Mail Order Soulmate
Page 1
Mail Order Soulmate
Jean Oram
Contents
From the Back Cover
A Note from the Author
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Sneak Peek from Sweet Troublemaker
More Books by Jean Oram
About the Author
From the Back Cover
Something borrowed, something (baby) blue…
Zach, a former international agent, orders everything from socks to groceries online. Including—after a spontaneous click of his mouse—his new bride. But when Catherine arrives on his step with a baby in her arms and a scared look in her eyes he's not sure if it's the situation or her past causing the fear. All he knows is that he's the man who can protect this small family.
* * *
Catherine needs to hide and she figures she's found her safe haven with Zach, a rugged, handsome man in charge of his own private security business. But will it become more than just shelter as the two build a home and life together? Or will the past come knocking and spoil everything they've strived to create?
Mail Order Soulmate
Book 6 (Veils and Vows)
By Jean Oram
* * *
© 2018 Jean Oram
All rights reserved
First Edition
ISBN: 978-1-928198-48-2
Cover created by Jean Oram
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book, even when purchased, remains the copyrighted property of the author, and it cannot be reproduced, modified, copied and/or distributed by any means for commercial or non-commercial purposes whether the work is attributed or not, unless written permission has been granted by the author, with the exception of brief quotations for use in a review of this work. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to purchase their own copy from their favorite online store where they can also discover other works by this author as this ebook edition is not intended for sharing or resale. Thank you for your support.
All characters and events appearing in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, alive or dead, as well as any resemblance to events is coincidental and, truly, a little bit cool.
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A Note from the Author
Zach’s needed a happy ending from the moment he stepped on the page several books ago. He’s one of those characters who has good humor and a lot going on under the surface. In other words, I adored him from the word “go.” And I know my readers have, too. So for all of you who have been rooting for Zach and his happily ever after, here it is with the woman he was waiting for, but Ginger was unable to find.
I hope you enjoy this feel-good story about true love, and that you have enjoyed the Veils and Vows stories as much as I have enjoyed writing them.
Happy reading,
Jean Oram
Alberta, Canada 2018
Acknowledgments
A big thank you goes to my Beta Sisters who made sure things were flying straight with the story. In the past we’ve had some good conversations about things such as which car a hero should drive. This time though we flew through this story as I paused in the middle of its final draft to fly to a conference. (Bad timing!) But as always my Beta Sisters were wonderfully accommodating ladies who I will alway adore. Thank you to Donna Wolz, Margaret Cambridge, Sharon Sanders, Sarah Albertson, J. C., Connie Williams Mechling, Lucy Jones and Erika Howder.
As well, thank you to Margaret C. for your wonderful edits (sorry about the computer and file issues!) and to my proofreaders Emily and Erin for putting a squeeze on the book so I could release the book a week earlier than planned. I suppose folks who aren’t Canadian know that American Thanksgiving isn’t on the third Thursday of November, but rather is the second last Thursday of November. This only matters when there are five Thursdays in November and your original release day is on the fourth one and you don’t want to release on the holiday. Oops!
And as always, thank you to my readers for loving this world and its characters as much as I have. They feel like home.
For Kenzie who said I needed more British Mafia in my books.
1
Zach Forrester considered his living room. The cheerful floral arrangement was a nice touch of color among the muted tones, as was the new, deep burgundy couch. They both added life to the otherwise dull space, making him less likely to notice the brooding gray November light struggling in through the windows. The special-order headlights for his Land Rover, were nice, too. Although the public-issue vehicle tracker wasn’t nearly as good as the one he’d used while in the undercover intelligence business.
He checked his credit card statement on his phone and scrubbed at his short hair. It appeared as though his card had taken another hit, thanks to his online shopping bender the night before last. This was starting to become a costly habit. One he needed to curb.
Zach tossed his phone onto the couch and massaged his aching temples. A few too many whiskeys and a whole lot of consumerism had happened. He supposed his therapy of choice could be worse. But still, something had to change. And soon.
He was failing to adapt to civilian life, failing to pretend he hadn’t seen the things he’d seen, hadn’t done the things he’d done to keep the country, and sometimes the entire world, safe. Real life was happening around him, but he felt as if he’d been set apart, struggling to act as though he was just like everyone else, that being an agent for almost a decade hadn’t changed him in ways that left him altered, unreachable.
Now that he was retired, his new mission was to forget it all, blend in, marry and live a life with a woman who would be okay not knowing every gory detail about the things he’d done in his former career.
However, even the local matchmaker, Ginger McGinty, who never struck out, couldn’t find someone for him.
