His Most Suitable Bride (12 page)

So be it. She would present her initial batch of women.

It was nothing less than he deserved.

Feeling a bit remorseful—but only a very little bit—she leaned forward and captured his gaze. “For your prospective bride, what say you to Miss Catherine Jameson?”

“Catherine Jameson? You cannot be serious.”

Not in the least, but she persisted, anyway. “She meets every requirement on your list.”

“She also laughs like a hyena.”

True. But Callie couldn’t resist this chance to drive home her point. “I assume you have heard a hyena laugh?”

He shot her a warning glare. “At least once a year, whenever I visit the zoo.”

“How wonderful that you have cause to visit the zoo that often.”

He did not respond to this, but instead shot her another warning glare.

Callie simply smiled. “What about Grace Mallory? She’s very pretty.”

Beautiful, actually. And again, fit every one of his requirements.

“No,” he said through tight lips.

“No?”

“Her mother is trying.”

“You won’t be marrying her mother,” Callie pointed out oh-so-helpfully, which earned her a third warning glare, this one especially fierce.

She presented her next option. “That brings us to Penelope Ferguson.”

“No.”

“What’s wrong with Penelope?” As if Callie didn’t know. The girl had been beyond intrusive at Mrs. Singletary’s dinner party last night.

She expected Reese to remind her of this important little detail, but he went with a vastly different argument. “Her name begins with
P.
”

Callie bit back a laugh. “You would reject the girl merely because you don’t like the first letter of her name?”

“It’s unimaginative on her parents’ part, giving each of their daughters a name that starts with the same letter as the mother. It’s impossible to keep any of them straight.”

“Oh, honestly, Reese.” Callie pursed her lips. “You must realize that once you are married to Penelope you would at least be able to tell her apart from the others.”

“No Ferguson girl. I am firm on this.” He wound his hand in the air. “Who else did you have in mind?”

She thought for a moment. “Natalie Blankenship.”

Reese held silent a full five seconds. Callie could see his mind working up a reason to reject Natalie along with the others.

“Natalie is charming,” Callie added, a little miserably, because the girl was actually suitable. “She’s lighthearted and smart and comes up with insights into human nature that are almost always correct.”

More silence.

“She’s pretty, too.” Callie sighed. “Raven hair, blue eyes, exquisite skin.”

Reese dragged a hand over his face. “Natalie is too...” His gaze filled with a triumphant gleam. “Short. My neck would not be able to withstand a lifetime of looking so far down just to meet her eyes.”

“Now you’re just being difficult. She’s exactly the same height as Fanny.”

“And we both know how that turned out.”

Callie gaped at the man.

He held her stare, unflinching, then drew his feet back under him and leaned toward her. “Any other prospects you wish to run by me? Perhaps—” he leaned in closer still “—a woman I will actually consider?”

Well, well. Wasn’t he clever? He’d been on to her game all along. She made a face at him. “I was merely trying to clarify my argument about your list of requirements, which as you must realize by now are too vague.”

He sat back. “You have made your point.”

Nevertheless, she wasn’t through. “You must be more specific, Reese, or we will be at this for ages.”

“Understood.”

“Then you will revise your list at once?”

“I will.”

Her pulse quickened at his ready agreement. She’d just bought herself some time. But how much? Enough to contact Fanny and convince her to return home? “And you won’t rush the process,” she ventured. “But you will truly think through each of your requirements?”

“Yes.”

It was her turn to lean into his space. “When can I expect your changes?”

“Soon.”

“Could you be more specific?” She must know exactly how much time she had to lure Fanny home.

“Monday,” he said through a tight jaw. “I will deliver my revised list to you on Monday.”

“Too soon,” she muttered, threads of panic weaving through her control. “You must treat this process seriously.”

“I
am
treating it seriously.”

“Of course you are.” She gave him a pitying look. “If you’re hoping to end up with a bride whose name begins with the letter
P.
”

A reluctant laugh escaped him. “You, Callie Mitchell—” he pointed his finger at her “—are a ruthless opponent.”

“Thank you.”

“I did not mean that as a compliment.”

