by Seton, Cora
Here are three questions for you:
1. Do you have to give back the uniform when you un-enlist?
2. What’s the best part of your job?
3. Do you have a nickname?
Regan
Chapter Three
‡
Mason received Regan’s message mid-morning. He’d woken up early, run ten miles with the other men, put in some time filing paperwork and then gone online. As soon as his messages came up he found himself scanning them for her name. Surprised by his own eagerness, he thought briefly about going through the new responses to his ad in an orderly fashion, from top to bottom.
But he’d already clicked the link to hers before he could consider that notion thoroughly. His chuckles brought a few interested looks from the other men in the room. He knew he wasn’t known for his sense of humor, but he liked Regan’s wordplay, and her references to haylofts and fantasies piqued his interest in a way the other women’s messages hadn’t. While he rolled his eyes at her obvious lack of military knowledge—he was commissioned, not enlisted, for one thing, and he was pretty sure that un-enlist wasn’t even a word—he enjoyed her e-mail far more than any of the others he’d gotten. He had a list of ten women that he meant to answer and begin conversations with. He decided he’d do that right after he answered Regan.
Dear Regan,
I’ll admit I’ve tested out the hayloft scenario. I prefer a picnic blanket on the banks of the local creek. Less prickly.
I am dismayed by the poor showing the Navy makes in your fantasy life. Perhaps it will help to tell you I’m a SEAL. I wouldn’t normally spill the beans on that, but my time here is almost up, and I figure my secret is safe with you. I assure you that I spend much more time hanging out around military bases pumping iron, going for ten mile runs, and training on high tech weaponry—all the time half-naked with my biceps flexed—than I do in white pants. I haven’t been on a submarine in years.
To answer your questions:
1. Yes, I get to keep the uniform. If you ask nicely I’ll model it for you.
2. The best part of my job is achieving the mission goal with the help of a few men I’d be proud to lay my life down for.
3. I do have a nickname. You’ll have to earn that information, though.
Which brings me to my first and only question. Why did you answer my ad? Seems to me you aren’t taking my bid to find a wife very seriously.
Mason
He signed off and wondered how long he’d have to wait before she replied. Maybe he should ask her if she cared to instant message instead of using old-fashioned e-mails. He decided he’d wait a little while to do that. He liked the pace of their conversation so far—it allowed him time to formulate careful, teasing answers.
He faced the list of other women he had chosen to correspond with and decided to write a single form letter he could send to each of them to elicit further information.
Dear _____,
Thank you for responding to my personal ad. Here are my answers to some frequently asked questions:
1. I am 6’2” inches tall and weigh 200 pounds. I am muscular. I intend to stay in good shape.
2. The ranch will make a modest income at first. You will need to be thrifty. It will be several years before we can consider a trip to Hawaii, if ever.
3. Cow poop does smell. There will be flies.
He sighed and dropped his head into his hands. It wasn’t fair to send a duplicate response to women who’d taken the time to send him individualized letters. He needed to respond to each one personally and ask her tailored questions.
He hit the refresh button to see if Regan had answered his note. Nope.
He checked his watch. One minute and thirty seconds had passed. He opened a note from a woman named Margaret, who had ridden horses since she was ten and knew all about their care and upkeep. “I am not afraid to muck out a stall or mend a fence, although I have never been around cattle. It is my dream to marry a dependable man and raise a family. I have included my picture and hope you will write back with more information.”
Margaret was pretty enough. A slim brunette with an upturned nose and a serious expression. He remembered the glint of humor in Regan’s eyes in her professional photo and his lips quirked. He checked his e-mail again and sat up straight when he saw that Regan had answered.
Dear Mason,
Seriously? E-Mail Order Brides? That’s what the SEALs of this world have come to?
I think you’re the one who isn’t serious.
Regan
He typed back quickly:
Dear Regan,
I am serious.
Mason
He sat back in his chair and waited impatiently, tapping his fingers on the arms of his chair.
* * *
Regan read Mason’s reply and bit her lip, a tendril of desire curling through her stomach. Which was crazy. She wasn’t looking for romance, plus she didn’t know this guy at all. She was savvy enough to know that people in real life were very different from the sum of their written messages and photographs. What did his voice sound like? How did he move his body? Was he super-serious or lighthearted? She had no way of knowing yet. She shouldn’t care.
But for some reason she did.
She considered her answer for a few minutes.
Dear Mason,
I’m worried about you. You’re engaging in risky behavior. You play with loaded weapons, throw yourself out of airplanes, put yourself in danger voluntarily and then engage in unsavory online interactions.
Is this a thinly-veiled cry for help?
Regan
His answer came after only a few minutes.
Regan,
I think it’s a bigger risk to play life safe all the time. You have to take chances if you want to achieve your goals. Besides, you’re not very unsavory.
Would you like a call?