But her husband, Zach’s buddy and former partner, Logan Stone, had made the leap from secret life to real life. While he’d seemed surprised when Zach announced he was leaving the service, Logan had quickly followed suit, the two of them opening a security business that served civilians.
Normal life suited Logan. His reentry had been smooth and effortless.
Zach’s reentry, on the other hand, looked more like a shopaholic had gotten hold of Daddy’s credit card. Moving himself from South Carolina to the small mountain town of Blueberry Springs a few months back hadn’t magically cured him, either.
Zach moved some shipping boxes aside, relieved that he hadn’t gone too overboard with this latest spree. He’d needed the couch, and the flowers were cheery. He could manage this. He was still buying stuff he could use. He wasn’t blowing it all on trash that would sit in a closet or end up in a landfill.
The doorbell rang and Zach grumbled to himself. How much more from the online world of easy shopping had he decided to overnight ship to himself? There’d been a lull in both the afternoon deliveries and the complaints from his neighbor, George, who claimed the delivery traffic stressed out his dog, Queenie. Zach had assumed that the flowers were the last of the day’s shipments, with maybe a few more items co
ming tomorrow, since in reality, overnight shipping to a small town typically meant one-to-four business days.
He briefly considered doing some forensic tracking of his online forays, to unearth the last yet-to-be-filled orders so he could cancel them. Although he had to admit it was cheering to receive surprise packages. It was as though all the birthdays that had gone unacknowledged while he’d been out in the field, deep undercover and without family to pass on their well wishes on his special day, had stockpiled. His birthday hadn’t been something noteworthy in a very long time.
Maybe that was what Logan had to save him from blowing through his retirement fund: he had someone to spend the holidays and birthdays with. He had Annabelle, his adopted special-needs adult daughter, who lived a few blocks away, and his wife, Ginger, who he’d married as part of his cover during a mission, but had ultimately fallen for.
Zach opened the front door, the security system chirping due to the doorway breach as frigid mountain air blasted him. He was facing a woman in a thin, faded jacket and a backpack. Not a delivery then. Relief washed over him as he gazed at her. She was tall, nearly his height, her blond hair revealing a hint of darkness at the roots, the wavy curls demonstrating a similar softness to her generous curves. She looked like a woman worth holding, someone a man his size could really put his arms around and enjoy, knowing she was there, a grounding force.
Zach blinked and shook himself.
He was lonely. That was definitely the problem. And shopping wasn’t filling that hole.
“Zach Forrester?” she asked. She had a British accent and he worked to place it. It wasn’t flat like Yorkshire, and it lacked an upper class polish. It was more similar to the classic accent, as if she’d grown up in one of the older downtown neighborhoods or along the edges of London, sneaking smokes and liquor after school, and kissing boys in out-of-the-way corners. Generally getting into a typical teenaged version of trouble he’d never had the time to participate in while growing up.
“Yes?” he replied.
Beyond her on the sidewalk was an infant tucked under a fluffy blanket in a cheap stroller, a diaper bag on the walkway beside it. No car at the curb in front of his two-story. Was she lost? Looking for donations? In need of a safe place to duck into while she called her family—as a man in an unmarked van was following her, and giving her the creeps?
And there he went again. Worst case scenario. Abductions were rare in real life. This whole living and thinking like a civilian was harder than it looked.
“I’m Catherine Tidsdale,” she said.
He made a hum of acknowledgment, curious as to why she’d said her name as though it was one he should know.
“We met on Email Brides and Grooms,” she continued. “I’m your wife.”
Catherine didn’t know what she should do. Her new husband, a big bear of a man who held himself with a don’t-mess-with-me fierceness, while emitting a contradictory aura of warmth and kindness, was staring at her. Just staring. Not blinking. It was as if a fuse had been blown in his mind, only through his striking sapphire eyes she could witness approximately 573 different thoughts zipping by with each passing second.
She had managed to get here a day or two sooner than she’d promised, and she had assumed that her early arrival would be fine. Now she realized the error of keeping her focus only on getting her son and herself here safely.
She tried to subtly warm her hands by cupping them together. It was cold here in the mountain town of Blueberry Springs. Really frigid. Much colder than London usually got, even with that biting dampness that descended each winter. Here, snow had already fallen, and the sun was covered by low, pressing clouds that she guessed was filled with more of the fluffy stuff.
“You’re my wife?” Zach inhaled loudly. Then, as though trying the sentence on for size, he repeated himself more firmly. “You’re my wife.”
He had a nice voice, Catherine decided. It was low and rich, as if he might sing wonderful love songs and add something to them that even Frank Sinatra hadn’t been able to.