She sighed. “I know.”

His well-cut lips curved. “I will present my new list to you only after a full week of consideration.”

Better. So much better. “Deal.”

He held out a hand. “Shall we shake on it?”

Why not?
She pressed her palm to his and her heart took an extra hard thump. Her mind reeled.

From this moment on, Callie knew her life would never be the same. She’d won today’s battle against Reese, but feared she’d already lost the war...for her heart.

Chapter Twelve

R
eese kept busy the following week. He had a calendar full of appointments and court dates. Each client meeting required complete focus, the court appearances extensive preparation. In addition, there were contracts to review and business transactions to negotiate.

Even with the vast amount of work demanding his attention, Reese’s mind kept returning to the other, more personal task before him, a task he’d put off all week, though he couldn’t fathom why. Eight days after his conversation with Callie and the dreaded bride list—as he was coming to think of it—
still
needed rewriting.

Shoving away from the desk in his private study, he swiveled around and gazed out over the back lawn. The early morning sunlight glistened off the dew-covered grass. With the snowcapped mountains in the distance, the manicured lawn was picture perfect, as if painted by a master artist.

Reese rolled his shoulders. The idyllic scene was too perfect, too untouched. Where were the signs of everyday activity? Of life itself?

If he squinted, he could almost see his future children racing across the lawn, their rousing game of tag turning up the grass and leaving divots. Two of the girls would be taking turns on the swing he would one day hang from a high tree branch. Meanwhile, Reese would be tossing a ball around with one of his older sons, his wife looking on, smiling and laughing, their youngest perched on her hip.

He rubbed a hand over his face, blew out a hiss and rolled his shoulders again. Had he waited too long to make such a dream come true? Had time run out?

No children would fill this rambling old house with laughter if he didn’t find a woman to marry soon, which would never happen if he didn’t get on with the business of drawing up his new list of requirements.

In her cheeky, impertinent way, Callie had pointed out the flaws in his original approach. He had, indeed, been too vague.

She’d won that battle fairly, extracting his promise to dedicate a full week to his new list. A week that had come to an end yesterday afternoon.

He’d delayed long enough.

Lips pressed in a grim line, he swiveled back around and pulled out a blank sheet of paper. He would approach the new list as he would any other assignment, with ruthless efficiency and rigid attention to detail.

He stared at the blank page a full five minutes.

What did he want in a wife?

He thought he knew. Now...he wondered. Perhaps he should start with personality. She should be kind and fiercely loyal. Excellent. He wrote those down.

What else?

He shut his eyes, sorting through possibilities. She should have a soft, feminine manner and know how to talk to frightened children, using the same amount of gentleness as Callie had with Gabriella Velasquez.

Reese opened his eyes and wrote down
soft, feminine manner
then added
patient, gentle and nurturing.

She should smile often. Yet another image of Callie materialized. Reese liked all her smiles, the sweet ones, the teasing ones, but he especially liked the one she’d given him on the back porch of Charity House. His future wife should also know how to build him up, rather than tear him down. When Callie had praised him for his efforts on Daniel’s behalf, Reese had been ready to conquer the world.

He wrote down
pretty smile
and
full of encouraging words.

A familiar knock on the doorjamb had him turning the paper over, facedown.

His father stepped into the room. “You’re up and at it early this morning.”

Rising to his feet, Reese glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, noted the time. Half past eight. “No earlier than usual.”

“It’s Sunday, son.”

Because he wanted to avoid a lengthy dissertation on the importance of honoring the Sabbath—the same argument his father presented every Sunday morning—Reese kept his face blank. “I know what day it is.”

“Then why are you already hard at it?” His father’s gaze flicked across Reese’s desk, narrowed over the stack of contracts he’d brought home with him Friday evening. “The Lord set aside this day for rest.”

“I took most of yesterday off. I am sufficiently refreshed.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

Reese opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. His father was a brilliant attorney, best known for his litigation skills. Further discussion on the matter would only turn into an argument, which would eventually end in a stalemate.

“You work too hard, son.”

