Gazing at the older woman uncertainly, Orla murmured, “You think so?”
“You got a determination burnin’ in your eyes, and it’s clear you got a brave soul if you came up here to marry a man you’ve never seen before. Yes, I do believe Jethro might just be meetin’ his match in you, girlie.”
“Thank you ... I think,” Orla acknowledged with a nervous smile. “Do you happen to know the way to the McKinnon farm? I have the address, of course, but I’m unfamiliar with the roads and such in this neck of the woods. If it isn’t far, I could walk…or if you happen to know the number for a local cab company...”
“Honey, this ain’t the big city. The only public transportation we got around here is our own two feet,” Nellie chuckled as she pointed down at her own toes. “But, don’t you fret, darlin’. I’ll find you a ride out to the McKinnon homestead. In fact, I’m gonna skedaddle back there and call up to the Big House myself and let ‘em know their special delivery has arrived. Tell me, what can I get you to eat while you wait? I bet a nice burger, fries and Coca Cola would be good after that bus ride.”
“That sounds amazing,” Orla breathed, realizing just how hungry she was when she heard the offer of food. Her earlier sickness seemed to have disappeared while she had been sitting in the warm, comfortable diner. Nellie had given her a lot of information that she needed to digest before she met her perspective groom, and truthfully, a meal sounded like heaven right now. “Is there a place where I could rinse the road off my hands and face? I feel so grimy from riding all day and the last thing I want to do is meet Jethro looking like something that got scraped off the bottom of a truck’s tire,” she asked hopefully, turning wide eyes on the other woman.
“Of course, sugar. Just go around that corner and you’ll find the ladies’ room,” Nellie said, pointing toward the back of the restaurant. “I’ll go make that phone call and be back in two shakes with a meal for you. You just concentrate on getting yourself all fresh and pretty for Jethro. I tell you, I don’t think I’ve been this excited since we planted our flag on Iwo Jima.”
Laughing at the waitress’s jubilation, Orla scooted out of the booth and hurried toward the bathroom, her bladder screaming at her for waiting almost too long. Making short work of relieving herself, a few minutes later she stood in front of the sink washing her hands and staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her wavy, reddish-brown hair still looked clean and shiny even if her dress did look a little rumpled. Drying her hands quickly, she lifted them and pinched her pale cheeks to inject some color into her face. Breathing deeply, she consoled herself that while she was no raging beauty, her smooth complexion and straight white teeth were nothing to be ashamed of. She had a nice smile and a friendly demeanor. She could handle whatever Jethro McKinnon and his less than sunny disposition had in store for her. His letters had made him appear to be even-tempered and mild as a housecat, but like her, he’d probably strived to present himself in the best possible light. Besides, it was no matter. She didn’t have anywhere else to go. This marriage had to happen or she’d be homeless. She was a big girl, she reminded herself. She could absolutely handle a little gruff and grumble when necessary. Miss Nellie had probably just been a little overly enthusiastic in her interpretation of his character. All the minor details would sort themselves out, she assured herself.
Staring in the mirror, Orla smiled at her reflection. “Everything is going to be just fine,” she declared out loud. She just hoped God agreed with her optimism.
~~***~~
Her belly full and her nerves much steadier than they were an hour ago, Orla was wiping her napkin across her lips after swallowing the last bite of the best cheeseburger she’d ever tasted when she heard the bell above the door jangle. Turning her head, her eyes widened as they found the tallest, widest, most jaw-droppingly handsome man she’d ever seen in her life. Long, lean, and built, he towered over the older woman in front of him. The behemoth of a mountain man seemed to fill the doorway, his big body blocking the sunlight and casting a long shadow over the front of the diner.
Her heart fluttered in her chest and her entire body flooded with heat as she felt the tall, muscled man’s gaze move over her, his faded blue eyes darkening slightly as he took a step further into the restaurant. With every step he took toward her, the closer he drew to her table, the more excited she seemed to grow. She couldn’t help it. He was the most breathtaking man she’d ever seen and even her lady bits wanted to appreciate the view.
Then, he went and ruined her admiration by opening his mouth.