“Yes,” she said.
“We met online.”
“Yes.”
He started nodding as though things were coming back to him. “All right.” He stepped aside so she could come in.
She didn’t move, but instead watched him, checking for signs that this wasn’t a safe place. There was a gentle curiosity in the way he looked at her, but he also had faint scars that suggested his past hadn’t been filled with cherries and roses. He also had well-defined muscles that hinted at discipline, and a stance that said he was ready to fight at any given moment. And while she knew appearances could provide clues, they often weren’t enough on their own to determine who was safe to be around and who wasn’t.
But when it came right down to it, it was Zach’s slight awkwardness that gave her hope. Hope that he was the kind of man she was seeking. The kind whose own life had been somewhat like hers—lacking perfection and ease—so he would instinctively know that some doors to the past were best left unopened.
Behind Catherine, Xavier began to fuss. He’d traveled fairly well for a two-month-old. There had been times when they’d been on the move while in disguise, where he hadn’t been able to settle, but overall he was happy as long as she was moving. She’d had to ditch strollers in various locations as she tried to create cold trails, in case anyone was following them from the UK, opting to carry Xavier against her under a flowing shirt, as though she were an expectant mother again, or tote him about in a picnic basket like she was Little Red Riding Hood off to visit Grandma. He’d been a trooper, and as a result, they’d made it here. Safely.
Now, though, she ignored her son for a moment, focusing on the man in the soft gray T-shirt that stretched over his biceps, apparently immune to the cold that was knifing its way through her jacket.
“Your baby’s wet,” he said.
“He’s not wet.”
“Okay,” he said, as though agreeing, “but his diaper is wet.”
Zach had a calm certainty she identified as wholly American. The Brits she’d known tended to be overly polite and simply give way with strangers. Well, the general population, not anyone from her family, that was for sure. They were pretty good at making their own rules and finding reasons to take whatever they wanted.
But Zach had that something most men sought. Charisma, but with a cool aloofness. He could firmly disagree with you and you’d still like him afterward, and he was the kind of man you wanted to be near, just to see what he’d say next. She’d bet he was loyal above all else, and despite the undercurrent of fierceness she’d noted, that once you were part of his inner circle he’d protect you to the ends of the earth.
Or maybe she was projecting, since she had married a man she’d never met, and needed to rationalize the decision so she didn’t commit herself to the nearest psychiatric facility.
Zach had been studying her while she’d been doing the same with him. Thinking. Deciding. It was comfortable, she realized with a start. This big, handsome man had sized her up, taking her in, and she’d been fine with it. And he’d been cool with her sizing him up as well.
She found herself liking him already.
Zach moved past her, and she froze as Xavier’s fussing kicked up into a proper cry. Catherine rushed to elbow Zach out of the way as he unstrapped her son from the stroller.
“Sorry.” Zach stepped aside, his subtle scent one she felt she could inhale all day, unlike the overkill cologne her brothers used to wear. In her mind, the smell of cheap, heavy aftershave was linked to cocky men who thought themselves untouchable. Men, she could tell already, who were nothing like Zach. “I should have asked.”
There was that flash of hope flickering inside her again. Hope that he was different. Hope that he was similar enough to her to make things work.
She felt safe, and yet there was nothing to base that on. Nothing at all.
She must be more tired from her travels than she’d realized.
�
�How did you get here?” Zach asked, as Catherine bounced her son in her arms, trying to quiet him as well as shelter him from the harsh wind. Zach gestured to the empty street with his chin, his thumbs tucked in the pockets of his jeans.
“A cab.”
She could see the worry and concern hit him. She hadn’t called, and he likely knew just how pricey the lengthy cab ride from the closest airport would be. But struck by a bout of nerves and doubts, she’d wanted that last moment to herself to determine whether she was going to truly move to this town, truly choose a stranger. She’d had the taxi sit at the curb for a good five minutes after arrival while she studied the house and pondered the consequences of what she was about to do. Then she’d come up the walk, prepared to catch Zach Forrester off guard, hopeful she’d see the real man and not a polished, rehearsed version ready to impress.
His eyes narrowed. “Where did you take it from?”
“The airport,” she replied crisply.
Xavier was still fussing, and through the blanket he was bundled in, she gave his diaper a gentle squeeze, testing for wetness. It was heavy, which meant Zach had been right. Xavier was wet. The man knew his baby cries.
She plucked the diaper bag off the sidewalk. “Where can I change him?”
As she lifted her head to watch Zach answer she found herself face-to-face with him, as he’d been reaching for the bag, as well.