Stephanie Bond - 50 Days to Choose Your Husband

by 50 Days to Choose Your Husband (lit)

  My heart vaulted to my throat when I saw the man in uniform standing in the showroom with his back to me. Was someone I knew injured? Had my apartment been broken into? Had my nasty habit of jaywalking finally caught up to me?

  "May I help you?"

  The man turned and I blinked — the face was familiar, but out of context in the navy uniform. "Tommy?" Tommy Andersen was a bartender-slash-aspiring writer who appeared to not have a conformist bone in his body. So what the heck was he doing in a cop's uniform?

  The dark-haired man smiled and removed his hat — shorter hair, trimmed sideburns. Had he already been in Linda's chair? His gaze swept over me, and I was shaken with a jolt of awareness. From his blink and slight hesitation, I sensed he was equally affected, which affected me more. We stood there, affecting each other as my mind raced for an explanation to the unfamiliar currents ping-ponging between us. How had I missed the chemistry?

  "You must be Jane," he said.

  I squinted, thoroughly confused.

  "I'm Teddy Andersen, Tommy's brother. We're twins."

  I absorbed the subtle differences — wider shoulders, darker eyes, and — God forgive me — bigger feet. "Oh. Hello."

  His eyes danced — the brothers were obviously used to being mistaken for each other. "Tommy asked me to give you a message. He didn't tell me you were so..." He blushed and toyed with his hat. "I'm sorry. It's just that you're not the sort of woman that my brother usually dates."

  I wasn't sure how to take that, but I felt obligated to murmur, "We're not dating really."

  He blushed deeper. "I mean, you seem so...normal. And pretty. Tommy seems to go for girls with shock value — blue hair, tattoos, that sort of thing."

  "Ah." I felt a little better. "Is Tommy okay?"

  "Oh, yeah. He asked me to give you this." He extended a sealed envelope.

  I took it and withdrew a folded sheet of stationery with "Kick Back at Shookie's Bar" letterhead. I sighed — that explained the four husband candidates instead of five.

  "I'm sorry," Teddy said. "I know my brother, so I can guess that's a 'Dear Jane' letter."

  I looked up and he winced when he realized what he'd said.

  "It's okay," I said. "Tommy and I weren't really close."

  Teddy looked relieved. "I thought you two were serious since he asked me to give you the letter as soon as possible."

  "It's a long story," I told him. "But trust me, Tommy doesn't owe me anything."

  He shifted foot to foot with genuine concern on his face — was he used to cleaning up behind his brother? I glanced at his ringless left hand and for a split second, couldn't help wishing I'd met Teddy first.

  "Look, this probably won't make up for Tommy's manners," he said. "But can I take you to lunch?"

  That...electrical thing started bouncing back and forth again. I had the wild urge to chuck the million-dollar quest and have lunch with this man who knew nothing about the will. But my 50 days were running out, and the radio show was about to begin.

  "I'm sorry," I said, gesturing vaguely behind me. "I have to work."

  He nodded, and I bit my tongue to keep from saying, "Some other time?" After all, I already had too many men in my life.

  Officer Teddy Andersen said goodbye, then tipped his hat and walked to the door. With his hand on the doorknob, he looked back and hesitated, then simply smiled and left.

  I frowned and resisted the urge to go after him — I would simply be running from my current situation. Speaking of running, I dashed back to my desk just as the announcer was catching the listeners up on their lunch publicity stunt.

  "We're back live at the Shear Indulgence Salon where the first husband candidate for Jane Browning has taken a seat in the stylist's chair and is ready to be clipped and quizzed at the same time. What's your name, sir, and what do you do for a living?"

  "My name is Billy Renaldi. I'm a firefighter."

  "A man used to risking his life, eh?"

  Billy chuckled. "You only go around once."

  Fatalistic or optimistic? I couldn't tell.

  "What are you going to have done today, Billy?"

  "Just a little off the top."

  I could picture him patting his flattop.

  "And now we'll turn the mike over to Linda Bledsoe, hairstylist and Jane Browning's roommate, to start the interview. I understand that Ms. Browning is listening?"

