The Soldier's E-Mail Order Bride (Heroes of Chance Creek) Page 2

  Kaylee broke off the kiss, shot her a look of pure triumph and pulled Anthony by the hand to the stage where Delilah Leavensworth waited. Ella’s chest heaved with the effort to find enough air to fill her lungs, but no one else seemed to notice she was having a heart attack. For that’s what it had to be. What else could press this crushing weight on her chest as all her dreams came shattering down around her?

  “Sorry! Sorry!” Kaylee chirped into the microphone she grabbed from Delilah, after pulling Anthony right onto the stage despite his protestations. “I had to bring my leading man up here with me when I accepted the award.” She slung an arm around his waist and hugged him again.

  Ella blinked back the tears that pricked her eyes. She would not cry. She would. Not. Cry. She had to get out of here. But how? With half the cameras in the place trained on her, a retreat would be filmed and played back again and again on every network. She’d already been humiliated enough. A glance at Marianne told her she was just as horrified by the spectacle playing out in front of them. If Marianne had thought Ella would prop up her career, she was sadly mistaken.

  Suddenly the stocky, grizzled, six-foot-four frame of Ella’s driver and bodyguard, Hank Much, appeared beside her and crouched by her chair. He handed her a cell phone in a very showy way. She had no idea how he’d made it past security to reach her, but she could have kissed him for doing so.

  He put his mouth near her ear and said something, but the noise of the crowd made it almost impossible to hear. She caught the words mother and hospital and minutes to live. Icy-cold fear spiked through her. All thoughts of Anthony and Kaylee forgotten, she grabbed the phone and pressed it to her ear. “Mom?”

  Hank took her arm and hauled her to her feet. “Purse.”

  She grabbed her silver clutch automatically and let him hustle her up the aisle, her heart pounding as she rushed to keep up with his strides. Security agents were fast approaching, but Hank put up a hand to stop them and guided her past. They took up the rear, like a well-armed entourage.

  “Mom!” Ella covered her free ear with a hand to block the noise of Kaylee’s insipid acceptance speech and the murmuring of the crowd all around her. People were pointing at her, but their faces showed concern, not derision. “Mom—are you all right?” She could hardly breathe. This couldn’t be happening—not tonight of all nights. How soon could she get on a plane to Nevada? Or would it be quicker to drive? Hank hustled her up the aisle.

  “Ma’am—you can’t take calls while they’re filming,” one of the security guards called out.

  Hank shushed him. “Family emergency! Miss Scales is needed immediately!” He hauled Ella into the lobby, then straight out the front door to the limo he’d pulled half onto the sidewalk. More security guards clustered around it, arguing and talking into cell phones. The press pushed in from all sides. Flashes went off, reporters screamed at her.

  “Ms. Scales, why are you leaving the Awards early?”

  “Ms. Scales—what about the Oscar?”

  “Ms. Scales—is the wedding of the century off?”

  “Ms. Scales—”

  Hank pushed her toward the limo and deposited her into the back seat. In another moment he was behind the wheel. He pulled away from the curb, tires screeching.

  In the sudden silence, Ella heard the dial tone on the phone she pressed to her ear and shut it off, scrambling for her own phone in her clutch. “I lost her!”

  “You never had her. There’s no phone call.”

  “What?” She straightened, blinking back tears. “What do you mean?”

  “There’s no phone call. Your mom’s fine.” He turned his head. “Jesus, you didn’t hear me. I said, act is if your Mom has minutes to live.”

  Ella gaped at him. Realized he’d tried to give her a credible reason to escape from the Academy Awards and began to laugh, close to hysterics. Relief flooded her body as she realized her mother was safe and that Hank had gotten her out of there with some of her dignity intact.

  “You okay?” Hank peered at her in the rearview mirror. At sixty-eight, he was still as muscled as he’d ever been as a Mr. Universe contestant. He’d taken corporate security jobs when his career as a body-builder ended in his late thirties, then progressed to personal security and limo driving when he wanted something a little less strenuous. He’d worked for Ella for four years now and she didn’t know what she’d do without him. Hank was a bit of a father-substitute as well as her chauffeur and protector.