“Alright, Nellie! Get out here since you couldn’t wait for me to get Mother up here,” the object of her fantasies ordered imperiously in a booming voice that seemed to vibrate the floor beneath Orla’s feet. “What the hell was so godawful important that you had her haul me out of the tobacco barn while there’s still daylight left to burn? I’m tryin’ to supervise the last of the tobacco strippin’ and doin’ my best to get that new loft built before the snow moves into the area, dammit. You know good and well that I ain’t got time to be stoppin’ at every turn so you can gossip with my stepmother about the town happenings!”
The man’s harsh, gravelly voice echoed like thunder and brimmed with barely contained impatience inside the mostly empty diner while his eyes skewered the kind waitress that had been so helpful to her. Guiltily, Orla glanced toward Nellie, expecting to find the lady cowering under the weight of the giant’s stare, but was instead surprised to see the other woman grinning like a loon.
“Even the Lord took a break on the seventh day, boy,” Orla heard Nellie chide in a patently unconcerned voice. “Why don’t you make like Jesus did on the Sabbath and just take a load off for a few of your valuable minutes?”
Orla gulped as the man’s eyes narrowed dangerously before shifting to connect with her gaze. “What the hell are you looking at?” she heard him snap sharply, his blue eyes flashing ominously at her. “If you wanna watch a show, go to the movies and pay for a ticket like everybody else.”
“Jethro!” the woman who’d preceded him through the door reprimanded on a hiss. “That’s enough. If you want to be angry with someone, be angry with me, not some poor woman simply trying to enjoy her meal.”
Orla’s eyes widened drastically as she caught the name the woman had used to address the giant still glaring at her. “Jethro?” she uttered weakly, clutching the edge of the table. “No,” she denied hoarsely, shaking her head at the incredibly handsome and the completely rude man watching her. “Oh, no, no, no. It can’t be.” God couldn’t be that cruel to her, would He? The Almighty wouldn’t send her betrothed in the form of the most spectacularly masculine man on Earth only to give him the personality of a prickly porcupine with a bite as deadly as a rattlesnake, could He?
“Your momma is right, boy. I don’t think that’s no way to treat a woman OR talk to your future wife, is it?” Nellie admonished sternly, propping her hands on her ample hips and staring at Jethro from her position behind the counter.
Orla’s horrified eyes moved from the irritated man to his flustered mother to a scowling Nellie and then back to the even angrier looking countenance of her would-be groom. “Oh, holy horsefeathers,” she mumbled as Jethro’s eyes clouded.
“Wife?” Jethro virtually snarled, his faded blue eyes glinting as they moved back to Orla. “To...to that?” he yelped, his face tight with anger as he lifted his finger and pointed it at her. “Even if I was in the market for a wife – which I ain’t, mind you - but if I was, I don’t hardly think a woman like that is what I’d pick,” he sneered. “Just look at her!”
Okay, Orla wasn’t exactly a fighter, but being an orphan and on her own for most of her young life, she’d needed to scrap and defend her good name a time or two over the years because of ignorant people that thought that because she was family-less, she’d also be without feelings. And those folks had known her. This man had never even met her and was determined to cast dispersions on her fine character. Well, no how, no way. Not
today!
“Excuse me? I’m sitting right here. If you could refrain from being a rude, crude horse’s hind end until after I’ve left, that would be wonderful. I realize that hoping you would display some kind of charm is probably out of the question, but I’m hoping you can at least achieve a low grade of civility, sir” she finally bit out, finding her tongue and using it to put the oversized ruffian in his place as she slapped her hands against the table and began to rise. Had she really found him attractive just mere seconds ago?
“I’m not rude; I’m truthful,” Jethro retorted quickly. “It’s clear you’re not from here and a gal like you wouldn’t last two seconds put together in the mountains. Hell, a little bit of nothin’ like you would blow away the second the slightest mountain breeze hit you. Shit, a good puff of wind would knock you on your cute little tail, girl,” he asserted, his deep voice spiteful.
The older woman in front of him quickly held up a hand and inserted herself between Orla and the blustering man standing behind her. She smiled with genuine kindness at Orla as she took a step toward the table where she sat. “Don’t you mind my son, honey. Jethro didn’t mean that the nasty way it sounded, dear. You’re Orla, right? Orla Pearson? You have to be. You look just as pretty as the picture you sent, dear girl.”