  "Yes," Linda said.

  Me and half of Atlanta. I put my head down on my desk.

  "Go ahead," the announcer said.

  The sound of electric clippers came over the air. "Now then, Billy," Linda said. "How do you feel about marrying a woman you've only known for a few weeks?"

  "I think you know right away if a person is someone you can trust. Jane is a stand-up gal. With my schedule, it's hard to meet single women. I don't think about the circumstances of how Jane and I met — what matters is that we know each other now."

  I lifted my head. Plus 10 points.

  "But do you think you could be happy married to Jane?"

  "We're both nice people, and we like animals. Marriages have been based on less."

  Hmm. Minus five.

  "What about sex?" Linda asked.

  Billy laughed. "I'm in favor of it. And I'm a one-woman man."

  Plus 20.

  "You're all done," Linda said. "Thanks, Billy."

  The announcer broke for a commercial, and I took a deep breath. It would be over soon.

  "And we're back at the Shear Indulgence Salon where husband candidate number two has just taken a seat. Tell us your name, sir, and what you do."

  "I'm Dr. Jake River. I'm a pediatrician."

  "Another man who's used to life-threatening situations!"

  The audience laughed. I frowned.

  "What are you having done today, doc?"

  "Just a little off the back."

  "Take it, Linda."

  The sound of scissors slicing came over the air. "Dr. River, how do you feel about arranged marriages?"

  "In my Native American culture, arranged marriages aren't unheard of. A marriage is more about being helpmates than soul mates. A marriage is a compromising relationship, push and pull. It works if two people want it to work."

  I nodded. Plus 10.

  "And do you have a problem with the consummation part of the agreement?"

  Jake laughed, and my stomach flipped. "Jane is a woman, I'm a man. I suspect nature will take its course."

  Minus five — but only because my parents were probably listening.

  "How do you feel about monogamy?"

  "I believe monogamy is the foundation of trust in any relationship."

  Plus 10 — I didn't want any nasty diseases making their way into my bed, even if he could cure them.

  "You're all done," Linda said.

  Another break, then the announcer gave a traffic update. "And speaking of traffic, a big crowd has gathered here at the hair salon where husband candidate number three has just taken a seat. Introduce yourself to our listeners, sir."

  "My name is Pablo Ricci. I'm a venture capitalist, among other things."

  I sensed a collective tremor going through the female (and gay) listeners as his creamy accent floated over the airwaves.

  "And what are you having done today?"

  "Just a clip or two around the edges, and the sideburns."

  "Over to you, Linda."

  "Pablo," she said over the sound of the clippers. "Don't you feel a little funny about marrying a woman so she'll inherit a million bucks?"

  "I don't need Jane's money," he said. "I need Jane."

  Yeah, to breed, I thought, thinking of his proposition to give him an heir ASAP. Although a woman could do worse in the stallion department.

  "And how do you feel about monogamy?"

  "I prefer monogamy, but it is up to the couple, is it not?"

  Hmm.

  "And what do you feel is the most important aspect to a successful relationship?"

  "Family,
" he said quickly. "I think it's important that two people build a legacy of their love."

  On the other hand, I wasn't getting any younger.

  "And you're all done," Linda said.

  The announcer broke again, then came back with the weather. "And it's raining men here at the hair salon where the last of the Jane Browning's husband candidates has settled into the barber's chair. Sir, tell us who you are and what you do."

  "My name is Ian Saunders. I own a landscaping business, and horse stables in Alpharetta."

  "Whew, ladies we have a bona fide stud here. What are you going to have done?"

  "Take it all off."

  "What?"

  "Shave my head."

  I gaped at the radio.

  "Are you trying to make a point, Mr. Saunders?"

  "I've known Jane all my life — I've learned it takes a lot to get her attention."

  I shook my head when the electric clippers buzzed to life. Ian confounded me.

  "And over to you, Linda."

  "Ian, do you think you can make Jane happy?"

  "Yes."

  No elaboration, but then that was Ian. I imagined his black hair falling to the floor.

  "And do you have a problem with the consummation clause of the will?"