Mason
Ooh, he was feisty, wasn’t he? Regan tapped the keyboard a moment. It was exciting to know that somewhere in the world a man was bent over his computer waiting for her answer to his message. She tried to picture him but struggled to imagine a background behind the man in the photograph that was all she had to go on. Where was he? In the United States? South America? The Middle East? Was he sitting in a tent? A temporary building? Or a permanent structure? In a city or desert or on a mountain? She had no idea.
Dear Mason,
For all you know I’m a big, hairy, eighty-two year old man!
Regan
Her phone rang. Regan jumped, then laughed at herself. It wasn’t like Mason Hall could call to check up on her. It could be her parents trying to talk her out of quitting her job, though. Her stomach sank at the thought. She hadn’t broken the news to them yet about her impending pregnancy, although she had told them about starting a consulting business. When she found her phone, though, she didn’t recognize the number.
“Hello?”
“Regan?” It was a man’s voice, deep and husky and confident. It couldn’t be Mason. There was no way it could be Mason, but somehow she knew without a doubt it was. A spasm of happiness shot through her—a feeling so unexpected and alien it caught her completely off-guard.
“M…Mason?”
A low chuckle sent tingles down her spine. “How’d you know?”
“Where are you?”
“Afghanistan.” His voice was amazing. She glanced at the photo she’d made into her desktop background. Mason gazed back at her with his serious eyes.
“You can make phone calls from there?”
“I pulled some strings. So, are you?”
“Am I what?” She bit her lip at the excitement coursing through her body. How could she be so turned on by just a voice? How could such a tenuous connection make her feel so alive?
“A big, hairy, 82-year-old man.”
She didn’t answer for a moment. She couldn’t believe he was on the other end of the line. How did she sound to him? Sexy? Or as squeaky as a preteen at a Justin B
ieber concert? She struggled to control her tone. “No. Sorry to disappoint you.”
“I’m not disappointed. What are you doing today?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You quit your job, right?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Would I answer your ad if I did?”
“Maybe.” There was a pause. “I don’t know you yet, do I?”
Yet. Her breath caught. “No boyfriend. Not for a while.”
“Why not?”
Wow, he went right to the heart of the matter, didn’t he? “I guess I’m picky.”
“Or scared.”
She frowned. “I’m not scared. I’ve tried, believe me. I never met the right guy.”
“Or you don’t know you have yet.”
She didn’t know how to answer that. She should tell him right now she wasn’t interested in men. Had no intention of dating again for years. If ever.
“Regan? Did I lose you?” His voice was soft but demanding.
“You move awfully fast, don’t you?”
“When I see something I like, what’s the point in waiting around?”
He kept knocking her off-balance with that sexy, knowing voice. She tried to pull herself together. “Mason?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re paying a hell of a lot for this call.”
“We could Skype next time,” he suggested.
“Okay.” She bit her lip. Okay? What did she mean, okay?
“There will be a next time, won’t there?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
Chapter Four
‡
Mason heard the hesitation in her voice. He was glad he’d called Regan although she was right, he was burning through minutes like crazy. But he didn’t want to scare her off. Maybe his joke had gone too far.
“What are you afraid of?” he asked in a soft voice.
She was quiet for so long he was afraid she would hang up, but before he could speak again she finally answered. “Taking a chance again. Falling for something that isn’t real.”
Mason stilled. So she felt it too—that whisper of attraction and desire that kept sizzling through his veins. He kept telling himself that nothing he felt on such short acquaintance could be real—especially since he hadn’t talked with her face to face yet—not even through Skype. But he did feel something and it lit him up—made him feel as reckless as a teenager.
“I’m being as real as I can be,” he said.
“There’s something else.”
His heart dipped. She was about to blow him off. “What is it?”
“You were right before—I didn’t take your ad seriously. I never thought you’d write back, let alone call me up.”
“And?” He could listen to her all day. She had a clear, feminine, sexy voice that hinted at gentleness, compassion and laughter. She was serious now, however.
“I’m not looking to get married. I’ve got things lined up. I definitely don’t plan to leave New York and move to Montana.”
His stomach sank. “Why not?”
“My life is here. I’ve never ridden a horse or even been on a farm, or ranch, or whatever you have. I don’t know my way around animals, I’ve never done any roofing, and what else were you after? Small engine repair? Sorry. No can do.”
“Damn. I thought all those qualifications you listed seemed too good to be true.”
She chuckled. “I have plans, Mason. And as nice as it is to talk to you, you aren’t going to change them. You’re wasting your time.”
He listened to her little speech with a growing sense of disappointment. If everything she said was true, she was right—it made no sense for him to pick her as a wife. But he was attracted to her. Were they really going to end this before it got started?
No, he wouldn’t let that happen. Time to make a tactical retreat. “Okay.”
“Okay?” She sounded surprised and a little angry. Mason smiled. She was definitely interested in him, no matter what she said.