Before Orla could reply to the kind woman, Jethro growled, “Yes, I did mean it. I mean most everything I say. Besides, why the hell would this girl be sending you a picture, Mother McKinnon? Somebody better tell me what the hell is going on real fast, dammit.”
“Or what?” Orla snapped sharply, her eyes sparkling with sass and fire. “Will you huff and puff and blow little ol’ me all the way down, Farmer Man?”
“Look, you lippy little wildcat, I’ve got a tobacco crop to get ready to take to sale and a barn to finish building before the weather sets in. I hardly have time to stand here jawing with you, City Girl,” Orla heard him say dismissively, though she thought – hoped! - that was a glimmer of respect she saw shining in his eyes.
“How do you know I’m a city girl?” Orla snapped, jumping from her seat to stand beside her booth as she looked around Jethro’s stepmother to glare at Jethro. She forced herself to remain still as Jethro snorted and his glittering eyes wandered up and down her curvy body, pausing long enough to redden her cheeks when his eyes lingered on her more than ample breasts appreciatively. Ignoring the way her body heated under his perusal, she stubbornly lifted her chin in challenge, waiting for him to say something. If the way his eyes glinted was any indication, he might not like her, but he didn’t find any complaint with the way her body was made. Crossing her arms over her breasts as his eyes continued to hover over her chest, she barked, “Well? I’m waiting.”
Jethro’s lips kicked up in a sly half-smile at her sudden movement. It was like he knew he was getting to her and he enjoyed that knowledge immensely. “There’s no way you’re not from the city. Nashville or Knoxville, maybe,” he murmured, before shaking his head. “Nah, I’m bettin’ you came in from Atlanta.”
“How…how did you know that?” Orla stuttered, her eyebrows furrowing with consternation. Just what she needed in her life - an intelligent jackass.
“That fancy hair. Your pretty dress. Those shiny shoes that, if you look, you can see your reflection lookin’ back. And those heels of yours aren’t scuffed, so you’ve been riding, not walking. Your clothes are too wrinkled to be from Nashville or Knoxville, so you’re just rumpled enough to have gotten off the bus from Atlanta,” he surmised, with a know-it-all grin as her cheeks reddened with embarrassment. “Oh, yeah! You’re city bred from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. And a fussy little lady like you ain’t gonna find what she’s lookin’ for in Paradise.”
“Actually, son…” Jethro’s mother began to hedge, biting her lip as she turned to look up into her son’s face. “She has found just what she’s been missing.”
Biting her lip, Orla winced as Jethro frowned at his step mother. The woman, however, didn’t look overly worried about her son’s imminent reaction and she wondered if things would work out alright after all.
Jethro frowned. “Mother McKinnon, we don’t have time for…”
“Oh, just rip the bandage off, Lydia,” Nellie ordered, interrupting Jethro as she bustled over to where they all stood together. “Jethro, meet your future wife,” the waitress decreed, flapping a hand at where Orla stood, nose to chest with him. “Take a minute and let this settle in your bones, boy. Your much beloved step-momma done went and ordered you up a bride for hire.”
Chapter Three
Jethro
“You ordered me a wife?” Jethro echoed incredulously, his eyes widening as he stared down at the woman his late father had married fifteen years ago. Truth be told, he’d always liked his no nonsense stepmother. Hell, he guess he even loved her in his own way. But this time, her busybody ways might just kill her before the cancer growing inside her body could.
Because as God as his witness, he was on the verge of killing the old woman.
“Tell me you didn’t do this, Mother McKinnon,” Jethro demanded through clenched teeth as he rested his fisted hands on his hips. He shouldn’t have been surprised since his wily stepmother had been trying to marry him off ever since the only doctor in town had told her she had cancer. She was bound and determined that her son and his half-brother, Hawthorne, have more than just Jethro’s influence as the younger boy navigated the awkward and difficult years of adolescence. Evidently, Jethro wasn’t exactly what she considered ‘parental’ material.