  "Only that we'll have to wait until the wedding night."

  I blinked and crossed my legs.

  "And monogamy?"

  "I wouldn't share my wife with any other man," he said. "And I only want one woman in my bed."

  But was I that one woman? I swallowed — this was getting a little R-rated for lunchtime listening.

  "You're all done," Linda said. "For all you listeners, he has a nicely shaped head."

  There was that, at least, although his cowboy hat was bound to sit a little lower on a shaved head.

  The announcer made a few more jabs at the husband hunt, then went back to a music program. I was weak with new revelations, and wondered how on earth I'd be able to work the rest of the afternoon.

  Mrs. Thornberry stuck her head into my cubbyhole. "You have a phone call. I hope this doesn't become a habit."

  I tried to look apologetic, then picked up the receiver.

  "This is Jane Browning."

  "Jane, this is Teddy Andersen."

  My pulse picked up. "Hi...Teddy."

  "After I left, I turned on the radio and caught the show on 95.7."

  I winced. "Oh?"

  "Yeah." His voice was smiling. "Listen, I was wondering...is it possible to throw my hat in the ring?"

  Chapter Seven

  I now knew what a laboratory specimen felt like. Mr. James Van Meter, Attorney-at-Law, surveyed me over reading glasses before moving on to study my three potential husbands sitting in a semicircle in front of his massive desk.

  I know you're thinking, But there were five men vying for Jane Brown's millionaire hand. At last count, there were five. But they were dropping like flies.

  When presented with the invitation from Mr. Van Meter to review the terms of my impending inheritance from a reclusive millionaire, two of my beaus had balked, albeit with good excuses. Billy Renaldi had decided to answer the call for temporary firefighters to help with the Montana wildfires that were consuming forests by the hour. Noble to the end, it seemed. And apparently less afraid of a raging firestorm than marriage.

  Meanwhile, handsome Dr. Jake River had been "discovered" by the producer of a national morning news program who needed to replace its pediatric consultant pronto because of some legal indiscretion by the previous contributor.

  Right about now, the good doctor was winging his way toward L.A. — those precious and infectious little patients of his had evidently lost their charm when compared to the lure of fame...and evidently, so had the prospect of taking my hand in marriage.

  The room was fraught with tension — the men kept glancing at each other, then at me, and shifting in their chairs. Mr. Van Meter was obviously billing Miss Millie's estate by the hour, and I suspected he had already stalled for a good thousand dollars' worth of time. The scene was so surreal, I was seized with an urge to do something completely out of context, like yodel, just to make sure I wasn't dreaming.

  I think I'm losing it, I really do.

  "Now then." Mr. Van Meter gave us his best impression of a smile. "Jane and I thought it would be a good idea for all of us to get together to talk about the terms of her bequest." He cleared his throat for effect. "According to the last will and testament of Miss Millicent Maxwell, Jane will inherit $1 million if she marries within 50 business days of the reading of the will." He consulted a calendar. "Which is now down to 21 days."

  I was glad I wasn't standing, because my knees felt a little weak. I was tempted to ask Mr. Van Meter if I could plea bargain down to 10,000 bucks or so without the hubby clause, but he didn't seem to be in a compromising mood. In fact, I could tell from his demeanor that he thought I was one undeserving millionairess wanna-be.

  "So," he continued, clasping his hands in front of him on his desk. "Just to make sure that we're all clear on the requirements set down by Miss Maxwell — Jane must be legally wed within the time limit specified, plus the marriage must be consummated, and of a duration of no less than one year, during which the couple must live together."

  There's never a nice abyss handy to crawl into when a girl needs one.

  Van Meter pursed his mouth and glanced all around. "If the marriage doesn't take place, the money in question will revert to the estate. If the marriage does take place, the inheritance will be paid out on a schedule that ensures the bulk of the money will be received toward the end of the prescribed year. If the marriage does take place, but ends before one year, the balance will revert to the estate." He cracked his knuckles as if to infer that he would personally enforce the terms. "Any questions?"

