snowflakes, and other designs to glue on their cards.

But she could feel her boss's eyes studying her.

"Are you feeling bad again, AnnaLeigh? You look really tired today."

Her stomach, never far from revolt, threatened. She swallowed. "No, no. I'm okay. I didn't sleep that well last night." At least, that much was true. "Let's get this set up. The kids will be here soon."

They both fell to work, and AnnaLeigh felt as if she'd dodged a bullet. She didn't want Rachel to be suspicious. Not yet.

Another reason to take the cowboy up on his proposal. The sooner she married, the sooner she could pretend, at least to the outside world, that the baby was his, and Alan would never know.

Unless the cowboy kicked her out in the street.

Anxiety knotted her shoulders. She rotated them.

She was driving herself crazy with the what-ifs and scary scenarios.

Time to focus on something, anything, else.

She cast a glance toward the front, where Rachel rang up a customer. The shop increased in business every day. The closer they came to Christmas, the busier they were.

Rachel's warm laugh filtered to her ears. The shopkeeper's serene manner and genuine interest in the customers and their families made them feel welcome and appreciated. Some came daily, often only to chat and drink coffee from the handy little machine in the sitting area Rachel had created to encourage community.

Besides being smart in business and as warm and sweet as a fresh doughnut, Rachel Tinsley was young and pretty. AnnaLeigh found it interesting that she didn't date and rarely discussed her personal life. Once, AnnaLeigh had asked where she was from, and Rachel had simply said, "Missouri," and quickly changed the subject.

Far be it from AnnaLeigh to pry. She certainly didn't want anyone prying into her past. Yet, she was curious. Rachel seemed to have her life all together. Composed, lovely, even elegant in dressy, tucked-in blouses and tailored slacks or pencil skirts and exactly the right jewelry, she had taste, class. Today, she'd topped slender gray pants with a white blouse, a maroon scallop-edged cardigan, and heels that must have cost more than AnnaLeigh's weekly paycheck.

She and AnnaLeigh were definitely from different worlds.

The shop emptied, and Rachel returned to the craft area. Small, snowflake-shaped crystal earrings glistened from her earlobes like sunlight on real snow. She was a walking advertisement of jewelry for sale in the shop.

AnnaLeigh nudged her chin toward the earrings. "How many of those snowflakes have we sold today?"

"Eleven so far." Rachel tucked a strand of dark brown hair behind one ear. The snowflake sparkled. "I think they're a hit."

"You were smart to wear them so customers could see how pretty they are."

Rachel gently flicked the crystal snowflake, setting it a-shimmer. "The necklace hasn't sold as well though."

AnnaLeigh moved to the tall supply cabinet for craft supplies, talking over her shoulder. "Maybe it's too pricey for Refuge."

"Maybe. But I can see husbands buying it as a special Christmas gift for their wives, can't you?"

"A necklace like that would make a romantic gift." Not that AnnaLeigh cared one whit about romance. Security trumped love any day of the week.

She took out the container of decorative Christmas tape. The various colors would make cute stripes on the gift pop-up cards they were making today.

"That's what I thought when I ordered them," Rachel said. "Men love to give their wives beautiful things, but when they come in the store, they're often at a loss." She laughed softly. "Speaking of clueless men, have you kept up with the online dating cowboy and his mail order bride contract?"

Heat rush into AnnaLeigh's cheeks. It was bad enough that she couldn't stop thinking about him, but now Rachel had to remind her.

To hide her blush, she turned back to the supply cabinet. "We might need more glitter. These kids do love glitter."

As she moved away, thoughts of the cowboy followed.

Who was he? Was he really the good, hardworking man and loving dad he'd portrayed last night during their messaging?

Rachel went on talking. "That poor, lonesome cowboy is still on Lovebug, so I guess he hasn't awakened to the truth. No woman in America is that desperate."

Which only showed what Rachel knew.

AnnaLeigh kept her back turned and pretended to sort through the jars of colored glitter. "Don't you wonder why he'd take a chance like that? I mean, maybe he has a good reason. Maybe he's lonely or scared of being hurt or taken advantage of. He could have been jilted before. Perhaps he's not the best looking guy around, or he's socially awkward. Maybe he's hideously scarred from an accident and afraid of being judged for his looks."

