by Cora Seton
The list went on and on. Regan bit back at a laugh which quickly dissolved into giggles. Small engine repair? How very romantic. Was this supposed to be satire or was it real? It was certainly one of the most intriguing things she’d seen online in a long, long time.
Must be willing to commit to a man and the project. No weekends/no holidays/no sick days. Weaklings need not apply.
Regan snorted. It was beginning to sound like an employment ad. Good luck finding a woman to fill those conditions. She’d tried to find a suitable man for years and came up with Erik—the perennial mooch who’d finally admitted just before Christmas that he liked her old Village apartment more than he liked her. That’s why she planned to get pregnant all by herself. There wasn’t anyone worth marrying in the whole city. Probably the whole state. And if the men were all worthless, the women probably were, too. She reached for her wine without turning from the screen, missed, and nearly knocked over her glass. She tried again, secured the wine, drained the glass a third time and set it down again.
What she would give to find a real partner. Someone strong, both physically and emotionally. An equal in intelligence and heart. A real man.
But those didn’t exist.
If you’re sick of wasting your time in a dead-end job, tired of tearing things down instead of building something up, or just ready to get your hands dirty with clean, honest work, write and tell us why you’d make a worthy wife for a man who has spent the last decade in uniform.
There wasn’t much to laugh at in this paragraph. Regan read it again, then got up and wandered to the kitchen to top up her glass. She’d never seen a singles ad like this one. She could see why it was going viral. If it was real, these men were something special. Who wanted to do clean, honest work these days? What kind of man was selfless enough to serve in the military instead of sponging off their girlfriends? If she’d known there were guys like this in the world, she might not have been so quick to schedule the artificial insemination appointment.
She wouldn’t cancel it, though, because these guys couldn’t be for real, and she wasn’t waiting another minute to start her family. She had dreamed of having children ever since she was a child herself and organized pretend schools in her backyard for the neighborhood little ones. Babies loved her. Toddlers thought she was the next best thing to teddy bears. Her co-workers at the bank had never appreciated her as much as the average five-year-old did.
Further down the page there were photographs of the ranch the brothers meant to bring back to life. The land was beautiful, if overgrown, but its toppled fences and sagging buildings were a testament to its neglect. The photograph of the main house caught her eye and kept her riveted, though. A large gothic structure, it could be beautiful with the proper care. She could see why these men would dedicate themselves to returning it to its former glory. She tried to imagine what it would be like to live on the ranch with one of them, and immediately her body craved an open sunny sky—the kind you were hard pressed to see in the city. She sunk into the daydream, picturing herself sitting on a back porch sipping lemonade while her cowboy worked and the baby napped. Her husband would have his shirt off while he chopped wood, or mended a fence or whatever it was ranchers did. At the end of the day they’d fall into bed and make love until morning.
Regan sighed. It was a wonderful daydream, but it had no bearing on her life. Disgruntled, she switched over to Netflix and set up a foreign film. She fetched the bottle of wine back to bed with her and leaned against her many pillows. She’d managed to hang her small flatscreen on the opposite wall. In an apartment this tiny, every piece of furniture needed to serve double-duty.
As the movie started, Regan found herself composing messages to the military men in the Wife Wanted ad, in which she described herself as trim and petite, or lithe and strong, or horny and good-enough-looking to do the trick.
An hour later, when the film failed to hold her attention, she grabbed her laptop again. She pulled up the Wife Wanted page and reread it, keeping an eye on the foreign couple on the television screen who alternately argued and kissed.
Crazy what some people did. What was wrong with these men that they needed to advertise for wives instead of going out and meeting them like normal people?
She thought of the online dating sites she’d tried in the past. She’d had some awkward experiences, some horrible first dates, and finally one relationship that lasted for a couple of months before the man was transferred to Tucson and it fizzled out. It hadn’t worked for her, but she supposed lots of people found love online these days. They might not advertise directly for spouses, but that was their ultimate intention, right? So maybe this ad wasn’t all that unusual.
Most men who posted singles ads weren’t as hot as these men were, though. Definitely not the ones she’d met. She poured herself another glass. A small twinge of her conscience told her she’d already had far too much wine for a single night.
To hell with that, Regan thought. As soon as she got pregnant she’d have to stay sober and sane for the next eighteen years. She wouldn’t have a husband to trade off with—she’d always be the designated driver, the adult in charge, the sober, wise mother who made sure nothing bad ever happened to her child. Just this one last time she was allowed to blow off steam.
But even as she thought it, a twinge of fear wormed through her belly.
What if she wasn’t good enough?
She stood up, strode the two steps to the kitchenette and made herself a bowl of popcorn. She drowned it in butter and salt, returned to the bed in time for the ending credits of the movie, and lined up Pride and Prejudice with Colin Firth. Time for comfort food and a comfort movie. Pride and Prejudice always did the trick when she felt blue. She checked the Wife Wanted page again on her laptop. If she was going to pick one of the men—which she wasn’t—who would she choose?
Mason, the oldest, due to leave the Navy in a matter of weeks, drew her eye first. With his dark crew cut, hard jaw and uncompromising blue eyes he looked like the epitome of a military man. He stated his interests as ranching—of course—history, natural sciences and tactical operations, whatever the hell that was. That left her little more informed than before she’d read it, and she wondered what the man was really like. Did he read the newspaper in bed on Sunday mornings? Did he prefer lasagna or spaghetti? Would he listen to country music in his truck or talk radio? She stared at his photo, willing him to answer.
