Male Order Bride (10 page)

Interesting man, she thought now as she sorted through the
stack of mail waiting for her return from Atlanta. Not the kind of man
she would have looked twice at had he appeared as the centerfold of a
women's magazine, but better. He was the kind who stood out from the
crowd. He had style; he had flair; he stood alone.

Yet he was so friendly, so interesting, so likable,
so… She searched her mind for further adjectives to describe
someone she had talked with for less than two hours. He was so much a
man.

He had offered to carry her bag for her when they got off
the plane, and had waited for all of her tons of luggage to come
through the baggage claim just so that he could help her take it out to
her car. And all the while she had felt like a clumsy elephant next to
him with his compact saddlebags thrown over his shoulder.

She tried to picture him in her mind now, and had only a
vague image. The Stetson and the saddlebags were as clear as the
picture on cable TV, but his physical image wasn't as sharp, except for
the scar slashing across his left cheek. She couldn't even remember the
color of his eyes.

It was probably because she hadn't spent much time staring
at him. During the flight she hadn't noticed the scar because of the
way they had been seated. Afterward, when they had left the plane and
she had seen it, it had shocked her. It wasn't that it made him
unpleasant to look at, but it embarrassed her. She could only begin to
imagine the kind of pain he must have endured. He might also feel
sensitive and self-conscious about it, so she had tried to pretend she
hadn't noticed.

That had been difficult to do whenever she had looked at
him. She had concentrated on looking into his eyes. They were
expressive, warm eyes, prone to smiling, even when his lips weren't.
She thought that was surprising too, that he could seem so cool and
unconcerned when he was branded with such a devastating feature. That
impressed her even more, to think what sort of terms he must have had
to come to, to adjust to living with that scar for the rest of his life.

She wondered why he didn't grow a beard. He had a
mustache, and his firm, square jaw would look even more rugged with a
beard. And the beard would hide that scar. It was as if he was
announcing to the world, "This is it—faults and
all—take it or leave it."

She smiled thinking about how pleasant he had made the
trip for her. She suspected, just judging by the way he had
deliberately kept the conversation on her, steering away from himself
whenever she tried to silence her rambling tongue, that he was a
generous man. She had shaken his hand as they stood by her car after he
had loaded all of her luggage inside. "Please do call," she had told
him. "I'd enjoy talking with you further."

There was still so little she knew about him. R.C. Period.
She didn't even know if he was married. She should have asked that up
front. Odd that he hadn't asked that of her either. But nice, too,
because it was usually the first question off a man's lips when he was
only interested in an amorous relationship.

"Lacey," Jane said, poking her head into the back office
where Lacey was daydreaming and sorting through the mail. "This package
just came for you from UPS."

Lacey frowned. She wasn't expecting anything until next
week or so, and certainly nothing so small. "Thanks," she said, taking
the package and looking at the return address. Biloxi. Who locally
would be sending her something? she wondered remembering Rafe
Chancellor for the first time since her return from Atlanta. After
meeting R.C. on the plane, the prospect of the blind date with Rafe
paled. This was probably another of his promotional schemes to make
certain she didn't forget their date tomorrow night, which, in effect,
she had done until just now. She wondered if there was any way she
could get out of it. What would make a good excuse?

It was too late to try to send him a note. If a person was
going to stand up another person on a date, she should at least have
the courtesy to do it with advance notice. Twenty-four hours was too
soon. If she called on the phone, it'd be more difficult to put her
reasons into words. It would just be better, and easier, to grin and
bear it for one night. Besides, it would save the nightly routine of
rummaging through the refrigerator.

She tore the paper off the carton and opened it to reveal
a hat box. Lacey's excitement peaked. This couldn't be Rafe
Chancellor's style. It was probably more like R.C.'s, especially after
their discussion on the plane about her hat collection and how it had
started her designing career.