She'd never considered those things before, but now that she thought of them, they made sense. The cowboy might be as needy and insecure as she was.

Confident she had her composure, she turned, silver, blue, and gold glitter in hand.

Rachel paused at the end of the table to give her a strange look. "You've given him some serious thought."

"Oh, no. Not really." AnnaLeigh shrugged, mostly to release the tension building in her shoulders again. "I don't know. The whole thing seems kind of sad to me."

"Now that you mention it, you're right. I feel bad for making fun of him. Not that he'll ever know." Rachel laughed. "Nor will he ever find a wife."

The bell over the front door chimed. Her boss turned toward the sound of childish laughter. "Kids are here. Ready?"

AnnaLeigh wiped her hands down the sides of her loose brown dress, relieved by the change of topics. "Let the fun begin."

But even as she demonstrated to the eager faces how to fold the strips for the pop-up Christmas tree and worked the room assisting little artists, the mysterious cowboy intruded.

Was she right in her assessment? Was he physically damaged and fearful? Shy and socially awkward? Tall, short, stocky, thin?

Her curiosity was getting the best of her. She knew so little about him. Maybe he'd tell her more tonight. A sudden eager anticipation, altogether irrational, stirred in her chest.

He was kind. At least to his daughter. She already knew that about him. If he was telling the truth about his ranch, he was ambitious and a hard worker.

"Miss AnnaLeigh, I need help." A small voice intruded on her thoughts.

Trying her best to shut out the mysterious cowboy, AnnaLeigh moved toward the three best friends who lined one end of the table. "What's the trouble, Ellie?"

"This." With pure disgust in her tone, the redhead pointed to her card. "It's ugly. My tree's all loop-sided."

"Loop-sided?" She smiled inwardly at the mispronunciation. "Let's see what we can do to fix it."

The accordion-folded paper strips, which created the tree, had been glued on crookedly. AnnaLeigh gently pushed a couple of them around, glad the glue wasn't yet dry.

"There you go. How's that?" She closed the card and handed it back to the child.

Ellie opened it. A smile bloomed on her peaches-and-cream face. She looked at AnnaLeigh in awe. "How did you do that? It's perfect."

"You did all the work. I only straightened things a bit."

"And now, it's gonna be beautiful and someone will buy it for a million dollars."

"Oh, my." AnnaLeigh widened her eyes. "Wouldn't that be wonderful?"

Laughing on the inside and smiling as she went, AnnaLeigh moved down the table, straightening, folding, and giving advice. The children amazed her with the painstaking care they took to create a salable product. Rachel had done a good job teaching them the importance of what they were doing.

"Clean-up time, kids," Rachel called from the opening between the two rooms. "Parents are arriving."

"Do we have to go already?" Jacey groaned with adorable exaggeration. Her hair, as usual, had fled the lopsided ponytail and hung around her cheeks in light brown strings.

"I'm not finished with mine yet, Miss AnnaLeigh." Ava, the blonde princess, blinked up at her with worried blue eyes.

It was this way every week. A few of the kids shot straight up and rushed for jackets and backpacks, but most groaned and pleaded to stay. The perfectionist Ava always took longer than the others.

"This is beautiful," AnnaLeigh said, "and I wouldn't want you to rush. We'll finish up next week. Okay?"

"Okay. Thank you, Miss AnnaLeigh." Ava handed over the card without complaint but didn't look too happy about it.

The trio of girls trudged like prisoners to the guillotine to the drying racks and then cleared away their paper scraps and supplies.

"Jacey's dad is here," Rachel called.

The cowboy appeared in the doorway, looking rugged in a tan Sherpa-lined coat, boots, and faded jeans. He gripped a gray cowboy hat in one hand. As usual, he appeared uncomfortable.

But when he spotted his daughter rushing at him, her messy hair flying everywhere, his eyes lit up. He clapped the hat on his head and hunkered down to meet her. Jacey slammed into him full force, and he swooped her into a bear hug, playfully wrestling her side to side. Jacey's laughter was joy personified.