  "Yes," said Pablo Ricci, leaning forward. He was looking scrumptious today in a double-breasted olive Hugo Boss suit. "Will I be required to sign anything?"

  My split-second of distress gave way to common sense — he was only protecting his interests, I told myself. Every inch the successful businessman, inside and out.

  Teddy Andersen scoffed. Everything about the yummy policeman screamed authority — even the angle of his head. Based on the way he carried himself, I thoroughly trusted him, which was strange since I'd only recently met him.

  Teddy gave Pablo's scrupulous duds the once-over. "And who says Jane is going to pick you, Dapper Dan?"

  I blinked at the sudden spike of testosterone in the room. I reasoned that since men didn't have to go to the OB-GYN, they weren't accustomed to being kept waiting. For hours.

  Pablo jerked his head sideways. "Was that meant to be a joke, amigo?" With his rolling accent, even Pablo's threats sounded cheerful.

  I gave Ian Saunders a "do something" look, but he sprawled in his chair and stared back with amused indifference. His hat sat on his knee. His shaved head was surprisingly...unrepulsive. Then he sighed.

  "Boys, boys — not in front of the lady. This isn't easy for her." He gave me a pitiable look, but his eyes twinkled. "She has her head full of all that soul-mate-happily-ever-after stuff. She probably never thought she'd be picking a husband like she would a ripe melon."

  Pablo frowned. "Jane is more sensible than you give her credit for." He looked at me with the longing of a man who wanted to duplicate himself. Oi. His proposition of his name in return for a child had weighed heavily on my mind — sure my biological clock was ticking like Big Ben, but did I really want to take on so many life-altering events in one year?

  "Right," Teddy chimed in, looking in my direction.

  God help me, but I felt as if I could fall inside him. His snug uniform had fostered more than one naughty fantasy since our serendipitous encounter.

  "Which is why," he said, "we shouldn't assume who Jane is going to choose."

  Mr. Van Meter took off his glasses and massaged his nose with thumb and forefinger. This hoopla was clearly beneath him. "To answer the qu
estion of Bachelor Number One, no you won't have to sign anything other than a marriage certificate. The agreement is between Miss Maxwell's estate and Jane. The choice of accepting the terms is Jane's. Likewise, it will be her responsibility to fulfill the terms." He focused on me. "So...do you have any idea of when you might let us in on your decision, Jane?"

  I looked from Pablo to Teddy to Ian, and my stomach misbehaved. I had been so hoping the man wouldn't ask that question.

  Chapter Eight

  "Jane, time is running out," chided Linda, my roommate. She brought two cups of coffee to the kitchen table and set one in front of me. "Who are you going to choose?"

  I looked into the depths of my coffee, as if the face of my future husband might appear. When no divine Colombian intervention seemed forthcoming, I gave in to the stomach-gnarling anxiety that had increased as the window of time set down by Miss Millie’s will closed in on me.

  One week to make a decision, and that would give me a whopping three days to obtain a marriage certificate and a blood test, and to go through with the ceremony. I groaned into my cup. "I just don’t know."

  "Well," Linda said, popping a doughnut into her mouth. "At least it’s down to only two gorgeous guys."

  She rolled her eyes, a reminder that not many women in Atlanta, or in the country, for that matter, were feeling sorry for me this morning. Both guys were willing to marry me, sleep with me at least once, and live with me for a year so I could inherit $1 million from the estate of a reclusive neighbor. Life was tough, she was thinking.

  But as strange as it sounds, my life now is a lot tougher than it was a few weeks ago, before Miss Millie died and left me her cranky cat and a remarkable opportunity to have the kind of money that could make a real difference in my life. Said cat, Boswell, must have picked up my vibe with his whiskers because he sauntered into the kitchen, yawned, and sat on my foot.

  "I guess it’s a good thing Mr. Van Meter did that background check, or you might not have known that Teddy Andersen was still married until it was too late."

  I nodded, having grown a philosophical bone over the events of the past few weeks. Bigamist was not an experience I wanted to add to my resume, notwithstanding the fact that marrying a married man would have knocked me out of my million, and sent my mother to the emergency room.