Montana (Modern Mail Order Bride Book 2) (17 page)

“No, Danessa, I got away and got married,” she said.

“You don’t say?”  Danessa got quiet as she turned her head slightly. “Oh, he is a big one.  All manly...ooh, he smells real fine, too,” Danessa said.  Her head cocked again as she picked up on the presence of Avery.

“And what do we have here?” she asked as she stood up facing Avery.

Avery, bless her heart, began to talk really loud. “I am Avery Jean Johnson.  This is my first time in New York!”

Danessa looked at Pecola. “Why the hell is she yelling?  I am blind, child. I ain’t deaf.”

“Sorry,” Avery whispered. “Tell her I’m sorry, Pecola.”

“Tell me your damned self. I am standing right here,” Danessa said with a crinkled brow.

Billy Joe stepped in front of his cousin, reaching for Danessa’s hand.  “I am on your right.  I’m Billy Johnson, Pecola’s husband,” he said to the sightless woman.

Danessa reached for his hand.  She allowed her fingers to run across the callouses before fingering his palm in a sexually suggestive manner. As she held onto his hand, Billy Joe’s eyes were on Pecola, who was trying not to laugh.  Danessa had pulled this trick before.  Her hands creepily crawled up Billy Joe’s forearm, then fondled his elbow, his bicep, and stealthily moved up to his face.  The weathered fingers lingered over his lips, trying desperately to force their way into his mouth.  He turned his face away, avoiding the prying fingers before they moved on to his chest. Billy Joe was getting red in the face, especially when Danessa’s hands started moving lower.

He sprung back like a cat next to a cucumber.

“Hey now, you don’t need to get that familiar with me,” he told Danessa.

“I was simply trying to get a feel for you,” she said with a wink to Pecola.

“Yeah, you were feeling too much.  Just because you’re blind doesn’t give you the right to molest me,” he told her.

“That is a dirty word, Mr. Billy Johnson!  You can’t accuse me of molesting you when I was only trying to get to know what you look like through my hands,” she said.

“I have no problem with you feeling my face and hands, but anything below the belt ain’t none of your business, lady!” Billy Joe said with a head nod for emphasis.

“Did he just use his head to punctuate his sentence...like that head nod means something to me.  It won’t mean a damned thing if I crack you across the head with my walking stick. Pecola, where did you find this man?” Danessa asked.

Pecola had already climbed the stairs and was opening the front door to her home.  The whole brownstone was hers, but she rented the bottom floor to Danessa, who had become a surrogate mother to her when Fanny Peters had taken ill several years prior.  Danessa had been wonderful to Pecola during the extended illness that forced Pecola to work from home. The missed online meetings and deadlines caused Pecola to lose her job as a copywriter, but cancer was one of those things that could not be placed on a schedule. Chemotherapy made her mother, Fanny, horribly ill.  The late nights Pecola sat at her mother’s side created a longing for another type of life.

It was late one spring evening when the idea of becoming a mail order bride entered her head. A laptop across her thighs, in the dim light of her mother’s bedroom, she wrote, “Chapter 1- A New Beginning.”  It was a new inauguration for her as well.  Taking an indie approach, she published her first short story of a woman heading west on a wagon train only to be kidnapped by Indians. The story sold well, so she wrote a series, released all three on the same day, and made the a nationally recognized best seller’s list. Montana Hart had become semi-famous.

The death of her mother created a new breed of loneliness, which was supplemented by more stories, cowboys, and westerly adventures. A new venture was opening for her now with her very own cowboy.

“Pecola...Honey,” he called from the bottom of the stairs. “Ain’t cha gonna say something?”

“Yes, stop arguing with a blind woman,” she told him. 

Begrudgingly, he followed her up the stairs into the home Pecola Peters had grown up in. Pecola stood in the small kitchen looking out the kitchen window at the plot of grass that she called a back yard.  It was very clear to her that this brownstone was no longer her home.

Her home was the sunny yellow kitchen that looked out over the plains in Montana.

P
ecola had barely been home an hour when her doorbell rang.  Billy Joe jumped two feet. Wide eyes scanned the window looking for threats and possible intruders. She hit him on the arm.

“Billy Joe, burglars don’t ring the doorbell,” she told him.

“They do if they are testing to see if anyone is home,” he told her.