AnnaLeigh stared at the sweet moment. It never failed to move her the way the duo embraced as though they'd been apart for months instead of hours.

But it was only the two of them, the rancher and his daughter. Naturally, they'd be close.

A tingling sensation raised the hair on her arms.

Thoughts of the online cowboy intruded.

Here was a single cowboy raising a little girl on his own. A little girl who'd written a poignant letter to Santa asking for a mom.

Could he possibly be…?

No. Impossible. The Lovebug dating site covered the entire country, and the cowboy's profile had simply requested a bride from anywhere in America . There were thousands of ranchers and cowboys all over the continent, any one of whom could have created that dating profile. Coincidences of that magnitude didn't occur.

Jacey's dad couldn't be the online cowboy.

A pleasant kind of tired seeped through Holt's muscles as he settled his little tumbleweed for the night. He'd worked his tail off today, but now the chores were done and the pregnant cows were in the barns, warm and snug against the cold front moving their direction.

With Zeke still out with the flu and no one to talk to, he'd had plenty of time to consider last night's online chat with the prospective mom for Jacey. It had gone pretty well, he thought, but a man never knew for sure what a woman was thinking. She worked in some kind of a store, enjoyed being in the country, and wanted to attend a rodeo. All of those encouraged him that this crazy idea could work out. She'd seemed nice enough, too, if a tone or personality could be determined from a typewritten page.

Fact of the business, his curiosity was aroused. He hoped she'd show up for the chat tonight. He wasn't counting on it, but he was hopeful.

Was she a good person? Sincere about adhering to his rules? Pretty?

Scratch the last. She didn't need to be pretty. He didn't want her to be pretty.

"Daddy?"

He jumped, blinked. "What?"

Lost in thought, he'd completely forgotten where he was. He blinked and pulled himself back into Jacey's room where a new purple unicorn drawing hung in crooked abandon above her bed. This particular unicorn, he noticed, was clearly a lady with long eyelashes and a flowing yellow mane and glittering pink toenails. Color coordination might not be his daughter's strongest gifting.

He lowered himself to the edge of her bed, sitting at an angle to his child.

"Are we going to say my prayers?" Jacey's minty toothpaste breath wafted over him as she leaned in close, face tilted up to stare into his. "You're acting kind of funny."

"Sorry, tumbleweed." He tweaked her ear. The skin was still damp from her bath. She'd been filthy after playing in the barn while he worked. "I'm a little distracted."

Man, was he ever. It was as if his office computer were sending out magnetic signals, trying to suck him out of Jacey's room.

"Do you got the flu like Zeke's got?" She rose to her knees on the purple unicorn comforter, at least a dozen stuffed animals surrounding her, five of them unicorns of varying colors and sizes.

Holt laughed. "Distracted means my mind is thinking about other things tonight."

She scrunched up her cute nose. The three freckles meshed into one. "What kind of other things?"

He picked up Rosey and used the stuffed toy to tickle her beneath the chin. "Things like your Christmas presents."

One present in particular.

His belly jittered. This was nuts with a capital N.

His tiny cowgirl giggled, green eyes widening. "You're thinking about my new mommy?"

"How'd you guess?"

She took Rosey from him and clutched the toy to her heart. "Because I want one so bad. Badder than anything ever in this life. I told Ellie to ask her mama if she wanted to marry us."

"Jacey! No. You didn't." Oh, the humiliation a six-year-old could generate.

"Yup." Her head bobbed. "Ellie thought it was a great idea, but her mama said no."

Ouch. Double humiliation.

"She did?" He must be losing every bit of cowboy charisma he'd ever had. Either that or his gold buckles had blinded the ladies during his rodeo days so much that they'd focused on them instead of him.

If that didn't shoot a man's ego all to bits, he wasn't much of a man.

"Yup. Miss Dakota said she's never, ever getting married. ‘Cause men stink."

Holt snorted. Dakota Lockhart must have had her own bad experiences.

