again wasn’t at the top of his list of things he really wanted to accomplish in his lifetime, but he had his daughter to think of. His daughter, his beautiful, totally out of control daughter, needed a mother. And he was tired of sleeping alone, trying to get meals and laundry done in between feeding, branding and birthing calves, tired of the dreary look his home had acquired without a woman’s presence.
So he guessed he’d keep on with his ad campaign, even though his brother and his friends thought it was a crazy idea.
The right woman had to be out there somewhere.
Juliette Duchenay dropped the envelope through the mail slot in the Rapid City, South Dakota Post Office.
A full minute later, she still stood in front of the box. What in the world had possessed her to answer a perfect stranger’s ad for a wife? She must be out of her mind!
She crossed her arms and stared at the box. She was tiny. Maybe if she took off her winter coat, her arm would fit through the slot and she could fish out her envelope. It was illegal, true, but…
She was seriously considering the idea when another after-hours customer walked into the post office lobby. And then another. Clearly her career in crime wasn’t meant to be.
Slowly she picked up the infant carrier in which her six-week-old son Bobby slept. Oh, well. Probably the man wouldn’t even answer her. Maybe he’d found someone already. The paper she’d picked up had been one of the more ridiculous “meet-a-mate” ones she’d seen in the airport when she’d been coming home from her most recent trip to California. She’d begun to read it for the sake of amusement until it had occurred to her that if she were married, her mother-in-law would have to stop the strong-arm tactics to get her to return to California and move in with her.
Married. It seemed like a drastic step to take, but her mother-in-law was a drastic person. Since Juliette had been widowed, it had been increasingly difficult to make a single decision regarding her own life. She’d gone along with it in the months after Rob’s death but now she wasn’t pregnant, grieving and exhausted all the time. Unfortunately, when she’d tried to reclaim her life, Millicent Duchenay had gone behind her back and sublet the apartment she’d found. She’d cut off the trust fund that had been Rob’s, all the while explaining that it really was best for Bobby if they remained in one home, an extended family together….
And that had been when Juliette had had enough. Moving to Rapid City had seemed drastic at the time. But now she wasn’t sure it was drastic enough. Millicent had buckets of money, and money talked. At least, it had talked to the owners of the department store where Juliette had found a job. Her manager had given her two weeks notice along with a quiet warning not to tell her mother-in-law where she was working the next time. She’d gotten another job and heeded his advice. But she was becoming increasingly concerned about her mother-in-law’s need for control.
Bobby was not going to grow up stifled by his family the way his father had. Oh, she’d loved Rob. But they’d met while they were at college and they’d married suddenly before moving back to the town where he’d grown up…where his mother still lived. Would she have married Rob if she’d seen how tightly he still was tied to his mother’s apron strings? She’d never wanted to think too much about the answer to that. She’d loved Rob. Of course she’d have married him anyway.
Maybe.
Millicent was a high-maintenance mother-in-law. They’d never had an open disagreement, largely because Juliette had used every ounce of tact and restraint she’d owned when dealing with the older woman. When Rob had died, she’d gradually come to see that Millicent would rule her life if she let her.
So she hadn’t.
Moving more briskly now, she headed for her car, attaching Bobby’s seat to the base that made it a safety restraint in the middle of the back seat. As she slid into the driver’s seat, the ad that had started all the trouble caught her eye:
“Single white male, thirties. Prosperous rancher seeks hardworking woman for marriage, household management, child care. Offers security, fidelity and comfortable lifestyle.”
The message had stuck out among the others because it was so straightforward. This man didn’t advertise himself as Mr. Romantic, ready to shower a woman with love and affection. He didn’t specify a bra size for his applicants, or an age. He didn’t care whether they liked a moonlit stroll or red roses, ballroom dancing or candlelit dinners. And most important, he must have children if he needed child care. So he probably wouldn’t mind one more.
But she hadn’t mentioned Bobby in her letter. Some newly cautious instinct had told her to wait.
Marty Stryker tore open the envelope and read the single, hand-written note he’d found in his post office box in Kadoka, South Dakota:
November 29
Dear Sir,
I am writing in response to your advertisement for a wife. If the position is still available, I would like to be considered. I am twenty-four years old, have been married and am now a widow. I believe I could cook, clean and run your household. I am interested in children and would be happy to care for yours. If you would like to meet, I presently am living and working in Rapid City.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Juliette Duchenay
December 5
Dear Mrs. Duchenay,
Thank you for your letter. I have a four-year-old daughter and I need someone to help care for her. I also need help with my house since I am a rancher and am out working a lot. I would be happy to meet you in Rapid. A Saturday or Sunday afternoon would be best.
Sincerely,
Todd Martin Stryker, Jr.
December 12
Dear Mr. Stryker,
It was a pleasure to hear from you. I look forward to hearing more about your daughter and your ranch. Could we meet in the food court at Rushmore Mall on Saturday, Dec. 27 at 2:00 p.m.? I am blond and will be wearing a black dress.
Sincerely,
Juliette Duchenay
December 20
Dear Mrs. Duchenay,
Please call me Marty. Sat. the 27 at 2:00 p.m. is a good time for me. I look forward to meeting you then. I will be wearing a brown Stetson to help you identify me.
Sincerely,
Marty Stryker
One
The woman caught his attention the minute she walked into the café food court at the Rushmore Mall in Rapid City, South Dakota. Not because she was particularly well endowed, which was usually one of Marty Stryker’s preferences in feminine company, but because she was so beautiful.
Beautiful, he thought again. Not just pretty, definitely not cute, but breathtakingly gorgeous.
She was tiny, probably not more than five feet tall, and so dainty she looked as though a good wind would send her sailing. As she
