Authors: Bridget Lang
Heather put the phone down. It had been the third call with her lawyer in the past week. She sat still; watching spring rains batter against the glass plane of the kitchenette window. She had things to do, laundry, lunch to make and receipts to go through, but she didn’t have the energy.
Heather’s lawyer had finally informed her what she’d already known to be true; she was completely broke.
In a week’s time her rental would run out on the apartment she was currently staying in, a gritty, run-down affair that you couldn’t swing a cat in. She had no job prospects, and hardly any income. Since her break-up with Bertram she’d been living on a small amount of savings that she’d squirreled away over the years, and had sold a few handbags, watches and jewelry to make ends meet.
Ironically, from where she was sitting contemplating her life as a destitute, she could see in the distance the majestic high rise tower of AyerCooke, so tall it pierced the clouds above and gleamed, impenetrable and imposing over the grey New York day. It had been her father’s business – up until two months ago when he’d died suddenly of a heart attack. It now belonged to Bertram.
Her father had never been a particularly warm man, she reflected, but he’d always been good to her. When Bertram started dating Heather, already an associate at her father’s business, he had done everything he could to make their lives together easier – he’d bought them a beautiful apartment, made Bertram’s rise up the Manhattan social ladder easy, and eventually made him partner in the company.
Neither of them could have guessed what a snake he’d turn out to be; dumping Heather within a month of her father’s death, and removing her from the house – which, of course, was all in his name.
Bertram had behaved criminally, which made the phone call she was now about to make all the harder to stomach. She dialed the number with a heavy heart, and half-prayed she’d get his voicemail.
“Bertram Cooke, speaking.” A familiar voice sounded at the end of the line.
She took a deep breath. “Hi Bert, it’s Heather.”
“Ah. Heather. Hi! How are you?” His voice was a perfectly bland form of joviality, as if she were a business acquaintance.
“Well, I’m not great Bertram – I need to speak to you -”
“I’m so sorry to hear that Heather, but I’m a bit tied up at the moment, any chance this could wait?” He interrupted her smoothly.
Heather shut her eyes tightly and gripped the table top, trying to control the fury she felt at his dismissive attitude. “Not really, Bertram. I’m broke. As in, I can’t live – I don’t have any option but to call you.”
Bertram gave a theatrical sigh. “It’s not really my problem Heather. Why don’t you get a job? I’m sure you have plenty of skills suited to the workplace.” His tone was much cooler now, but Heather could detect the mocking beneath.
“Bertram. Please, I’m going to be homeless in a week. I literally can’t live – I’m not exaggerating. I’m just asking you to release a few funds, help me with a few months’ rent till I get back on my feet. You owe me that much, surely?” Her voice had turned slightly wobbly, and Heather moved her mouth away from the phone so he couldn’t hear her shuddering breaths.
“Owe you? I don’t owe you a thing, Heather. I kept you in the lifestyle that you’d become accustomed to, and now we’re not together, I won’t.” The line went dead.
Heather’s fingers gripped the phone so tightly the tips turned white. It was such
lies
. When Heather had first met Bertram it had been at her father’s company event, a summer party to welcome the new-year recruits. Bertram was one of these; a very shy and bespectacled man who sat at the edge of the action, quietly observing all the other Harvard business school recruits dancing drunkenly to the live band.
Heather had felt sorry for him, and went up to introduce herself. They had a fairly pleasant conversation, nothing particularly scintillating, but nice enough. At the end of the evening Bertram had found her again, chatting to one of the current associates, a lovely man in his late-forties Heather knew well, and asked for her number. She had given it to him, but not sensing a spark between them, she’d not expected a call.
Two months later, when Heather had all but forgotten about the incident, Bertram had called her up. Awkwardly he’d asked her out on a date the following Friday, and Heather, charmed by his vulnerability and shyness, had agreed. When she turned up for the date, she’d hardly recognized Bertram. The glasses were gone; the cut of his suit had vastly improved, as had his confidence. He wined and dined her that evening, and the next day had sent a dozen bouquets of flowers to her apartment.
The spark had never materialized, but Bertram hadn’t given up on his efforts to woo Heather. He very swiftly told her that he loved her, and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Faced with such seemingly ardent devotion, she ignored her own doubts and threw herself into life with Bertram, making every effort to ensure she returned his attentions.
She didn’t know when, or how, the tables had turned, but they did. Soon it was Heather putting all the effort into the relationship, with Bertram controlling her every move: what she wore, who she saw, what she did in her limited free time, even what books she read. At the end of it, she was left humiliated and ashamed that she’d let herself be treated that way – as if she were a woman with no mind of her own. The final blow had come when she realized that Bertram would be leaving her with nothing – that everything they had owned was now in his name. She had left their home with two suitcases of clothes, all that belonged to her in the world.