Ignoring him, she went to answer the door.  Her very agitated brother, Zachary was standing on the stoop. An exact, and familiar look was on his face, which emanated a certain level of being pissed off with her.  This look she knew well.

“Hey, you,” she said opening the door.

“Where the hell have you been for a week?” he wanted to know.  The movement from the corner of his eye put him on alert. Zachary turned quickly to find a raven haired beauty with the most gorgeous eyes he had ever seen in his life staring at him.

“Wow,” Avery said.

Zachary pointed at her, his ability to speak was lost in the wonderment of those eyes.

“That’s Avery Johnson, Billy Joe’s cousin,” she told him. She said it as if he knew who in hell Billy Joe was. Closing the front door, she watched her brother ease his way into the room.

“Who is Billy Joe?” he asked, his eyes half on Avery.

Pecola pointed to the man who was standing beside the wall with a broom in his hand. “He is Billy Joe,” she said, taking the sweeping instrument out of his hands.

Zachary, perched to ask the obvious, was interrupted by Avery.  “Wow, you are all kinds of
Oh, yeah
,” she said with wide eyes.  “I ain’t ever been with a black boy before.”

Billy Joe, furious with his cousin, yelled at her, “Avery Jean Johnson, don’t you go embarrassing yourself by acting like a common strumpet!”

“Ain’t nothing common about me Billy Joe, which this hunk of a man is going to find out later,” she said with a wink at Zachary.

The finger Zachary was pointing at Avery was now pointed at Billy Joe, then back to Avery. His mouth, wide open, moved like a starving baby word waiting to be fed by its Mama.

“Avery Jean!  You don’t know if Pecola’s brother is married or engaged.  Get a hold of yourself, woman!” Billy Joe admonished her once more for her behavior.

She was now standing extremely close to Zachary, a hand on his forearm, asking him, “Are you married or do you have a fiancée?”

“I am not married, and no, I don’t have a fiancée,” he said to her.  He was still mesmerized by her beautiful gray eyes against the long dark hair, which hung about her shoulders in cascading dark tresses.

“Would you like to be?” she asked him as she gnawed on her bottom lip.

“Shit hell, Avery Jean, I don’t believe you!” exclaimed Billy Joe.

“You shut your biscuit eater, Billy Joe Johnson!  You have a wife to cuddle up to every night and all I have is a hard ride on Buster every other day to make me happy,” she admitted in a harsh tone.  It sounded almost as if she were scolding her cousin.

Zachary, completely at a loss to the strangers in his sister’s home, was searching for words.  Finally, something came to mind. “Who is Buster?”

“My horse, a great big stallion.  I can handle him real good,” she said with a slight curl of her lip.

“Pecola, who are these people?” Zachary asked his sister.

She handed her brother a bottled water as she returned from the kitchen, handing one also to her husband and cousin-in-law. “This is Avery, Billy Joe’s cousin, and that is Billy Joe, my husband.”

“Your what?” he said, stepping away from Avery who was petting him like a large dog.

“My husband,” she repeated.

Billy Joe stepped forward, his hand extended. “It sure is a pleasure to meet you, Zachary Peters.  I have seen you play a few times.  You are a phenomenal running back, really light on your feet,” he said.

The frustration of the awkwardness of it all had reached a head. Zachary, still being petted like she was grooming Buster, stepped away from the strange woman with the beautifully alluring eyes, only to be followed at close proximity by Avery, who had no intention of letting him out of her sight. His eyes focused in on Billy Joe, who was holding the broom in a manner which did not sit easily with Zachary. Pecola had taken it away from him once, yet somehow it was back in the cowboy’s hands again.

Everything Zachary was thinking came out in one big gush of air when he said,  “You are married to my sister...like when...fuck that...why did you...Pecola...you didn’t even let me give you away...where does he live...what does he do....who are his people...who is this man?”

Billy Joe took a seat. He pointed at the chair for Zachary to sit down as well. Zachary’s face was contorted and he kept his eye on Avery. Her hands had traveled to his thighs, feeling him as if she were measuring him for either a tux or a coffin.  His feet were rooted to the floor while he remained standing. He’d moved another inch to the right but Avery had moved as well.

“I am William Joseph Johnson. I am a rancher and we live in Montana,” Billy Joe began.