She picked up the packaging and looked again at the return
address. It was a post-office box here in Biloxi. That would qualify as
a business address. And she had given him her business card when she
had gotten off the plane. It would only be logical that he should try
to reach her through the boutique, either on the phone or by mail. Rafe
Chancellor had always written to her at home.

She pulled the hatbox out of the carton and looked through
the cushioning packaging to be certain she wasn't missing anything like
a card or letter. Nothing.

She untied the strings from the box and lifted the lid as
if something alive would spring out. More tissue paper, but with a card
lying on top this time. She picked it up and read: "Thought you'd like
to add this to your collection. R.C."

All but the signature was typed. Lacey smiled. What a delightful man, and so thoughtful after such a
brief meeting. She turned over the card, looking to see if there was
any return address or phone number, anything other than the
post-office-box number she could use to get in touch with him.

Shoving the tissue paper aside, she lifted a gray felt hat
from the box. The hat band was red, black and white in an Aztec design,
with a small grouping of feathers sprouting from one side. She turned
the hat over. A Stetson.

Grinning, she put it on her head. The man had an expert
eye for size. Or maybe he had just bought something from the "small"
category. Either way, it fit. And glancing at herself in the mirror,
she saw that it suited her too. But how had he been able to guess her
size and pick out a style so quickly? she wondered, then quickly
dismissed the thought.

R.C. struck her as the kind of high-powered executive,
even if he was just a traveling salesman, who knew how to get results.
He probably had picked up the phone, described her to someone, given an
idea of what he was looking for, and said, "Send half a dozen and I'll
return the ones I don't like." He was a leader, and an extravagant one
at that. Who else would send a stranger a Stetson after talking with
her for less than two hours?

"Jane," she called, "come see what I got!"

Jane appeared in the doorway, a look of curiosity on her
face. "Where did that come from?" she-asked, laughing. "I mean, who
sent it? I don't remember ordering anything like that."

"I didn't. We didn't. It came from someone I met on the
plane coming back from Atlanta."

"Really?" Jane asked, stepping closer and turning Lacey
around to admire the hat from different angles. "It suits you, cowgirl."

Lacey laughed. "It does, doesn't it, but I've never
pictured myself that way. This could set off a whole new line of
designs."

"Who is this person who sent the hat?"

"A man," Lacey answered.

Jane put a smug look on her face and folded her arms
across her chest. "I thought as much. Well, who is he? Tell me about
him."

"I don't know much about him. We only talked on the flight
back. All I know is his name is R.C. and he lives here. But he has my
address and phone number."

"Obviously," Jane said, grinning. "And expensive tastes.
That's no dollar-ninety-nine special out of the five-and-dime."

"I gathered that," Lacey agreed. "Can you imagine!"

"And all you know is that his name is R.C?"

Lacey nodded.

Jane laughed. "I don't believe you. First you get all
these mysterious messages from a complete stranger here in town who
sends you flowers and return postcards and cassette tapes and wants to
take you out to dinner. He's even sending a car to pick you up, which
is like something straight out of a movie. I can't even get anyone to
rendezvous with me at the drive-in window of a hamburger joint. And now
you're getting a Stetson hat from somebody whose last name you don't
even know. Where do you shop for your men, anyway?"

Lacey laughed. "Weird, isn't it? Because I stay at home so
much. It looks like I do all my shopping through the mail, doesn't it?"

"You're going to end up as a male-ordered bride if you
don't watch out," Jane said. "And I don't mean m-a-i-l."

Lacey wasn't paying attention. She was admiring how well
the gray hat went with her hair color. A perceptive man too. Now she
was more excited than ever because the hat said he was interested and
he would follow through and call her, just as he had told her he would
when he had left her in the parking lot.

She could still remember how he looked when she glanced
back at him in her rearview mirror. He stood tall and dignified with
those saddlebags slung over his shoulder. And he was grinning.

"What's this R.C. like?" Jane asked, settling onto the
corner of her desk as she watched Lacey turning different ways to
admire the hat.