"I don't think you stink, Daddy." Jacey leaned close again and took a long sniff. "Sometimes in the barn you smell funny, but not now. You smell real good."

"Showers work wonders, kid. Now, let's hit our knees and thank Jesus for taking such good care of us."

"Okay." With childlike confidence, Jacey, Rosey in tow, dropped down beside her bed and went through her litany of thanks and blesses. "And make Zeke's flu go away, so he can come to work. Amen."

"Amen to that." Holt was worn to a nub from handling all the farm labor plus the training himself. Zeke was more valuable than he'd realized. The man deserved a fat Christmas bonus.

Once Jacey was settled snugly into bed, comforter up to her chin, Rosey curled into one elbow, and a kiss on her forehead, he headed to his office, hoping the woman, whatever her name was, would log on at eight as promised.

He checked the time icon in the corner of the screen. "Five after."

Suddenly nervous as if this were a date, and he guessed it sort of was, he logged in.

Nothing.

He stared at the screen for five more minutes. Still nothing.

She'd dumped him. Already.

Zeke was wrong. Online dating was hard on the ego.

However, she could have gotten busy at work and was running late. Except he didn't know how late her shop stayed open. She'd worked overtime the night before.

Or she could live in a big city. Rush-hour traffic was a nightmare.

Rush hour had long passed. Except on the west coast. Maybe she was in California. If so, her time zone would be different than his.

Holt scrubbed his hands over his face. This was ridiculous. No use sitting here staring at an empty chat box.

He pushed back in the chair and rose. The computer tinged.

With a leap of pulse, he grabbed for the mouse, attempting a graceful slide onto the chair. He failed with a capital F.

The chair tumbled backward. Holt went to one knee, all the while maintaining a grip on the mouse. He clicked, and at the same time, righted the chair with one booted foot. He slid onto the seat. A feat fit for a champion bull rider.

He grinned to himself. He still had it—the quickness, the balance, the skill. Even if his "bull" was nothing but a rolling office chair.

Hi , she wrote. Sorry I'm late. Upset stomach.

His fingers flew over the keyboard. Man, he was glad Mr. Simmons had forced him to learn keyboarding in seventh grade. Hope you're not getting the flu. My hired hand has been out with it for nearly a week. It's a nasty bug. Wouldn't want you getting sick.

I'm okay now. No big deal. But thanks. That's sweet of you.

Sweet? Him? Okay. He'd take sweet. So, you like kids?

Love kids. Always wanted to be a mom. Tell me about your daughter.

She's a tough little wrangler, sweet as pie, kind of feisty, smart as a whip, and good as gold. Never a minute's trouble. Unless you counted asking God for the impossible. I'd do anything for her.

Fact of the matter, he was.

She sounds wonderful.

She is. A thought struck him. What about you? Any kids?

A series of dancing dots in the chat box told him she was typing something. She took a long time, seemed to erase, and then start again.

When the reply came, it simply said, No.

He frowned at the screen. What else had she wanted to say?

Before he could ask, she typed, You say you'd do anything for her. Like marry someone you've never met?

Yes.

What if I'm not the person I say I am? What if I have baggage or issues or a stalker? What if I'm a criminal?

We all have issues and baggage. But if you're a criminal, tell me now. My daughter is the most important person in my life. No criminals allowed anywhere near her.

Criminals give me the creeps. I've never so much as had a parking ticket.

A thought struck him. Are you worrying about any of those things with me?

The world can be a mean place.

Did she know that from experience or from watching the news? Bad experiences?

Again with the dancing dots. Finally, she responded with, As you said, we all have baggage.

Right. Should he pry deeper? Ask for specifics? He fluttered his fingers above the keys, thinking, and then typed, Anything I should know about?

I've moved on. Don't worry. What about you? You have a daughter without a mother. Divorced, widowed, or none of my business?

Numbers one and two. Divorced, but J's mother passed suddenly three years ago.

Oh, that's sad. May I ask what happened?

He recalled the sheer terror he'd felt once the shock of that devastating phone call wore off. His ex-wife was dead. And his three-year-old child needed her daddy. Holt had been in Louisiana celebrating a bronc ride that had given him enough points to make another run at the all-round in Vegas. A run he'd never completed.