“Montana?  Montana!  That mail order bride shit you write has gone to your head.  Please don’t tell me you put a postage stamp on yourself and shipped your silly ass to fucking Montana to marry this man?”  Zachary was furious.  “Do you know how many things could have gone wrong?”

“Wow, you are so powerful.  So dominant,” Avery said as she slipped her hand into his.  “I ain’t never been with a black boy before but I am sure am ready.”

Zachary looked down at her since he nearly was half a foot taller than she was. “I ain’t nobody’s boy. I am a grown ass black man!

“Whew! Yes, you are,” she said as she bit her lip.

“Avery Jean!”  Billy Joe called out.

“Shut up, Billy Joe.  I am going to marry this man and make him the best wife ever!” she declared.

Zachary tried to pry her fingers from his hand and pull away. Avery only followed his every step. “What makes you think I am looking for a wife?”

“Every man is looking for a wife.  It just has to be the right one.  I am the right one for you and after our night together, you are gonna whisk me off to the courthouse to make me all
yourns
,” she said.  She nodded her head for emphasis.

“Did you just punctuate your sentence with that head nod?”

“You can gaurunbetcha I did!”

Zachary was outdone.  He didn’t know if she was crazy or serious.

“What...how...what...shit,” he said as he took a seat.  Pecola had moved over to the couch and was damned near sitting in Billy Joe’s lap.  The love between them very obvious, with nothing phony or insincere in the way the man looked at his sister.

“Zachary Peters,” Avery said real low. “Do you know why I would make you the perfect wife?”

“Of course, you are going to tell me,” he said, a deadpan expression on his face.  His eyes were still on his little sister. A glow encircled her spirit, pitching out an aura of happiness that warmed him from the inside.  Avery’s hand slipped into his again.

“I will make you the perfect wife because I know absolutely nothing about football.  I don’t care anything about money, as long as we have enough to keep a roof over our heads, food in our bellies, and shoes on our feet.  I am a really good cook, an awesome artist, and outside of riding a horse once or twice a week, I’m pretty low maintenance,” she told him.

“Avery, was that your name...are you proposing to me?” Zachary asked in disbelief.

“Well yeah, if I have to wait until you get around to it, it will take two years.  I ain’t got no time for nonsense.  I want to be
yourns
,” she told him.

“I JUST MET YOU!” he said very loudly.

“We all have to start somewhere, Zachary Peters, and you and I start here tonight,” she said with another head nod.

“Goddamn it woman,” he said, but she reached over and popped him across the lips with her hand.

“Don’t you go taking the good Lord’s name in vain, Zachary Peters!” she said.

“You actually just hit me in my mouth,” he said incredulously.

Avery stood up, her hands on her hips, and retorted, “And I will do it again if you get all blasphemous.”

Zachary leaned forward in the chair, looking over into the kitchen. Unsatisfied, he sprang from the seat to check the stairwell. There were no camera people there.

“What are you doing?” Avery asked, taking a seat in the freshly warmed arm chair.

“Looking for the camera crew.  This is some weird joke by my teammates isn’t it?” he asked Pecola.

His sister, curled in a ball like a small cat in the man’s lap, was lip-locked with her new husband. The cousin was still sitting there staring at him with those beautiful gray eyes, thick black hair, and extremely kissable lips. It wasn’t a joke.  Pecola was wearing a wedding band and so was the man. 

“Pecola!” he shouted.

“Yes, Zachary,” she said, calmly pulling her mouth away from Billy Joe’s.

“Do you want to explain?”

“I married a rancher from Montana.  I now live in Montana and we are going to convert the ranch to a writer’s retreat, with cabins, and stuff.  Maybe you should consider being one of our investors so we can keep the ranch as a family affair,” she told him. “In the offseason, you and the guys can come out and fish, maybe do some hunting or something,” she said with a giant grin.

Zachary sat again in the chair on the opposite side of Avery, his head filling with concerns as he watched the two of them smooch with each other. His lip curled up in distaste. His sister was now married to a man he didn’t know and was uncertain if he even liked. A man who lived in Montana on a ranch.  A ranch where his sister would be living.

“Zachary Peters,” Avery said.  “Pecola is in real good hands.  Billy Joe waited a long time for the right woman to marry, just as I have waited for the right man.”