Chapter One
Audrey
“I know it’s been hard. But I need you to be brave for a few more minutes,” I tell Paisley Jolene as I wipe the formula from her face.
She’s just finished her afternoon feeding. The six-month-old baby girl finally started to put on some weight last month.
We’d moved into our first apartment together and it felt like things were falling into place for us. Until the rug got ripped out from underneath our feet.
I take a deep breath and push back the memories. I don’t want to think about that night or the way it makes me feel.
What matters now is that Paisley and I are safe. Or at least, I think we will be in this place.
Glancing around the Courage County Bus Station, I’m glad we arrived a few minutes earlier than expected. It gave me time to feed Paisley and get her calm.
As it is, my cowboy husband-to-be will show up with no idea that there’s a baby on my hip.
I don’t know what he’ll do when he realizes he got a package deal. Maybe he’ll send us away. The idea has my mouth going dry.
You don’t become a mail-order bride at eighteen with a baby because your life is filled with options.
I had to find a way to keep Paisley fed and safe. Moving to a small, rural town where no one knew us seemed like a good start.
My only hope is that the cops haven’t tracked us this far. Then I remind myself that I’ve been on my own since I was fourteen.
No one has missed me in four years. Why would someone start looking for me now?
As soon as I think that, an image of Calvin flashes in my mind. There was so much blood that night. He couldn’t have survived, right?
Paisley pats my face as if she’s reassuring me that the man who haunts my nightmares is truly gone. Then she gives me a grin, showing off that one little bottom tooth.
Even if I mess everything else up in my life, I know I did one thing right. I made Paisley, and this little girl needs her mama to be strong. She needs to know that unlike me, she always has a safe place to land.
Squaring my shoulders, I move to the bathroom to adjust my dark hair. It looks messy and oily thanks to the nearly thirty-hour bus ride. My groom offered a ticket on a plane or a bus.
I took the bus. I figured people were less likely to pay attention to us that way. So far, so good.
I scoop my messy hair into a ponytail and pause to pull a few tendrils loose to frame my face. Not that it does much.
You can’t soften the look of a woman who’s spent as much time on the streets as I have.
Tugging on my short jean skirt, I wish it were longer.
But leaving the apartment in the middle of the night with nothing but the clothes on our backs has meant that I’ve been scraping by on whatever I could find in those donation bins down in Miami.
That explains the red, sparkly tank top that’s about a size too small and perfectly frames my large chest.
With one hand wrapped around my baby girl, I use my other one to apply a fresh coat of eyeliner and mascara. I have to juggle Paisley carefully because she keeps trying to grab for my makeup.
When I’m finally done with my face, I give myself a nod of approval in the bathroom mirror. “It’s time to go meet your husband.”
I settle in one of the cold metal chairs to watch the passengers come and go.
But the entire time, I’m scanning the crowd and looking for one detail in particular. A man carrying a bouquet of violets.
There’s one cowboy that catches my eye. He’s tall, bearded, and big with the kind of confidence that shouts he knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to go after it.
He’s wearing tight Wranglers and a brown coat that’s open and layered over a white, button down. His matching Stetson and boots make it obvious he’s a local.
I try to get a glimpse at his eyes but he’s wearing dark aviator sunglasses. He moves gracefully and fluidly through the terminal, scanning for someone.
Even before I spot the violets he’s carrying, I know he’s my cowboy. I’m looking at my future husband and damn, the man is fine.
With no pictures being exchanged through the mail-order bride service, I figured I’d get paired with someone that was old and crusty. This cowboy is definitely not those things.
I stand to greet the man who’s already approaching me. He’s like a magnet pulling me in, and I feel the attraction all the way to my toes.
I’ve never felt this way and I don’t know how to explain it.
When Paisley shivers in my arms, I tighten my hold on her. I remind myself that this cowboy will have to accept both of us for this marriage to work.
I won’t be like my mother and choose a man over my baby girl. No, we’re a package deal and this is the moment of truth.
The cowboy reaches for his sunglasses and pulls them from his face.
He’s a good ten years older than me with laugh lines around the corners of his eyes. Now that I can see that gray-blue gaze, I relax a little.
There’s something about his eyes. They’re filled with kindness and compassion. A reaction I didn’t expect, and it throws me off-balance. I expected anger or frustration. Maybe even betrayal.
He tucks the sunglasses in his shirt pocket at the exact moment that Paisley lunges for him. She’s never done that with anyone else, never reached out first.
To my surprise, the cowboy reaches for her and for a reason, I can’t explain I let him hold her.
He smiles down at her and asks in a Southern drawl that’s as smooth as melted chocolate, “What’s your name, pretty girl?”
“Her name is Paisley Jolene.” My own voice comes out rough and scratchy.
I’ve always figured my daughter would grow up like me, never having a real dad. But standing there with this big stranger cuddling my girl, I can’t help but hope that I’ve been wrong.
“Well, hello there, Miss Paisley,” he croons as he shrugs out of his coat while managing not to drop the flowers.
He covers her with it and she snuggles into his chest. “What’s your pretty mama’s name?”