Feigning boredom, Reese leaned back against his desk, folded his arms across his chest. “No harder than you did at my age, or the subsequent twenty-five years following.”

“My point, precisely.” Remorse shifted in the other man’s eyes. “I don’t want you ending up like me.”

“It would be an honor to follow in your footsteps.” Reese uncrossed his arms. “You took what grandfather started and built Bennett, Bennett and Brand into a prestigious law firm with a reputation for honesty and integrity.”

“That may be true.” Eyes full of unspoken regrets slid past Reese, brushed over the stacks of papers on his desk, then shot back. “But there’s no pleasure in a lifetime of hard work if all you have to show for your efforts are a large sum of money in the bank and a stellar reputation.”

Hearing the underlying message beneath the words, Reese realized his father was lonely. Why had he not noticed that before?

Would he welcome grandchildren in this house? Would that be enough to fill the void in his life? Surely, it couldn’t hurt. “You will be happy to know I plan to marry by the end of the year.”

His father stilled. “You are courting a woman, someone in particular?”

“Not yet, but I will be in the foreseeable future.”

“Do I know her?”

Reese wasn’t sure how to answer that question. Both he and his father could very well already know the woman Reese would eventually marry. Or they may not. Best to skirt the question altogether.

He could, however, offer a bit more information to assuage the older man’s curiosity. “I have enlisted Mrs. Singletary’s assistance in my search for a suitable bride, at least originally, however—”

“You what?” His father stared at him, mouth gaping open. “Have you gone mad, allowing Beatrix Singletary that much control over your life?”

“She isn’t in control of anything.” Reese clenched his jaw so tight he felt a muscle jerk. “In fact, she has handed over the task to her companion.”

His father looked at him for a long moment, his face perfectly stunned. “Callie Mitchell is helping you find a bride?”

Reese bristled at the shock in his father’s voice, ready to defend himself—and Callie—until he noted the hint of delight in his father’s gaze and the twinge of some other emotion that bordered on...satisfaction?

“Why Callie is, she’s—” his father gave a small, amused laugh “—the perfect choice.”

Perfect? Reese begged to differ. Bossy, pushy, entirely too feisty? Absolutely. “I trust she’ll steer me in the proper direction.”

“No doubt, no doubt.” The echo of a smile filled his father’s voice and, for once, he let the matter drop without giving his opinion in agonizing detail.

“I had better be going, or risk arriving late to church.” He pulled out his pocket watch, made a grand show of checking the time, then glanced back at Reese. “Will you come with me?”

“Can’t.” Reese pulled a stack of papers forward, feigning a need to get back to work. “I have several contracts to review before tomorrow morning.”

“Attending church is expected of a man in your position.”

Reese set down the paper, very slowly, very deliberately.

Getting married was expected. Attending church was expected. He was sorely tempted to behave in a manner that was decidedly unexpected.

He stifled the urge, as he always did. “You know why I don’t attend church anymore.”

“I do. And I understand your reticence.” He gave Reese’s shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “What Reverend Walton said to you at Miranda’s funeral was unforgivable.”

Reese held silent, irritation burning hot. He shrugged out from under his father’s grip and prowled the length of the room with clipped, angry strides.

Reverend Jeremiah Walton had started out as expected, giving Reese familiar platitudes and pat words of condolence. Miranda was with the Lord, safe in Jesus’s arms, living in a better place where there was no more pain or sorrow.

Reese had heard it all before, had even prayed there was truth in the rhetoric. But when the man pulled Reese aside at Miranda’s funeral and suggested she’d brought on her own death with her reckless behavior, Reese had walked out of the church. Either that, or punch the pompous, self-righteous man in the mouth.

Though he knew Jeremiah Walton was only one preacher, and had left town years ago, Reese had avoided church ever since.

“You’d like Beauregard O’Toole’s sermons. They’re inspiring without being overly preachy.”

Perhaps he
would
get something out of returning to church, especially if he attended Beau’s church. He liked the man, respected him, enjoyed debating complicated theological matters with him. In truth, Reese had been feeling empty lately. Perhaps he could use some Godly inspiration and sound, Biblical direction.