  Without fear for her mother to hold it back, her humiliation swamped her again. She could see the small screen of Hank’s smart-phone in the front seat. It was tuned to a live feed of the show. Kaylee and Anthony were still onstage. Kaylee had thrown her arms around Anthony, nearly knocking him out with her Oscar, and was kissing him passionately on the lips.

  Anthony was kissing her back.

  “Oh, I’m so excited,” Kaylee said as she pulled away. “I’m just too excited. I have to tell you my news—the only thing that can top this amazing award.” She waved her Oscar over her head.

  “I should turn that off,” Hank said.

  “We’re getting married!” Kaylee cried, lifting Anthony’s hand over their heads like a victory celebration. “And I have an even bigger surprise! Anthony, I’m pregnant!” She threw herself at Anthony again, who’d stiffened at Kaylee’s sudden announcement. At some unseen signal from off-stage, Delilah Leavensworth began to usher them away from the podium with sweeping gestures, still smiling broadly, although her expression was definitely forced. The audience’s applause died down as they exited, replaced by audible murmurs of disbelief.

  Ella watched the drama unfold without moving, her breath caught in her throat. Kaylee kept kissing Anthony and trying to drag him back to center stage. Anthony and Delilah both worked to pull her off into the wings.

  When Kaylee tripped and Delilah caught her, Ella barked out a laugh that turned into a sob.

  Kaylee was pregnant—when Anthony had made Ella sign a pre-nup stating clearly they would never have a child.

  She should have been devastated. She should have been furious. But although tears ran down her face, she felt neither of these things.

  Instead, she felt relief.

  Chapter 1

  ‡

  June

  “I will find a wife within the next nine months. How many times do I have to say it?” Austin surveyed the computer screen on the table in front of him. This time he sat at a bank of computers available for off-duty men at the Eglin Air Force base in Florida where the 7th Special Forces Group (Airborne) made its home. Back stateside after far too many months in Afghanistan, his clean, modern, safe surroundings felt as unreal as they always did after an extended tour. He kept bracing for an attack that never came and the absence of danger was almost as unnerving as its presence was in the field. His right heel tapped under the table so fast he felt the vibration through his chair. It wasn’t too much caffeine from the cups of coffee he’d drained throughout the day; it was leftover adrenaline that had nowhere to go now that he was back in the United States.

  “I don’t care how many times you say it. I care that you haven’t done anything about it.” Mason leaned forward until his face filled his screen. “It’s been three months since I told you what we need to do to get our family’s ranch back. I got engaged, I fixed up the barns and stables, I fenced in the pastures, I paid off Uncle Zeke’s debts, and now I’m getting married and I’m working on having a baby, too.” He ticked each point off on his fingers.

  Mason was right—he’d done a great job fulfilling their Great Aunt Heloise’s harebrained conditions for them to inherit Crescent Hall. In four days Austin would leave the Army and rejoin the civilian world. In six days he’d watch Mason and his fiancée, Regan, tie the knot. Now he just had to find a woman. And marry her.

  The thought left him cold. He used to think someday he’d settle down, but it had always been a vague plan to be carried out far in the future—a future which seemed bright wit
h possibilities. These days he didn’t give a damn about the future. He’d left too much behind in Afghanistan.

  But Great Aunt Heloise had been all too clear about the conditions under which she’d return Crescent Hall to Austin and his brothers. It was all or nothing. If he didn’t marry, he’d deny the rest of them their chance to go home. He couldn’t do that.

  He was caught between a rock and a hard place, right where he’d been since Donovan died. Unable to go back. Unable to move forward.

  Sometimes he wished he had died, too.

  “By the time I got out of the Navy I had already found Regan,” Mason was saying. “You’ll be out of the Army on Thursday. What’s the holdup?”

  Shaking off his dark thoughts, Austin wondered what it would be like when he and his brothers lived together in Chance Creek. Zane would be out of the Marines in September. Colt planned to carry on in the Air Force indefinitely, but sooner or later he’d leave the service, too, and all four of them would work the ranch.