Pamela, my ex, he typed, hated bugs to the point of phobia. He'd teased her about it plenty. Had once chased her around the house with a cricket. No one knew she was highly allergic to wasps. Deadly allergic.

As angry as he'd been at Pamela for keeping him and Jacey apart, he'd never wanted anything bad to happen to her. He'd loved her once. They'd made an incredible child together.

She died from a wasp sting?

Yeah. Crazy, huh? He still found Pamela's death almost unbelievable.

Horrifying. I'm sorry. That must have been a hard time for both you and your little girl.

Pamela's death had been the single most devastating moment of his life. Jacey's too.

Being a single dad so unexpectedly was rough going at first, but now J. is my main reason for busting tail to build this ranch into a top contender.

Contender? For what?

Rodeo. How much should he share?

Silly question. If he married the woman, they'd share everything. Well, except a room and a bed and all those man-and-wife things he tried not to think about. When J. came to live with me, I took my winnings and bought a ranch that belonged to my family when I was a kid.

No more rodeo competitions?

Only as a spectator. Don't want J. losing another parent. She's been through too much grief already.

You sound like a good dad.

Pride swelled his chest, and he hoped the good Lord didn't hold it against him. I try, but a man alone only knows so much about little girls.

He'd taught his tumbleweed to tack up a horse and ride and lots of other things about horses and cows. Even though she was a little squirt, Jacey was dandy help in the barn with feeding horses and mucking out stalls and such. But to his dismay, she'd told him this morning that he didn't know diddly squat about fixing hair.

Diddly squat . That's what she'd said. Then, all by herself, she'd wrestled her hair into a tail with enough stray hairs sticking out to be a hay bale.

Which is why you need a wife? the stranger on the computer asked.

Exactly. Can you fix hair?

She responded with a smiley face. I'm a girl. We're born with the knowledge. A brush in one hand and a mirror in the other.

Not if Jacey was any indication. But he liked the smiley face and her cute response. The woman was friendly and intelligent, if her writing was an indicator. And she held a job. That was important. He didn't want a slacker, a woman afraid of a little hard work. Ranching wasn't easy. Not that he'd expect her to work outside the home unless she wanted to. He could support a wife. He just liked knowing she was willing.

Nor did he expect her to work with the animals. Again, unless she wanted to. He was marrying her to be a mother for Jacey, not a farmhand.

The conversation was going well. His confidence grew with every reply she sent. This was going to work. He felt it in his bones.

Mostly, he felt it in the shoulder he'd ripped out of socket a couple of seasons before he retired. He rotated it. The thing got cranky during cold weather. Must be rain moving in with the cold front.

Still, he felt good on the inside where it counted. He liked this mysterious woman. She was cordial, easy to talk to—if typing were talking—and said she fit his requirements.

Holt figured now was the time to move things forward.

Would you be willing to exchange telephone numbers? I'd like to hear your voice. Was it as soft and sexy as his imagination had started to believe? Did he really want it to be?

He typed in his cell phone number and signed the message with a capital H.

Then he waited.

And waited.

AnnaLeigh's heartbeat jittered. She stared at the phone number and the H. What did the initial stand for? Harry? She got a quick vision of the handsome British prince. Other than Henry, also the British prince, Harry was the only H name she could think of. And she didn't know a single Harry or Henry in America under the age of eighty.

How old was this guy? With a six-year-old, he couldn't be that old. Should she ask? Did she really care given the circumstances? After all, they wouldn't really be man and wife, not romantically anyway.

Should she give him her phone number?

The questions tumbled through her head until her mouth went dry.

He seemed friendly, definitely loved his daughter, and was willing to work hard and sacrifice for those he loved. But he'd been divorced. Why? Had it been his fault? Or the ex's? Or both? Traveling the rodeo circuit kept him away from home. It also, she was sure, brought him in contact with lots of interested women. There was something about a cowboy women found hard to resist.