Was today the day?

Needing a moment to think, Reese stalked over to his desk and put his hand on the closest stack of papers. On top was the agreement between Mrs. Singletary and Jonathon Hawkins. His associate Garrett Mitchell had drawn up the initial contract and had done a stellar job. The verbiage put the widow and young entrepreneur in a legally binding partnership that benefited both equally.

With Mrs. Singletary’s financial backing, Hawkins would soon expand his hotel empire into major cities beyond Denver, Chicago and St. Louis.

“Son? Did you hear what I said?”

Reese had nearly forgotten his father was in the room. “I’ll attend church with you soon.”

“You say that every Sunday.”

He dismissed the perfectly compelling argument with a flick of his wrist. “Perhaps I mean it this time.”

His father persisted. “Mrs. Singletary and her pretty companion will be there.”

Reese didn’t want to see Callie this morning. She would no doubt ask him about the dreaded bride list.

“I’ll attend Beau’s church with you in the next few weeks,” he said again, more firmly. “It is a promise.”

His father went to the door and spoke without looking back. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

Chuckling, his father left the room. Reese moved around his desk and turned over the new list he’d begun for Callie.

He’d made a good start, but was it still too vague?

Perhaps.

Rationally, he knew finding a woman to marry wasn’t going to be as simple as creating a string of qualifications and then plugging in the most suitable candidate. But he had to start somewhere.

He fished out his original list from a drawer, read through it, his gaze returning several times to the line about children.

He wrote his desire for children on his new list. No use pretending he didn’t crave a large brood of happy, healthy offspring. His children would never have to wonder whether their father loved them or not, something Gabriella and Daniel Velasquez had never experienced.

The twins touched Reese in ways he couldn’t explain, urging him to do something about their situation, even knowing there was little he could do. They were in good hands.

Callie understood his sense of helplessness. He’d seen it in her eyes, those bright, deep green catlike eyes. There were times when she seemed open and available, transparently vulnerable yet full of inner strength and grit.

She was also full of mischief, as evidenced by her sassy opinions over his bride list. Opinions that rang a bit too true. He couldn’t afford another mistake. One failed engagement was bad enough.

Two, unacceptable.

Callie claimed she needed specifics? Well, Reese would give her specifics.

He picked up a fresh sheet of paper and went to work.

* * *

Bright and early Monday morning, Callie stared in disbelief at her closet, her incredibly
bare
closet. No more oversized, ill-fitting dresses, no more ugly frocks or aprons or bonnets or coats or wraps, nothing but the two gowns Mrs. Singletary had loaned her.

The widow had followed through with her threat. She’d gathered up all of Callie’s dresses and taken them away, presumably to donate to charity.

Callie felt violated.

Why,
why
must Mrs. Singletary insist on making her into a new creation? Why was it so important that Callie stand out from the crowd?

There was no reason for people to notice her, no need to garner unnecessary attention.

Her past mistake with Simon had taught her a hard lesson. It was best to remain quiet and small, easily ignored. The Bible supported her position on this in several places.
Clothe yourselves in righteousness.
As well as the command from the Apostle Peter,
Do not let your adornment be merely outward, rather let it be the hidden person of the heart.

Sage words to live by.

She blinked at her closet, reached out, let her hand drop. This was terrible, another blow, as shocking as the one Fanny had dealt Callie by not responding to her most recent letter requesting she return home at once.

How long was Callie going to be able to stall Reese’s bride search? More to the point, what was she supposed to wear today?

Had she not stayed up so late compiling her list of suitably unsuitable women for Reese, she would have taken the time to lay out her clothes before she’d gone to bed. Had she been her usual, efficient self she would have made this shocking discovery the previous evening.

She moved aside the borrowed dresses—they were not hers, regardless of what Mrs. Singletary said—thinking perhaps the widow had missed one of Callie’s more suitable gowns.

She came away empty.

With profound reluctance, she stepped back and shut the closet door.

Resentment filled her. She was the widow’s companion, not her current
project.
Not some doll to be dressed up and paraded out into the world.