“I did. I put an advertisement in the paper, and Miss Pearson was kind enough to respond,” Lydia McKinnon stated fearlessly. ‘She’s perfect for you, and I’m not one bit sorry.”
“Good to know, but I strongly suggest you return her to sender. Post haste. There won’t be any wedding bells chiming in the future with her and me,” he informed his intrepid stepmother, barely sparing the younger woman beside her a look. He couldn’t; he feared if he stared too long, she’d draw him into her tangled web…and he had enough problems on his hands between the farm, helping raise his energetic brother, and tending to his stepmother’s illness. Honestly, if the situation hadn’t been happening to him, Jethro would have laughed – especially at the horrified look he caught on his potential bride’s face when he saw her out of the corner of his eye.
“I most certainly will NOT ask Miss Pearson to return anywhere,” Lydia hissed, pinching her stepson’s arm violently. “We’ve been exchanging letters for a good while and I can safely say that this young lady is ideal for you, Jethro.”
“Uhhh… j-just a second,” Orla managed to choke out as she looked from Jethro’s stepmother’s face to his own. “You mean to say that those nice letters weren’t from you? You weren’t writing to me at all?” she questioned weakly
“Nope,” Jethro answered the pale woman succinctly with a negative shake of his head. “Aw, what’s wrong, Big City?” he crooned. “I’m not your fantasy come to life? Your very own ideal bridegroom?” he continued to taunt the shocked looking young woman, though he wasn’t sure why. She was as much a victim to his stepmother’s manipulations as he was. Something about her, though, just made him want to needle her. Probably because from the second he’d laid eyes on her curvy little body, he’d wondered what it would be like to bend her over and sink deep inside her. Fantasies of fucking her long and hard had tormented him from the moment his eyes had found hers, and his need for her grew more desperate with every second he spent in her company. Obviously, it was time to pay a call to the widow over in Knoxville he occasionally saw when his body demanded a release. Based on the fact that he currently could pound nails with his cock, he’d need to make that visit sooner rather than later since this tiny slip of a girl had set fire to his manly urges. Thank God for loose jeans and a heavy coat.
Eyeing her now, he could silently admit that she had a face that was prettier than a spring day and a body that would tempt even the Godliest of men. Short, but slender
except for a pair of ample tits that made his mouth water, he judged her to be around twenty years old. Much too damn young for a man like him. Even with her tart tongue, she exuded innocence and a purity that the darker part of him urged him to sully. Looking her slowly up and down, it wasn’t hard to identify her as an outsider to the area. A women that looked that dainty and fragile had no business trying to set up house in the Great Smoky Mountains. No, as much as his dick said otherwise, he realized that if he ever took a wife, she’d need to be strong as an ox and mean as a snake to survive being wed to him. This delicate woman in front of him was neither of those things.
“That’s enough out of you, Jethro,” Lydia snapped, stepping between him and his would-be wife again. Turning toward Orla, Lydia smiled. “Child, I know my stepson here is acting like a horse’s ass and you’ve been terribly blindsided, but believe me, everything you read in your letters is true. Every single word.”
“B-but, he didn’t write me,” Orla murmured. “He doesn’t even want a wife,” she accused, turning wounded eyes toward Jethro. “I…I gave up my job… my apartment… my… my everything… to come here. I’ve got nowhere to go,” she continued tremulously, her voice growing higher with every word as she pressed a hand to her stomach and stared at the man towering over Lydia.
“Shit,” Jethro muttered, hating the lost look he found shining in the young woman’s unique eyes – the lost look that he was responsible for putting there, he thought with a sinking gut. Staring at her, he’d thought those unique eyes of hers were brown at first glance, but now he could see bright green chips of jade intermingled with the brown behind a sheen of tears. Tears that he found himself hating intensely. “Don’t cry,” he ordered the woman harshly as his stomach clenched, wincing when he noticed an especially plump tear rolling down her unblemished cheek. Fuck, he thought heavily. Watching her, he knew that single teardrop had just sealed his fate. No matter how much of a hard ass he was, there was no way he could turn his back on a woman without options.
Wed by Wednesday (Passion in Paradise #4.5) Page 3