fix herself up. From the early morning sunlight streaming into the room, he could see there wasn’t a speck of makeup on her face and she’d made no effort to confine her unruly hair. It made him wonder if she’d overslept and not had time to stand in front of a mirror applying all the gooey, colorful stuff that made women look so fetching. Could be she was just the natural sort. Or maybe she was married and her husband preferred his wife to have a casual appearance.
In any case, it didn’t matter, Zach assured himself. Lydia Grant couldn’t be any further from his type. He liked girlie girls who wore dresses and lace and were all soft and feminine. This woman looked like she could easily help him build fences or round up cattle.
She tore the sheet of notes from the pad and placed it by the keyboard connected to a computer tower. “If you’ll give me a moment to figure this up, I’ll tell you the cost. How long would you like for the ad to run? A week? Two?”
He leaned forward and was surprised when he caught a faint whiff of perfume coming from her direction. It smelled like a particular flower. He didn’t know its name, but he recalled the scent emanating from his mother’s garden.
“Oh. I doubt a week will get the job done. Or even two. Better keep it up and running until I tell you to stop. I understand that will be more expensive. But in the long run it’ll be worth it,” he added with a wink.
She started to reply and the phone rang again. This time she let out a long breath and swiveled her chair so that she was facing an open doorway leading to the rear of the building.
“Curtis, get that, would you?” she practically yelled. “I’m with a customer!”
So much for intercom systems, Zach thought. He wanted to suggest that if money was that tight here at the newspaper, they might invest in two tin cans and a string to help with communication.
She turned the chair so that she was facing the computer. After she’d fed it a bunch of information, a printer situated on a table several feet away spit out a piece of paper. As she left her chair to retrieve it, Zach noticed she was medium height with curvy hips that filled out a pair of dark blue jeans. The brown ankle boots on her feet were the rugged hiking sort, instead of the pointy toe and high-heeled kind.
“All right, Mr. Dalton, your ad will run in each edition of the Gazette. I’ll have the typesetter outline it in a bold box so it will be noticed. This is the cost for three weeks,” she said, pushing the paper across the desk at him. “If you want it to run longer, just stop by the office and we’ll start again. Is that agreeable with you?”
He reached into the back pocket of his jeans for his wallet. Pulling out a debit card, he said, “Sounds great. I’m in town fairly often, so it won’t be a problem to stop by.”
He scanned his card and she handed him a receipt.
* * *
While Lydia watched him slip the item back into his wallet, it suddenly dawned on her that she’d forgotten to ask him for a photo.
Snapping her fingers, she exclaimed, “Gosh, I nearly forgot! Did you bring a photo of yourself to use in the ad?”
From the blank look on his face, she could see he’d not yet realized that he was actually advertising himself.
“A photo? Uh, no. I didn’t think about that.” He frowned. “Do you think a photo is necessary?”
Lydia fought hard to keep from laughing. Was this guy for real? Did he honestly not realize he was a walking dream?
“Trust me, Mr. Dalton. A woman wants to know what she’s getting. And a pic of you will show her—the outside part, that is.” She cast him an impish smile. “It’ll be up to you to show her the inside.”
Clearly deflated, he said, “I was planning on getting this project rolling today. I have my driver’s license photo. Will that do?”
“Those things always look like mug shots.” She opened a drawer on her desk and pulled out a digital camera. “If you’re not particular about the pose, I can snap one right here.”
“Right here? In this chair?”
Lydia couldn’t stop her chuckles. “I’m going to focus on your face. The background won’t matter much.”
He tucked the tail of his plaid Western shirt even deeper into his jeans, then tightened the string bolo tie until the tiger eye slide was pushed up against the collar. After combing fingers haphazardly through his black hair, he said, “Okay. Guess I’m ready.”
She studied his rugged features for a moment, then shook her head. “No. You’re missing something. Put your hat on. Your potential wife needs to see she’s getting a cowboy. Right?”
“Oh yeah. No chance of my profession ever changing. Not for any woman.” He skewered the black hat onto his head.
Lydia lifted the camera to her eye and tried not to let out a wistful sigh as she centered the lens on his handsome face. “That’s good. But a smile might help,” she suggested. “You don’t want to look grumpy.”
His lips spread into a dazzling smile and Lydia instantly pressed the button to capture the image. Then pressed it again to make sure she’d have at least one clear pic for the paper.
“That’s it for the photo. But there’s still one more detail,” she told him. “Do you want your name on the ad? And how do you want these potential wives to contact you? Phone? Email? Snail mail?”
“Hmm. That’s a question I’d not thought about,” Zach admitted. “I don’t have a personal computer—unless you count my smartphone. And I’d rather keep that email for private use. I’m not sure I want to field phone calls without having some sort of background on the woman first. That might get a little awkward.”
“Yes. Awkward might be the word,” she agreed.
He thoughtfully rubbed a finger along his jawbone. “I suppose that I could do the snail mail thing, but I share a post office box with other family members, including my dad. That might get a little—uh—uncomfortable.”
Lydia Grant nodded. “I don’t have a father—not one that counts, that is. But I have a mother. And if I started receiving correspondence from men, I wouldn’t want her to see it. That’s for sure.”
He looked at her as another idea struck him. “Would it be possible to have responders reply to me in care of the newspaper office? I’d be glad to pay extra for the service.”
Tilting her head to one side, she studied him thoughtfully. Then after a moment, she said, “It’s okay with me, but I can’t speak for my boss. Give me a minute and I’ll see what he thinks about the idea.”
“Fine. Plead my case for me, will you?”
Grinning, she shoved a fist in the air in a typical cheerleader gesture. “Three cheers for your marriage! I’ll do my best.”
* * *
A few years ago when the flood had hit Rust Creek Falls, Curtis Randall had been a young reporter working at a big-city newspaper. Like countless other media people, he’d traveled to the small town to cover the tragic event. For reasons Lydia had never learned, the man had hung around during the aftermath
