Marrying Mr. Wright, page 2
part #3 of Mysterious Ways Series
The waitress set drinks on the table, careful not to place them on Amber’s map. “My name’s Karen. Can I get you anything else? You girls hungry?”
“Um, not really.” Amber looked into the woman’s friendly face. “Can you tell me where we are? We’ve gotten lost on our way to Yellowstone.”
“Happens all the time.” Karen laughed. “I think most of my business comes from lost tourists. Other than locals,”—she pointed to the cowboy on the stool—“only two types of people tend to show up here. Those looking for adventure, and those who are lost.”
Adventure? What kind of adventure can this tiny spot on a dead-end road possibly offer? Probably best to keep the question to myself. No need to insult the locals. “I see. Well, can you show me where we are? I can’t find Mystery on the map.” She turned the map around so Karen could read it.
“Oh, you won’t find us on that map.” The waitress waved a hand and shook her head after a brief glance.
Oh, no. “Why?”
“Mystery isn’t on any map, as far as I know.” Karen leaned down to study the map then pointed at a spot in the middle of nowhere. “We’re right about there.”
“There’s not a road there.” Amber frowned. This doesn’t make any sense.
“I know. The town isn’t officially here, and the road’s not much more than a paved driveway really.”
“Excuse me?” Carrie leaned back in the booth, her brows disappearing behind her bangs.
Amber sympathized. This can’t be happening. We’re in a town that doesn’t exist on a road no one recognizes as there. Where are we? The Twilight Zone? Please. This is the real world. Things like this don’t happen in the modern world.
“I know how it sounds.” Karen chuckled. “You passed ranch driveways on the way in from the highway.”
They nodded.
“Those ranchers, plus the ones who live at the other end of town, used to share responsibility for grading the road. The town just kind of sprung up here right where the road branches to the final two ranches. A couple of years ago, the ranchers decided to get together and pave the road for easier access during bad weather. Driving on dirt roads, that’s a lot of miles. Snow and mud can make those miles even longer.”
“I’m sure they do.” Amber wanted to think it truly was logical, but the whole thing was beyond strange.
“That’s actually pretty smart.” Carrie nodded, admiration in her eyes. “Do all of you get mail delivery up here, too?”
“Nah. Since we’re not an official town, they haven’t decided we should have a post office. Our mail goes to Bondurant as general delivery. Earl runs down there once or twice a week when he needs parts or supplies for the garage, picks up the mail, and leaves it at the grocery store counter. When folks have time or run errands, they stop at the grocery and pick up their mail.”
Amber felt her chin fall but was powerless to pick it up. The woman can’t be serious. Had Heather taken a wrong turn and somehow time-warped them back to the Old West? The days of the Pony Express and stagecoach mail routes had ended long ago. The United States Post Office didn’t operate as Karen described. At least, not anymore. Do they?
“Anyway, if you go back out the way you came, the road dead ends at 191. Take a right. That will take you into Bondurant and Jackson. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding your way from there.”
“How long would it take us to get from here to Moran?”
“You could be there in a couple of hours, depending on traffic.”
Amber glanced at her watch. A couple of hours back to Moran, then another half hour or so from there to the lodge. We could easily make it with time to spare. “You know, on second thought, I’d love some pie.”
“Are you sure we have time?” Heather’s eyes widened in alarm.
“Sure. I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I can go another two-and-a-half or three hours before I eat something again. Pie will tide us over until we reach the lodge.”
~ ~ ~
“You look mighty troubled, Ben.” Pastor Avery Hodges settled in the pew in front of Ben and turned sideways to look back at him. “What’s on your mind?”
“Marriage.” No sooner had the word left his mouth than Ben wished he could snatch it back. He hadn’t meant to say that. He toyed with the brim of the worn, black felt hat perched on his knee.
“Marriage, huh? To anyone in particular, or just the subject in general?”
How should I answer that? If I tell the truth, the man will think I need medication and restraints, but I can’t very well lie to the pastor, and in church, no less. “Pastor, do you believe God still talks to people through dreams?”
Avery’s eyebrows shot up, and his eyes widened.
“I mean, there are all those examples in the Bible of Him imparting information to people and telling them what to do in dreams. Do you suppose He still does that?”
“That’s a very interesting question, indeed.” The pastor’s eyes narrowed in thought as he considered Ben, who resisted the urge to squirm in his seat. “Truth is, I believe God can communicate with us in any manner He sees fit. We put limitations on Him sometimes, but He has a way of pushing us out of our comfort zones. Why do you ask?”
It was all way outside his comfort zone, that’s for sure. Maybe I should go home and forget what’s happened the past few weeks. Maybe I can pretend the dream never occurred.
“Ben, you know, of course, that anything you and I discuss stays between us. Right?”