The next two brothers, Austin and Zane, were less fierce, but looked no less intelligent and determined. Still, they didn’t draw her eye the way the way Mason did. Colt, the youngest, was blond with a grin she bet drew women like flies. That one was trouble, and she didn’t need trouble.
She read Mason’s description again and decided he was the leader of this endeavor. If she was going to pick one, it would be him.
But she wasn’t going to pick one. She had given up all that. She’d made a promise to her imaginary child that she would not allow any chaos into its life. No dating until her baby wore a graduation gown, at the very least. She felt another twinge. Was she ready to give up men for nearly two decades? That was a long time.
It’s worth it, she told herself. She had no doubt about her desire to be a mother. She had no doubt she’d be a great mom. She was smart, capable and had a good head on her shoulders. She was funny, silly and patient, too. She loved children.
She was just lousy with men.
But that didn’t matter anymore. She pushed the laptop aside and returned her attention to Pride and Prejudice, quickly falling into an old drinking game she and Laurel had devised one night that required taking a swig of wine each time one of the actresses lifted her eyebrows in polite surprise. When she finished the bottle, she headed to the tiny kitchenette to track down another one, trilling, “Jane! Elizabeth!” at the top of her voice along with Mrs. Bennett in the film. There was no more wine, so she switched to tequila.
By the time Elizabeth Bennett discovered the miracle of Mr. Darcy�
�s palace-sized mansion, and decided she’d been too hasty in turning down his offer of marriage, Regan had decided she too needed to cast off her prejudices and find herself a man. A hot hunk of a military man. She grabbed the laptop, fumbled with the link that would let her leave Mason Hall a message and drafted a brilliant missive worthy of Jane Austen herself.
Dear Lt. Cmdr. Hall,
In her mind she pronounced lieutenant with an “f” like the Brits in the movie onscreen.
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good ranch, must be in want of a wife. Furthermore, it must be self-evident that the wife in question should possess certain qualities numbering amongst them riding, roping, construction, roofing, farming, market gardening, cooking, cleaning, metalworking, animal care, and—most importantly, by Heaven—small motor repair.
Seeing as I am in possession of all these qualities, not to mention many others you can only have left out through unavoidable oversight or sheer obtuseness—such as glassblowing, cheesemaking, towel origami, heraldry, hovercraft piloting, and an uncanny sense of what cats are thinking—I feel almost forced to catapult myself into your purview.
You will see from my photograph that I am most eminently and majestically suitable for your wife.
She inserted a digital photo of her foot.
In fact, one might wonder why such a paragon of virtue such as I should deign to answer such a peculiar advertisement. The truth is, sir, that I long for adventure. To get my hands dirty with clean, hard work. To build something up instead of tearing it down.
In short, you are really hot. I’d like to lick you.
Yours,
Regan Anderson
On screen, Elizabeth Bennett lifted an eyebrow. Regan knocked back another shot of Jose Cuervo and passed out.
Click to read more of The Navy SEAL’s E-Mail Order Bride
The Cowboys of Chance Creek Series:
The Cowboy Inherits a Bride (Volume 0)
The Cowboy’s E-Mail Order Bride (Volume 1)
The Cowboy Wins a Bride (Volume 2)
The Cowboy Imports a Bride (Volume 3)
The Cowgirl Ropes a Billionaire (Volume 4)
The Sheriff Catches a Bride (Volume 5)
The Cowboy Lassos a Bride (Volume 6)
The Cowboy Rescues a Bride (Volume 7)
The Cowboy Earns a Bride (Volume 8)
The Cowboy’s Christmas Bride (Volume 9)
The Heroes of Chance Creek Series:
The Navy SEAL’s E-Mail Order Bride (Volume 1)
The Soldier’s E-Mail Order Bride (Volume 2)
The Marine’s E-Mail Order Bride (Volume 3)
The Navy SEAL’s Christmas Bride (Volume 4)
The Airman’s E-Mail Order Bride (Volume 5)
The SEALs of Chance Creek Series:
A SEAL’s Oath
A SEAL’s Vow
A SEAL’s Pledge
A SEAL’s Consent
About the Author
NYT and USA Today bestselling author Cora Seton loves cowboys, hiking, gardening, bike-riding, and lazing around with a good book. Mother of four, wife to a computer programmer/backyard farmer, she recently moved to Victoria and looks forward to a brand new chapter in her life. Like the characters in her Chance Creek series, Cora enjoys old-fashioned pursuits and modern technology, spending mornings in her garden, and afternoons writing the latest Chance Creek romance novel. Visit www.coraseton.com to read about new releases, contests and other cool events!
Blog:
www.coraseton.com
Facebook:
www.facebook.com/coraseton
Twitter:
www.twitter.com/coraseton
Newsletter:
www.coraseton.com/sign-up-for-my-newsletter
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Author’s Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Excerpt from The Navy SEAL’s E-Mail Order Bride
About the Author
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Author’s Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Excerpt from The Navy SEAL’s E-Mail Order Bride
About the Author
Table of Contents