  With their wives.

  “Give him a break, Mason.” Zane spoke up. He was on his way home for a short leave to attend Mason’s wedding, too. Austin should have looked forward to seeing his twin again, but it was hard to muster enthusiasm for much of anything. Once, Zane had been the kind of friend Edgars and Donovan were—the two of them had been inseparable until they joined different branches of the service. Now a distance had grown between them because of the time they’d spent apart. He wondered if they’d ever overcome it. Wasn’t sure he ever wanted to be close to someone like that again.

  “Yeah, give him a break. Not all of us want wives.” That was Colt. He’d catch a flight to Chance Creek first thing on Friday, but he’d only stay a couple of days.

  Mason shook his head. “Don’t you all start this again. You gave your word—not only to me, but to Regan, too—you would get married before the year was up. We’ve done the hard part, getting the ranch and Hall ready for the rest of you, and we’re the ones trying to get pregnant. All you three have to do is find wives and settle down.”

  “I’ll find a wife.” The sentence came out nearly a growl and Austin fought down his impatience. He wasn’t getting much sleep these days—hadn’t in a long, long time.

  “You’d better get a move on.” Mason glared at each of them through the video connection. “If you all blow this after everything Regan and I have done, I will personally make your lives a living hell.”

  Too late, Austin thought. He was already living in hell.

  “What about Heather Ward?” Mason suggested to him. “You could always marry her—she’s still in town. She asked about you when Regan and I got here.”

  “Heather Ward?” Jolted out of his thoughts, he stared at his brother. He’d dated the girl back in high school—more than a decade ago, for heaven’s sake. Nothing from that era in his life seemed real anymore. Certainly not the selfish girl who’d dumped him right before his father died. “I don’t think so.”

  Zane and Colt, who’d both gone quiet during this exchange, began to talk at once.

  “You know what they say—you can’t go back to your first love,” Zane said.

  “I’ll bet she moved on to greener pastures a long time ago,” Colt added.

  “I have no interest in Heather Ward.” Austin hoped that put an end to that line of speculation.

  “Then find someone you are interested in—fast. I gotta go,” Mason said. “Make your flights and don’t screw up. And when you get here do whatever it takes to make Regan happy. She deserves it.”

  “Especially for putting up with you,” Colt drawled as Mason cut the line. Austin chuckled along with Zane out of habit, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how hard the last year and a half had been, the hardest part was yet to come. He’d looked forward to coming home, but now he understood there would be no time to hide from the world and regroup like he’d hoped for. He had to marry fast, and many people in Chance Creek would remember him, his family and his past. The joshing over Heather Ward left him feeling raw. If his own brothers couldn’t understand how removed he felt from the days before he’d joined the service—how removed he felt from everything—there was no hope that anyone else would. People like Heather meant nothing to him. Not anymore.

  “You hanging in there?” Zane asked him suddenly.

  Austin realized he’d lost the thread of the conversation. “Yeah.”

  “You turned green back there when Mason mentioned Heather. You sure you’re over her?”

  “Hell, yeah. I was over her about a month after I joined the Army.” He had been, too. Heather had consumed him back in high school, but the Army showed him a bigger world than he’d ever dreamed about. His new friendships quickly outranked his old ones. His desire to join the Special Forces burned brighter than any spark for his old girlfriend. She’d moved on quickly anyway. He’d heard a rumor she’d been with someone else even before he left Chance Creek—and that was barely a month after she’d given him the heave-ho. Austin shrugged. “All kidding aside? That ship sailed a long time ago.”

  His brothers exchanged a look he couldn’t decipher. Didn’t they believe him? It was true. Heather was high maintenance. A drama queen. When he settled down he was going to choose a woman who was as independent as he was—someone who barely needed a husband at all.

  “There’s been something funny about you since your last tour,” Zane persisted with the insight only a twin could have.

  “I’m fine. How about you two?” He figured he’d deflect the conversation onto his brothers. “Any prospects?”

