It took a whole bottle of wine to write that list and she hadn’t sent it until she’d read it sober the next morning. She wanted a paperback hero, a man from a romance novel, and she wanted to find him in the small town of Freewill. Certain the service would never be able to deliver on that fantasy, she’d submitted it.
And then she forgot it, because she never expected anything to happen. The whimsical application came from a moment of weakness and profound loneliness. She wanted a man who would kiss her like he meant it, hold her like she mattered, and make love to her like she was the only woman for him.
Biting her lip, she scrolled back to the question. An image of A.J. Turner’s sexy grin filled her mind and her stomach flip-flopped. She glanced at the tiny stuffed buffalo sitting on top of the monitor as if it would give her the answer she needed.
With shaking fingers she typed one word.
Yes.
And hit send before she could change her mind.
Chapter Two
One week later….
A.J. nailed the board with three swift hits of the hammer and moved on to the next nail. Overall, the Spotted Horse Ranch wasn’t even a fifth the size of the Gaines’ place, but it was home. His grandfather, and later his father, kept it up, growing it only as much as a body could handle. They didn’t bring in employees or contractors, preferring to do the work themselves.
He’d stripped off his sweat-soaked shirt an hour before. A tool belt rode low on his hips, the weight a comfortable thing. The work gloves hugged his hands, and the cowboy hat he favored rode low over his eyes, keeping the sun out. Rising before dawn, he was determined to finish the new paddock so he could bring the younglings in closer to start working them.
A whinny from the pasture pulled his gaze up. A truck rolled up his long drive. He sighed, his seven days of blissful silence, the beer with Brady notwithstanding, was about to be interrupted. The decade-old truck bounced slowly over the ruts in the drive. He needed to grade that drive before winter.
“A.J.!” Mitch Cramer, the ancient town postman waved from the open window of the vehicle. The wrinkles in the man’s face and baldpate were a testament to his longevity. “How you doing, boy?”
To him, like so many of the old timers, A.J. would always be just a boy. Hanging the hammer on his belt, he stripped off his work gloves and walked over to the truck. “I’m good, Mr. Cramer. Real good. How is Mrs. Cramer?”
Rosey Cramer had been teaching kindergarten at the local school for nearly forty-five years and, at last count, didn’t seem to have any plans to stop.
“Retiring.” Cramer grinned broadly. “We’ve got us some great-grandbabies down in Jackson Hole and she wants to spend more time with them.”
“Great-grand-babies?” That was news to him. He’d gone to high school with Veronica and Chet, the Cramer grandkids.
“Ayup. Ronnie had herself some triplets.” The man’s smile seemed to grow three feet. “Two girls and a boy. Lots of quilting, knitting, and spoiling to be done.”
“Congratulations.” He shook his hand again. “Please pass on my regards to Ronnie.”
“Will do. Oh, and before I forget….” He picked up a bundle of mail on the seat next to him. Tied together by a thick cord, the top letter showed an Allen, Texas, return address. “I wouldn’t be running this out here, but the letter here was marked urgent. You remember to come into town on Saturdays to get your mail. My Rosey still makes up brownies for the Saturday pick up.”
Accepting the stack, he nodded. “Yes, sir. I remember.”
Task done, Mr. Cramer gave him another wave and drove away. He didn’t linger to be social; he took his job as a postal worker seriously. Driving all the way out to the Spotted Horse was a favor, not one he’d likely repeat unless another ‘urgent’ delivery came in.
Mopping the sweat off his face with a bandana, A.J. headed up to the sprawling porch with its slanted roof. He grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler and took a long pull then cut the tie holding the letters together. Recognizing the Captain’s writing, he slit his letter open first. The rest could wait. A sheet of paper slipped out with a single line.
Turn on your damn phone. – L.
A.J. sighed. He’d shut off his cell phone his first day back in town. He hadn’t missed having it. In fact, save for two trips into town to pick up supplies and a beer with Brady, he avoided talking to anyone. Not even the pretty librarian whose name he learned was Sheri. Ms. Potts at the grocery told him a lot about Freewill’s transplant when she caught him watching her over the produce. Guy Wilks from the gas station mentioned her. Her car needed an oil change and she’d been there, too. In fact, both times he’d gone to town, he’d seen her everywhere.