“I know, it’s just….” I need answers. He sighed. “About six weeks ago, I started dreaming about a woman I’ve never met. I don’t know who she is, and I don’t know what the dream means.” Conviction stabbed him. “Okay, maybe I do, but….”
“Started? So, it’s recurring?”
“I’ve had it almost every night for six weeks.” It was making him crazy. Lack of sleep had taken a toll. His concentration was shot. He’d started avoiding work to make sure he didn’t get kicked in the head by a horse or something equally painful.
“What happens in this dream?”
“She stomps on my foot then we’re dancing together at some formal event then we’re getting married.”
“I’d certainly call that a tight summary.” Avery laughed. “What does this woman look like?”
“She’s so beautiful, even in my dreams I’m tongue-tied like a twelve-year-old with a crush on the prettiest girl in school.” He rolled the brim of his hat then straightened it. “She’s tall, nearly as tall as me, but thin. Macy’s referred to women like that as ‘willowy’ a time or two.”
“With envy, I suppose.” The pastor grinned.
“You could say that.” He chuckled. His half-sister Macy tended to view herself as fat. Nothing he’d said to the contrary had made a bit of difference. She’d definitely envy the woman in his dreams. Amusement faded. He closed his eyes and envisioned her as she’d appeared at the start of the dream, in black shorts and a t-shirt in the same blue as the wild lupines that bloomed on his ranch every year. “Jet-black hair and blue eyes. Mom had this blue and white porcelain I was never allowed to touch. She’d inherited it from my grandmother. This woman’s eyes are that same rich shade of blue, and her skin reminds me of the porcelain. She looks so delicate.”
His mind wandered to the western-style, turquoise lace dress the woman wore for the formal event. Her black hair swept back from her face. The feel of her in his arms. The image shifted. Pale shoulders and arms bare. A floor-length, white wedding gown. Metallic thread wove delicate designs on the torso. Little white flowers on white ribbon laced through hair pulled up, exposing the graceful length of her neck. Her shy smile as he leaned down to kiss her, his nerves in a mess.
“Ben?”
He startled, having forgotten where he was and that he wasn’t alone. Heat flushed his neck.
“What do you think the dream means, Ben?”
He hesitated. Maybe I shouldn’t say. I could be wrong. What if I’m just having a weird fantasy about a woman I saw somewhere on the road and simply forgot about? Her image flashed through his mind again. No, he hadn’t seen her before. He’d have remembered such a beautiful face. “I think God showed me the woman I’m to marry.”
“I suspect you’re right.”
Ben blinked. “You do?” He’d hoped the man would dash that line of thinking against the rocks of reality so Ben could move on with his life. Well… sort of hoped. The ambiguity annoyed him, but he couldn’t deny the longing deep in his heart.
“Why so shocked? I told you. God can communicate in whatever way He chooses. Perhaps this is the way He chose to get His point across to you. I’m not saying when you meet this woman you should just come right out and ask her to marry you, but at least you’ll know she’s the one God sent. You’ve said before that you don’t trust your judgment after Robin.”
“I don’t. I should’ve listened to my friends when they told me, repeatedly, not to marry her.” Ben picked up his hat. “If I had, I wouldn’t have a failed marriage under my belt, and Robin would probably still be alive.”
Avery frowned. “That wasn’t your fault. No one could’ve predicted what happened. Her death may well have been inevitable, regardless of who she’d married or when.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “I better go. I have to see Macy before she closes the store. She has my clothes for Trevor and Ashley’s wedding.” He wrapped a hand around the brim of his hat and pushed to his feet. “I guess I’ll see you at their place. Thanks for the talk.”
“Anytime, Ben. See you tonight.”
Ben stopped outside and slapped his hat on his head then turned toward the opposite end of town. He’d left his truck parked by Macy’s store, having made the decision to go to the church between the truck and her front door. An unfamiliar car sat outside the restaurant. Probably another lost tourist.
Chapter 2
“So, are you ready to tell us how things went with Spencer the other night?” Carrie asked as they finished their pie.
“Not particularly.” Amber shot Carrie a warning look then nodded ever so slightly toward Heather. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“What about Spencer? Is he okay?” Heather asked.
“He’s fine.” She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Leave it to Heather to be concerned first and foremost with Spencer’s welfare. We need to get her out of her codependent mindset, Lord, but how? The guys she’d dated had tended to tire of being smothered. Amber suppressed a snort. Spencer might like that though, since he wants to be the center of the universe.
“You said the other day that you thought he was ready to pop the question.”
So much for Carrie being discreet. Amber bit back a groan.
“What? You didn’t tell me that.” Heather frowned, tears forming.
Amber frowned. Shouldn’t Heather be happy about it? “You’d just broken up with Colin. I didn’t think it was a good time to discuss it.” She shot Carrie a disgusted look, which her friend summarily ignored.
“Well, did he ask you to marry him?” Carrie pushed.