“I get it. You have plans and they don’t include moving to Montana to marry me. That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, though, right? Online friends? Maybe I can help you with your plans.”
“Oh, yeah?” She still sounded a little put out. “What do you get out of it?”
“You can help me weed through all these women lining up to become a rancher’s wife.”
* * *
Regan struggled to regain her equilibrium. Not only did Mason not sound put out that she wasn’t interested in being his mail order bride, he wanted her to help him sort through the ones who were? As she fought for the words to tell him what an ass he was, she heard his quiet chuckle and realized he was yanking her chain. She guessed she couldn’t blame him. She had just blown him off.
Well, two could play this game. “All right,” she said. “How many candidates do you have?”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Several hundred,” Mason said finally, all traces of laughter gone. “But I’ve narrowed it down to about ten who fit the criteria.”
“Criteria?”
“The ones who aren’t crazy or… well… not my type.”
“Got it,” Regan said. “Is there one that stands out from the crowd—one that your gut tells you to focus on?”
“You mean besides the one I’m speaking to right now?”
Regan closed her eyes, his smooth western drawl tugging at her core again. How did he make such a short sentence sound so sexy? “Yes, besides that one.”
Mason sighed. “No.”
“Well, we’ll have to go about this scientifically.”
“Sounds smart,” Mason said. “Unfortunately, my time is up. Can I Skype you tomorrow?”
“Yes.” Regan’s heart sank. She wanted to hold onto his voice for as long as possible. Why had she wrecked the conversation by telling him she wasn’t interested? He didn’t have to know that—not yet.
“Give me your call name.”
She did and he told her when to be ready for him.
“Can’t wait to see you tomorrow,” he said.
“Me neither.” She waited for him to end the call first, unwilling to hang up on him and cut it short. Knowing as soon as she did so she’d be alone again, with an entire day stretching out before her. She heard the soft sound of him breathing on the other end of the line.
“Regan, you there?”
“Yeah.”
“We have to hang up.”
“I know.”
His voice turned soft, the low tones reaching all the way through her. “I don’t want to go either, honey. Good-night.”
“Good-morning,” she said, but he was already gone.
Chapter Five
‡
Mason spent the next twenty-four hours preparing for the arrival of the newly promoted Lieutenant Commander Richard Slater, who would take on his position when Mason left. He tried to push his upcoming conversation with Regan out of his head, but he was only partially successful. When he Skyped with her, he wanted to project the same kind of calm confidence he did when he led his men on a mission. But women were trickier than terrorists, he reflected. At least to him. Because of the nature of his work, his relationships tended to be short-lived. When he was deployed he had his head one hundred percent in the game. Relationships took a back seat, and women ignored tended to become women gone.
Did he have what it took to spend the rest of his life with one woman? Did he have what it took to be the kind of husband his father had been to his mother? A thread of worry wormed its way through his gut. His father had been so laid-back. He rolled with the punches, took what ranch life threw at him and dealt with it. He didn’t get angry, didn’t get drunk, didn’t grouse and complain like Uncle Zeke always had. Mason had never liked to visit the two story house on the perimeter of the property where Zeke and his family had made their home. It stood in stark contrast to the happy, noisy Hall with its inhabitants’ sullen silences and
vicious fights.
Mason had never been a drunk and he didn’t consider himself the kind of man to bear a grudge, but so far he’d passed his adult life for the most part in war zones. He’d forged a bond with the men he’d worked and fought with, but his relationships with women had been few and far between. He’d rather stay single than fail his wife.
But he didn’t have that choice, so he’d have to do his best.
The thing he did know was that when he made a commitment he stuck to it. He planned to marry only once, which meant he needed to get this right. Heloise’s time demands made things tricky, but he accepted the limitations of this mission the way he accepted them in every other one he’d been on. He’d figure this out, he’d find a wife and he would have a baby with her. Failure wasn’t an option.
Could Regan be that wife?
It had bothered him more than he cared to let on when she told him that she wasn’t interested in marriage or moving to Montana. He felt he’d handled things well by backing off right away, but even though he meant to do this carefully and consider all the women whose qualifications made them eligible, he still wanted Regan in the running even if she wasn’t very qualified at all.
And didn’t want to be.
As the clock ticked slowly toward their agreed-upon call time, he found himself searching his mind for topics to discuss. He decided to approach the call the way he would any mission. First he defined the objective: get Regan interested in being on his list of possible wives. How could he get her on that list? By creating interest in her mind—in the ranch and in him.
Mason tried to see the ranch from her angle. She was a city girl, unused to country life and perhaps anxious that her city skills wouldn’t translate to such a situation. She said she had plans, which meant she had ambitions. He needed to show her that she could make a difference on the ranch, and that the challenges it presented were ones that would fuel her creativity and require her intelligence to solve.
He could do that.