"Very pleasant. And tall. I didn't realize that until he
stood up and we walked off the plane together. I also didn't realize he
had a prominent scar on his left cheek."

"What from?"

Lacey shrugged. "I didn't ask and he didn't volunteer. But
it must have been something quite serious." She shook her head,
thinking again of the pain he must have endured.

"Tell me more."

Lacey turned and smiled at Jane. "I don't know what to
tell you. We simply talked during the trip back. You know how those
conversations go. Except he was different."

"In what way?"

"He was interested in me, but not in the usual way men
are. You know. He didn't ask me all those tacky married-or-not
questions. It was as if it didn't matter. He talked to me on a
person-meeting-a-person level. Besides, he let me do most of the
talking."

"Maybe that was why you liked him so much," Jane teased.

Lacey had thought of that. He had flattered her and had
coaxed her into discussing her favorite subject. But he had acted as if
he were interested in her answers and had encouraged her even more by
bringing the subject back to her whenever she had tried to talk about
him. "He was such a gentleman, too," Lacey said. "You don't find many
of those around anymore. He even helped me with all of my bags, and you
know how much I came home with this time."

Jane nodded. She was still working on the invoices and
sorting through the collection of catalogs Lacey had picked up in
Atlanta.

"He was just so-o-o-o nice," Lacey cooed, then smiled and
laughed at her blatant admiration.

"And now the hat." Jane shook her head, crossing her arms
again. "Things always seem to fall into your lap. Two men in the works
now, and you're meeting Rafe tomorrow night."

Lacey wrinkled her nose. "I know. I was wondering how I
could get out of it, but I can't think of a tactful way."

"Why would you want to get out of it?" Jane asked,
laughing.

"Because I liked R.C. better."

"But you haven't even met Rafe yet," Jane said, putting
her hands on the edge of the desk and leaning her weight forward. "How
can you say you liked R.C. better?"

"Because I have met him and I liked what I saw."

"But you know so much more about Rafe Chancellor than you
do the Stetson man. Everyone's told you what a neat person he is, and
he's sent you all those notes and messages."

Lacey took the hat off and put it back in the box. "I
know. He sounds good on the surface. But that must be the catch. He has
to look like a beanpole."

"Would that be so bad?"

"Depends on how tall the beanpole is."

Jane laughed at her. "Would you let his looks stand in the
way if he was perfect in every other way?"

Lacey shook her head. "But it's the only reason I can
think of that would have prevented him from approaching me directly."

"Did you ever consider the fact that he might just be a
romantic?"

"We-e-e-ll…"

"Give the man a chance. He's spent over a week 'courting'
you for this date. The least you can do is follow through with the
original plan and have a good time."

"I'd still rather be out with R.C. He has a lot of
character too."

"How can you tell, when you know so little about him?"

"Because I liked the way he looked, scar and all."

Jane laughed, hopping off the desk. "You're hopeless. You
have one man chasing you sight, unseen, who sounds like the white
knight on a white steed, and another who, just based on looks alone,
you're convinced is John Wayne. If I were you, I'd think about that old
saying—a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush."

"Depends on the bushes," Lacey answered. What Jane had
said was right. No matter how much she now dreaded meeting this Rafe
Chancellor, her sense of honor dictated that she must. One date
couldn't be that bad. At least R.C. hadn't called yet. It would kill
her to have to tell him she couldn't go out with him because of Rafe
Chancellor.

The next evening, Lacey paced the floor waiting for the
car and driver Rafe Chancellor was supposed to send to pick her up for
their date that evening. She had received a short note in the mail from
him yesterday, written in his own handwriting, reissuing the invitation
for dinner that evening and stating the time someone would be by to
pick her up.

Why couldn't the man come to pick her up himself? she had
complained to Jane that afternoon.

"I still say it's romantic," Jane had answered. "Like
Prince Charming sending a golden coach with six white horses to pick up
Cinderella for the ball."