But he'd promised not to cheat. That was important in any kind of a relationship AnnaLeigh entered, platonic or otherwise. At least, from now on, fidelity was important. Alan hadn't thought so.

This guy wasn't Alan. Thank goodness. Far from it. He was a cowboy on a ranch in the middle of…where did he live? Would she need to move again?

She liked her job, but if moving would keep her baby away from Alan, she'd pack up tonight.

Giving her head a hard shake, she muttered, "Only one way to find out."

She put her thumbs on the cell phone's tiny keyboard. If this guy turned out to be a nut job, she'd change her phone number. Again.

"I'd like to hear yours too. Vocal inflection tells a lot about a person." She typed in her number and signed it with her initial, as he'd done.

Then, pulse thrumming against her collarbone, she waited. When her ringtone sounded, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

It was him. She stared at the number on the screen for three rings before finally answering.

"Hello?" Did she sound as nervous as she felt?

"Hi," he said in a pleasant baritone. "Thanks for sharing your number. I thought for a minute you wouldn't answer."

"Me, too." Was she whispering?

"A little scary, huh?" His slow drawl was easy to listen to. Nonthreatening. Where ever he was from, he'd spent considerable time in the south.

"I have to admit," she said, "I was nervous about answering the phone. Talking through the internet, anonymously, seemed easier. And safer."

"You still worried about that?" He sounded sincere, concerned. "The safe part?"

"Maybe. A little." She gnawed at the corner of her thumb. Maybe a lot. How did she know he wasn't a killer who lured women with his cowboy charm and then buried them under the barn?

"Don't be. No reason. I promise. I don't have any way of proving that. I wish I did. If you can think of a way…"

That he was concerned about her fears settled them somehow. "I'm okay. But thank you."

"You can do a background check on me, if you like. And I've got friends who'll vouch for me, and a church family that likes me." He chuckled. "I think."

Church. Oh yeah. He was a Christian. "That's nice, and it helps."

"Good. So…feeling better about me yet?"

"Some, yes." She laughed softly. "I'm not usually a coward but—" She stopped short of telling him about the baby. Her little one's well-being meant everything, was the entire reason for this insanity, but she couldn't tell the cowboy yet. Their relationship would be over and done before it got off the ground.

"So," he murmured, and the drawl sent a little shiver over her skin. "Tell me about yourself. You're single, like me. I know that. And interested in a platonic marriage deal. Right?"

She swallowed a glob of nerves. "Yes. It seems kind of crazy, though. This way. On the internet."

"I thought so too at first, but a pal of mine convinced me otherwise. This is kind of like the old west mail order brides, I think. Only more high tech."

"I suppose that's true." She took another bite at the corner of her thumb. If she didn't stop, it would be sore tomorrow. A sore thumb would wreak havoc on gift wrapping.

"Those marriages worked out okay."

"Did they?"

He laughed. "Good question. As far as I've ever heard, they did."

She liked his laugh. "I read a book about that in elementary school. Sarah, Plain and Tall . Have you heard of it?"

"Sorry. Not much of a reader. Though I'm reading a lot of kid's books these days."

"It was about a woman who went West to marry a man she'd never met. A man with kids who needed a mama."

"My problem exactly." He chuckled. "How did it work out?"

"Great. They fell in love."

"Oh." His voice went flat.

"Not that I'd expect that to happen with us," she hurried to say. "I have no romantic expectations or interest. At all ."

"Good. Because as nice as you sound, that's part of the deal. No romance. Strictly a platonic, matrimonial business deal. We keep our emotions out of this, and we're both better off. Friends is good. Anything more and I'm out."

AnnaLeigh's throat tightened. The cowboy's determined tone stung a little. He didn't know her. Could be she was awesome. Maybe he'd fall madly in love with her the moment they met. If she wanted that kind of thing. Which she did not.

A voice whispered in her head. Never? You never want to love and be loved?

She gave the pesky little voice a firm shove. Girlhood dreams were a thing of the past. There were no knights on white horses or Prince Charmings in her future. The best she could do was to provide security for herself and her child. If it took a lonely cowboy with a motherless daughter to make that happen, she'd sign on the dotted line.

