Billionaire Flawed 1(151)
“Who on earth are you and what on earth am I doing here?” the girl asked him with her eyes.
“Frankly Miss, I have no earthly idea,” he desperately wanted to respond at this point; opting instead to remember the refined gentlemanly manners that his parents had taught him so long ago.
“Evenin’, Ma’am—that is, Ma’ams,” he greeted the two females, tipping his wide brimmed ivory Stetson in something of a gentlemanly flourish. “May I help ya’?”
MariAnne nodded.
“Are you Clayton Townsend?” she barked, inclining her head sharp in Clayton’s direction as she shuffled her slippered feet on his doorstep.
“At this point I’m sure of nothing,” he really, really wanted to say, opting instead to make one final attempt at gentlemanly cordiality. “Yes Ma’am, I am indeed Deputy Sheriff Clayton Townsend. And who might you be, Ma’am?”
Gracing him with a short nod as if finally satisfied that he was indeed the man she’d been seeking, the woman before him offered her his gloved hand as she greeted, “Well good evenin’ Deputy Sheriff Clayton Townsend. I am Mail Order Bride MariAnne Parkinson. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Clayton gaped outright as he took the lady’s offered hand and raised it to his lips for a gentlemanly kiss.
“So I take it that you’re answering my published ad for a mail order bride?”
MariAnne grinned.
“Well that is what I said, now isn’t it?” she queried in a light tone, adding as she graced him with an affectionate nudge, “My my, Deputy; you catch on quick.”
Clayton stared at her for a long moment, blinking hard as he considered the boldness of her words.
Then he started laughing. Hard.
“Well I’ll say one thing for ya Miss,” he told her, adding as he invited her inward and closed his door behind her, “You certainly do have a way with words.”
MariAnne shrugged, pursing her pearl pink lips in a firm businesslike fashion; even as she continued to cradle her quiet sleepy daughter in two adoring arms.
“Well I’ll tell ya something Clayton, I don’t know if I have a way with words, but I certainly don’t mince ‘em,” she revealed, adding as she pointed an authoritative finger in his direction, “So let me tell this to you plain and straight. I spent a precious portion of my meager savings on the carriage ride that brought me out here; and as I approached your plot of land, I saw the makings of a mighty fine ranch--one that, with the able touch of a woman, just might have the makins’ of a five-star ranch in the Lone Star state,” she paused here, adding as she pointed a confident thumb straight in her own direction, “And I just happen to be that woman. So without further ado, show me my room and we can both hit the hay; getting the rest we need for a productive day on the range tomorrow.”
Clayton froze.
“Well now Ma’am, I didn’t precisely say that you had the job,” he reminded her, adding as he made a broad gesture between them, “And I should note, for that matter, that this isn’t a job at all. I did not advertise for a cook or a ranch hand, but for a wife.”
For the first time throughout the course of their brief acquaintance, MariAnne Parkinson fell silent; inspiring a wave of acute concern in the eyes of her current beholder, who questioned her very well-being in the wake of this sudden change.
“Are you all right there, Miss?” he asked her, arching his eyebrows just as he pondered the probable location of her smelling salts at this point.
“I’m all right,” MariAnne answered finally, adding as she looked him straight in the eyes, “but, sad to say, I am not a miss. And although I would be pleased to offer you my services as a companion, a ranch hand, a cook and a consultant—providing, of course, that I’m treated in a kind and respectful manner—I cannot be your bride at this present time.” She paused here, adding as she shuffled her feet beneath her, “And this is owing to the fact that I’m already married.”
Clayton gaped outright, shaking his head from side to side as he considered these most unexpected—not to mention unsettling—words.
“Well I guess that would explain the youngin’,” he mused, tone vague and voice barely above a whisper.
MariAnne nodded, setting her little girl down on the ground beside her as she regarded her with an adoring smile.
“This is my daughter Ellie,” she introduced her daughter, who now graced their host with an adorable smile and a downright precious wave. “This little girl is the light of my life, and the whole reason I need a good home.”