Heather had taken a walk. Her trench was wrapped around her tightly, and she hadn’t bothered to bring an umbrella out. She knew she looked like a bedraggled mess walking the streets of New York, but she honestly couldn’t find it within herself to care. She kept her eyes glued to the pavements as she marched – not knowing where she was headed – just knowing that she needed to get moving, to try and think about a way out of her current situation.
There was one solution that she hadn’t tried yet. She had a sister in California. They hadn’t spoken in months – Bertram hadn’t really liked her. Lila was very free-spirited; though she and Heather had grown up together, going to the same elitist high school and Ivy League universities, Lila had broken away from their lives and set up a crystal healing shop in LA. She always claimed that their upbringing was too oppressive for her, and had longed to leave the cutthroat atmosphere of the Upper East Side.
As Heather was contemplating what was now looking like the only feasible option she had, her phone started buzzing in her pocket.
“Hello?” she picked up, not recognizing the number.
“Ms. Ayer? This is Wendy from Delivery Bride, are you free to speak?” the woman on the line was very softly spoken, a vast improvement from the stern tones of Mrs. Atkinson.
“Hi Wendy, I’m free.”
“Lovely. We have good news; we think there’s a likely match for you – a gentleman who owns a ranch in Wyoming, with one daughter. Never been married. We have a letter, if you’d like to read it?”
“Oh!” Heather was shocked – after her meeting with Mrs. Atkinson, she really hadn’t expected anything to come from it. “Well…” Heather hesitated, wondering if she should just leave it – the entire idea was starting to become faintly ridiculous, an act of desperation which perhaps wasn’t as necessary now.
“Maybe you just want to come and read the letter, and then decide?” Wendy prompted, gently.
Heather looked up to the street sign nearest her. She was about four blocks from the agency, what harm would it do to keep her options open?
“Okay, sure – I’ll be there in about twenty minutes, is that okay?”
“That’s great Ms. Ayer, we’ll see you shortly.”
Heather hung up the phone, slightly dazed. She turned the corner, heading in the direction of the agency. It had stopped raining, and the sun was starting to break through the grey day. For the first time in weeks, Heather felt things were looking up.
The engine rumbled to life and Heather strapped herself into her first class seat on the American Airlines flight. There were few passengers on the aircraft, and the aisle seat next to her was empty except for the three books she’d purchased at the airport to entertain her on the six-hour flight from New York to Wyoming.
“Would you care for a glass of champagne, madam, or a hot towel?” the airhostess leaned forward with the tray. Heather smiled gratefully but only took an orange juice, she didn’t like drinking on flights – it made her feel woozy.
She watched New York getting smaller from her window, and soon she could just see an expanse of crisp blue sky that seemed to last for eternity. She leant forward under the seat in front of her and retrieved her bag, taking out the letter that she’d been given by the mail order agency. She’d opened it a few hundred times since first receiving it, but each time was touched at the sentiment that leapt from the pages.
Dear Heather,
Thank you for sending your picture, you are beautiful. I already love your kind eyes. I am a nice, kind man who lives on a ranch, with a paddock that has five horses, and I would love to take you riding with me. I also have a daughter called Chloe, she is ten, and also very lovely. I hope that you like to cook, and can do complicated hair braids - I can’t. We are a happy, kind family and we love each other very much, but I am missing a wife and my daughter is missing a mom. It would be very nice if you could come and join us.
I’m looking forward to meeting you.
Tanner Holt.
What had persuaded her to make the trip was the reference to his daughter. He was clearly putting her needs first – and Heather knew she could feel forever warm and compassionate toward a man who evidently loved his daughter so much he was willing to request a mail order bride to ensure he found the right sort of woman he was looking for. Heather believed that she could be that woman.
She had always known, ever since she was in her teens, that she wanted to be a mother. Finding out that she couldn’t have children had been a horrible experience, she felt like her life had been robbed of meaning. She thought Bertram felt the loss as keenly as she did, but in retrospect, she realized what she had assumed was his cold and distant way of dealing with misery, was probably relief as he put his plan in motion to separate from her.
Putting the letter carefully back into the envelope, she took out the accompanying photos. There were two, one of Tanner Holt standing in the sun with the Wyoming mountainscape behind him and another of his daughter Chloe, being given a piggy back ride on his shoulders. She must have been about six in this photo, all gangly legs and a beautiful freckled face.