"I understand," she said. "Rule three." She glanced at the list she'd jotted on a notepad. "Make no demands on you, your time, or your money. You strictly want a good woman to raise your daughter. Friends only. Not friends with benefits."

"Right. Exactly." He released a long breath as if he'd been afraid she'd argue. "The rules are iron clad. You sure you're okay with that? It's crucial."

"Completely." As long as you're okay with raising my child.

She didn't say that, of course. Once she knew him better, as in when they were married and long after she'd moved to his ranch in rural Montana or Wyoming or anywhere but Colorado, far away from Alan, she'd break the news.

"You'll sign a contract to that effect?"

Her heart jiggled. She swallowed. "Yes."

"My reasons are pretty clear cut, but why would you be willing to do this?"

She hadn't expected that question.

Hesitating only a moment, she murmured, "Rule numbers five and six."

Apparently, the admission gave him pause. The line crackled in her ear. He was silent so long she thought he was about to change his mind.

Maybe he wondered why she was so desperate, as Rule five required. Or perhaps he was rethinking Rule six, the plain Jane requirement. Maybe he wanted a beauty, after all. Not that she was scary ugly, but if he needed to believe she was unattractive, she'd let him.

He was the one who'd made the rules, not her. And both were conditions of this bizarre arrangement.

Finally, he chuckled. "Took me a minute to remember what the rules were. Should I ask why so desperate?"

She gave him credit for not mentioning her looks. The desperation part was a different matter. Tell him and lose this opportunity. But she had to tell him something.

"I grew up in foster care, so I've always wanted a home and family. I'm tired of being alone."

That much was true. And much of the reason she'd been with Alan.

A long pause hummed from the other end. Then he said, "We can give you that. Home, family, along with anything else you need to feel secure."

Did she detect a hint of pity in his tone? Compassion she could handle—and use to her advantage, apparently—but not pity.

"Uh-oh," he said. "Hold on a minute, will you?"

In the background, she heard a child's voice. "Who're you talking to, Daddy?"

"It's a business call, tumbleweed. What are you doing out of bed?"

Business. Right. Only a business deal. Her chest ached a little.

"I'm thirsty." The small, girlish voice was barely audible.

AnnaLeigh heard the cowboy sigh. Then he spoke into the mouthpiece again. "Sorry. Gotta hang up."

"She doesn't know about your plans?" AnnaLeigh asked.

"No. And that can't happen. Ever." He sighed again. "I'll call you tomorrow, and we'll talk about it more."

"Same time?"

"What time do you go to work? I could call you in the morning."

"I don't have to be there until nine."

"Is 7:30 too early?"

"No." She'd be awake. She hoped she could talk instead of throwing up.

"Great. I'd like to get this deal settled. Talk to you then."

That was it. He hung up.

AnnaLeigh stretched out on her bed, phone clutched to her chest, and stared at the popcorn ceiling while she pondered the conversation. The cowboy seemed sensible enough. Not a hint of psycho or even weirdo. He seemed normal.

Except for wanting a marriage of convenience.

She wondered about that. Perhaps his ex had burned him so badly, he was afraid to risk his heart again. She got that. Sympathized even.

His laugh was pleasant, not scary or suggestive. Kind of warm and sexy, actually. His love for his daughter was evident. She felt better knowing that. It gave AnnaLeigh hope that he might someday come to care for her baby, too.

Her conscience pinged. Was it wrong not to tell him about the pregnancy before they married? He loved his daughter. He wanted a wife and family. Maybe he wouldn't mind if there was another child.

She latched onto the thought, making the cowboy a silent promise. She'd be the best wife and the best mother he could possibly imagine.

She'd make sure he didn't regret marrying her.

AnnaLeigh stuffed another pillow under her head and shoulders, staving off a round of heartburn.

He hadn't asked about her faith, and she was relieved. She didn't want to lie, wouldn't lie.

But like the cowboy, she had pressing reasons for moving forward. The sooner the better. Tomorrow, she'd tell him exactly that.

She was going to marry a cowboy.

And she didn't even know his name.