  “Not really.” Zane frowned. They were almost identical in looks, which they’d exploited as kids, but that was a long time ago. These days they didn’t get to talk much, let alone see each other face to face.

  “Colt? You getting anywhere?”

  Colt, who looked far more serious than usual, focused on him. “Nah. You know I never wanted to get hitched. I figure I’ll find some random woman, slap a ring on her finger and set her up in the Hall with the rest of you. I’ll send you a couple hundred bucks a month for food and clothes. You can take care of her.”

  Zane frowned at him. “You better take this seriously, Colt.”

  “I am taking it seriously. I seriously don’t want a wife, but you all seem to. Just think of her as an extra one. Whenever any of you get sick of the one you married, you can just take up with mine for a time.”

  “Colt!” Zane wasn’t amused, but Austin allowed the corner of his mouth to curl up in a grim smile. Just like old times. Colt had an innate ability to say just the thing that would get a rise out of the rest of them. Zane looked like thunder. “We’re all wasting our time and money if you don’t marry.”

  “I said I’ll get married. I didn’t say I’d live with the woman.”

  “I thought you said you’d—”

  “You thought wrong.” Colt overrode the rest of Zane’s words.

  Austin tuned out his brothers’ argument as a kernel of an idea occurred to him. Colt was onto something. He couldn’t be a husband to a woman, not in the traditional sense. He didn’t want someone who knew him like Heather. He wanted a complete stranger. Someone who didn’t need his love. Somewhere out there in the world was a woman whose own heart was broken, who needed help to get through the present, but who didn’t want more than that. That’s who he’d marry; someone exactly like him. After all, once Aunt Heloise had signed the deed to the land over to them, she couldn’t take it away if he divorced.

  A business transaction. He could do that. He’d find a wife for nine months—no, better make it a year. Give himself some leeway in case Heloise was slow to hand over that deed.

  “I’ve got to go. See you soon,” he said and cut the call. Now that he’d had the idea, he wanted to act on it at once. Get it over and done with so he could move on to fading away into obscurity in their small Montana town.

  He called up an online dating hub on his browser and typed in a new ad:

  Temporary
wife wanted for ex-serviceman.

  Requirements: Healthy, independent woman wanted to share the home, but not the heart, of a soldier who needs peace and quiet and no drama. I’m offering my name, my income and my support for a year in exchange for cooking, cleaning, gardening, some light chores on my Montana ranch, and the appearance of being happily married. I don’t need to know your story and you don’t need to know mine. In public we will act like husband and wife. In private we will act like roommates. Must be willing to sign a pre-nuptial agreement and marry immediately.

  There. That ought to do it.

  * * *

  “Ella, I want to thank you for being brave enough to come on my show today.” Myra Cramer leaned back in her leather seat, her signature red suit a powerful contrast to her blond hair. Ella always thought the talk show host looked like a political hopeful. A younger Hillary Clinton, perhaps. Marianne called her an influencer. “Just make her like you. Get her on board with the story of your recommitment to acting. With her support, everyone else will line up to welcome you back to Hollywood.”

  “It’s hard to talk about your personal life in front of strangers,” Myra went on. “Especially when the subject is so delicate. Your wedding to Anthony Black was scheduled for next week, wasn’t it? Before you decided to cancel?”

  “Yes, it was.” Ella shifted uncomfortably, reached out for the cup of coffee an assistant had placed for her on the decorative end table, then pulled her hand back. It was too soon in the show for her to take a sip—it would project disinterest in her hostess and she couldn’t afford that. Myra had been warned to touch on past events only lightly. This interview was meant as a first stop on the Ella Scales comeback train. Orchestrated by Marianne, it would bring her back into the public’s view in a positive, controlled way. For the last three months, Ella had gone to ground at her parents’ place in Nevada. Marianne had diligently shopped around a story of Ella helping her poor, sickly mother, complete with photos of her returning from town with grocery bags full of soup and produce. It still rankled Ella how fake those images were. Her mother—who was as healthy as a weed and furious about the deception—would never eat store-bought soup.