She studied Tanner more closely, he was the only aspect she was confused by: the man was heart-stoppingly gorgeous; tall, broad and strong, with beautiful brown eyes and dark hair that fell messily around his chiseled face. She didn’t understand why he was sending for a bride – this man would have absolutely no problem finding a woman. She could count about ten women she knew off the top of her head that would happily drop their Manhattan lives in a New York minute to spend time with this man.
She supposed this was part of him putting his daughter first. Perhaps his feelings didn’t really come into account – he wanted a good mother for his daughter above everything, and he would settle for companionship. She admired him for that. She smiled to herself, and looked away from the photo; she hoped he
did
want more than just companionship – Tanner Holt was divine, and she didn’t know if she could handle having a platonic relationship with that physique.
Sweet fresh air hit her as soon as she exited the plane. Heather had slept through the majority of the flight, her books and inflight entertainment system had been ignored in favor of the best sleep she’d experienced since her father’s death.
She’d woken up as they came into landing. The landscape was spectacular; large open fields interspersed by dense forest, sweeping mountains that had emerged from the tops of clouds as the plane made its decent. The lakes looked like pools of cut glass from the plane, cool and crisp. As they got closer, Heather could see that they reflected the mountain ranges in the distance, making the horizon look eternal. The plane took its time circulating, and eventually dove down at the foot of a mountain.
As soon as she exited the arrivals lounge of the tiny airport, she was met by a local taxi driver holding a name board. Heather was so grateful she almost wept – Tanner Holt had thought of everything, paying for the first class ticket, and transfers to and from the airport.
As they made their journey to Tanner’s ranch, Heather could see how beautiful and peaceful Jackson was, after a few miles of agricultural land they passed through Jackson Hole, the main town. It was full of rustic charm; most of the structures were pine rendered giving the area a ski-lodge feel. The town was fairly bustling, but at this time of year, Heather supposed there was a lot of tourism.
“How far are we from the Holt’s place?” asked the taxi driver.
“Not far ma’am. Tanner’s out by Cache Creek. It’s just a couple of miles from the town,” replied the Taxi Driver, affably.
“Do you know Tanner?”
“Yup. We all pretty much know each other round here ma’am. I drink with Tanner in Jake’s Place sometimes – a bar in town.”
“Is he,” Heather hesitated, “a nice man?” She wondered if it was strange of her to ask - if all went well she would be presented as his fiancé at some point, but perhaps the man wouldn’t remember.
“Tanner’s a good man. You a friend or relative?” The driver eyed her in his rear view mirror.
“I’m a friend.” Heather didn’t elaborate, but smiled winningly at the man. She hoped he wouldn’t ask more questions about her relationship to Tanner. But the man merely nodded in response and gave a short grunt of approval.
“Well. Nice area this. Here on holiday?” He asked, trying to keep the conversation going.
“Yes. Here on holiday, but, well – we’ll see.” Heather blushed, she wasn’t very good at being vague, but she certainly didn’t want to reveal her situation to a stranger.
“If you don’t mind me saying – looks like you could use one. Pretty girl’s like you shouldn’t look so tired and sad.”
Normally Heather would be put off by a stranger being so forthcoming, but she reminded herself that this is what small town living would be like. As he said, they all knew each other around here. She also didn’t think the man meant anything rude by it – and he was probably right, she’d had a brief look at herself in the bathroom mirrors at the airport. She looked tired and drawn.
Surreptitiously she pinched her cheeks, trying to get some life into them. She hoped she would have a few moments before meeting Tanner to clean up a bit.
The man smiled at her, “Aw, honey – I didn’t mean to make you self-conscious, you’re a beautiful woman. Just look like you could do with a good sleep, fresh air, and some feeding. Well, you come to the right place.” Heather smiled back at him gratefully, the next moment he spoke again, “It’s just up here.”
He turned the corner on the dusty dirt road that they’d be following for the last ten minutes, and started to follow a makeshift tire-track road.
Ahead of them Heather could see a huge log ranch. It had large glass pane windows fronting the entrance, covering two floors. The rest of the building was a more traditional log cabin design, with smaller square windows and low-toped roofing. It was much grander than Heather had ever imagined, and she hoped that what she’d packed would be acceptable to Tanner – it was mainly hard-wearing outdoor clothing; jeans, fleeces and t-shirts. She’d brought a few nice tops for the evening, but that was it. She suddenly felt anxious that Tanner was expecting the manicured, lithe hard-bodies of New York, but then she recalled the letter. He knew what she looked like, it would be okay.
She took a deep breath to steady herself. It was time to face whatever her future had in store.