Billionaire Flawed 1(149)
MariAnne froze then, a few errant tears descending her own fair skinned cheeks as her entire being suddenly was overcome by a sense of complete and total helplessness.
For once the ever strong Texas filly had no answers, no energy, and precious little fight to bring to her current situation. For once the undefeatable MariAnne felt prepared to surrender; too weary and frightened to take another step.
Just then her precious little girl shifted restless in her arms, reminding her of the reason that she should, that she must go on with life; not resting until she found a safe and joyful place for them both to live.
“One of the two main reasons,” she reminded herself, adding as she sat upright on the bench and straightened her firm spine, “My life matters as well, and I will be dad gum it if I allow that varmint I married to rule and destroy me. I shall survive—somehow.”
Just then she shut her eyes tight, praying to the Lord above—the one that her parents had taught her to turn to in times of need and challenge—for some small hope of an answer.
“I just need that second wind, dear Lord—that wind of a hope,” she prayed in silence. “Please God—just show me the answer, show me the way, and I swear to you that I will hit the ground running. I will make a wonderful new life for my daughter and me—I just need a good head start.”
She jumped then as the scrap of thick parchment brushed harsh against her leg; bringing her to attention as she snapped her eyes open and cast a condemning look in the direction of the offending paper.
“So that’s my answer, dear Lord?” she inquired aloud, sending a narrow eyed quizzical look in the direction of the sky, “A paper cut?”
Shaking her head from side to side, MariAnne leaned forward to retrieve the phantom paper, which turned out to be that day’s issue of The Ramblin’ Report; a local newspaper filled with a smattering of timely news items, printed amongst a sea of advertisements that supported the publication of the periodical.
In search of a momentary distraction from her troublesome dilemma, MariAnne opened the newspaper to cast a casual glance at its contents; her gaze drawn immediately to a bold bordered advertisement that boasted a most intriguing headline:
Wanted: Mail Order Bride.
“Criminy,” she mused, rolling her eyes heavenward. “The Ramblin’ Report has precious few standards when it comes to advertising.”
Just curious—not to mention repelled—enough to read on, she proceeded to peruse the remainder of the ad.
“Let me start by saying that I never envisioned myself placing an advertisement such as this one; one that publically advertises for a bride. Yet at this point I fear that my need is most pressing. I am a deputy sheriff in this area who recently acquired a sizable ranch by way of inheritance, and I need a pair of helping hands to work my land and help me succeed. Furthermore I would far prefer that this pair of hands be soft and feminine—while still belonging to a woman of spirit, a true pioneer.”
MariAnne nodded.
“Mmmm, sounds most familiar,” she mused, adding as she inclined her head in a show of keen curiosity, “Yet I must inquire this. If—and this is a most significant if—I were to respond to this ad, what would this gentleman have to offer me?”
Just curious enough to read further, she shifted comfortable on the surface of the bench as she read the remainder of the advertisement.
“You may be pondering as to why you should even consider responding to this most unique request,” the ad read.
“Indeed,” MariAnne confirmed, eyebrows arched. “Do tell.”
“Well let me tell you as to why you should consider assuming the role of my worshipped mail order bride,” the advertisement continued. “First of all, as indicated, you will be worshipped in my care and company. I never shall treat you as a ranch hand on my property. I would wish for us to toil side by side, sharing equally in the work and the responsibility of tending our land while also reaping its fruits. And when we retire at night to my beautiful new ranch house, I promise to treat you as a princess in her palace; to love and honor you, as our vows would state.”
“Please do not keep me waiting, my princess,” the ad continued, finishing with the name and address of the gentleman placing the ad.
“Clayton Townsend,” MariAnne read aloud, shaking her head in shock as she immediately recognized the name of the gentleman who had placed the advertisement.
“And from what I have gathered, he is indeed a gentleman,” she mused, adding as she stroked her chin to thoughtful effect, “A deputy who has established a stellar representation as a law keeper in this area. I have heard that he has a particular soft spot for women and children; truth be told I had been thinking of seeking him out in town, to talk to him about the way that Ellie and I were being treated at home.”