“Yes.” She sighed. Might as well get it over with.
“And?”
“I told him no.” What she’d actually said was, “Absolutely not, not in this century or any other.” They don’t need to know that little detail. His plans for their lives—her life—continued to rankle. He’d had it all laid out before he’d proposed, without discussing one detail with her, and she hadn’t wanted to talk about it. With anyone.
“What?” Heather’s eyes widened.
“It’s a very long story, and a boring one at that. Suffice it to say, we broke up.” Good riddance. She hadn’t missed him a bit. She smiled and took a deep breath. Freedom sure smelled sweet. Well, like pine and dust at the moment.
“Amber, Amber, Amber.” Carrie shook her head and made tsking sounds. “You realize, of course, this makes three marriage proposals you’ve shot down.”
“I’d rather not go into it. I had legitimate reasons for turning down all three of them.”
“Mmhmm,” Carrie muttered.
“I can’t believe you rejected a marriage proposal from Spencer Eddington. Are you insane? He’s one of the most eligible bachelors in Chicago.” Heather seemed stuck on that point while Carrie appeared determined to head in an entirely different direction with the discussion.
I’ll probably lose no matter which way things turn.
“This is so wrong.” Carrie shook her head, apparently ignoring Heather’s bewilderment. “You’ve had three marriage proposals in the last four years, and I have yet to get even one. Life is so unfair sometimes.” She frowned and pinned Amber with a hard look. “And you keep blowing them off. What’s up with that? Are you really that afraid of commitment?”
Amber blanched. She hadn’t exactly been overjoyed at the thought of marriage over the years. The idea of pledging her life to someone she had serious doubts about scared her far more. Case in point, Spencer Eddington and his ridiculous and even downright insulting plans. She’d have gone nuts in a month. By the end of the first year, she’d have been in jail for spousal homicide. Unrepentant and lacking in remorse, at that.
“I’m not afraid, Carrie.” She forced herself not to wince at the lie. “I’m just not willing to obligate myself to a guy who doesn’t look beyond my face to see the real me. I don’t want a disastrous marriage like my parents’. No way do I want to make a lifetime commitment to someone I can’t stand to be around for the long haul.” She shuddered. Her parents’ lives barely touched, and when they did, they argued. About everything and anything.
“Oh, please.” Carrie rolled her eyes. “You’re so scared you don’t even let a guy get close enough to see the real you. You say you want to get married, but you really don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes. I. Do.”
“Whatever.” Carrie waved a hand dismissively and reached for her water. “Keep telling yourself that. We’ll see how many more proposals you turn down by the time we attend our ten-year reunion in six years. You don’t date guys you might actually like, so you can dump them when things turn serious and not be wounded by it.”
“I do not!” Amber winced, realizing how that sounded. “I don’t set out to date guys I can’t like. They just end up being that way. You make it sound like a conscious decision on my part to date shallow, emotionally-sterile jerks.”
“Well, isn’t it?”
“Of course not.”
Heather sniffled. “I can’t believe you turned down Spencer. He’s not a shallow jerk, or emotionally-sterile. He must be so hurt.”
Amber scowled, wanting to scream. Was that honestly all Heather cared about? Spencer’s feelings?
Carrie shot Heather a pitying look then returned a knowing gaze to Amber. “You and I both know you do this on purpose. Your parents have you so scared of marriage, you can’t hardly see straight, much less make logical decisions about men.”
“Fine. If you’re so convinced I’m commitment phobic, I’ll make you a deal.”
“What kind of deal?” Carrie’s eyes narrowed.
Heather’s lips pursed into a tight frown. “Are you going to change your mind and marry Spencer?”
“No, I’m not.” No way I’ll unburn that bridge. Amber bit back a grimace of distaste and a shudder at the thought of actually marrying that man.
“Um, would you mind if I call him when we get back to Chicago?”
Amber turned to stare at her friend. “Are you serious?” Heather can’t possibly be attracted to that guy. Can she?
Her friend shrugged with a sheepish, watery smile.
“You deserve better, Heather—trust me—but if you want him, you’re welcome to him.” Once she gets to know him, and finds out what he expects of his wife, she’ll drop him, too. Hopefully. Then again, given her codependent proclivities, she and Spencer might actually be able to make it work. Sad to say, Heather hadn’t ever seemed to care if she had to give up her life for a man, so she probably wouldn’t mind if Spencer dictated every moment to his financial and social benefit or had flings on the side. Chances are slim that Spencer will be any more faithful than Colin was.
“So, what’s this deal you’re talking about?” Carrie asked.
“I’ll prove you’re wrong.”
“Oh? How exactly do you intend to do that? Never date again so no one proposes?” Carrie snickered lightly.
“Of course not, but I will marry the next man who proposes.” Fourth time’s the charm. Hopefully.
“Yeah, right. You’ll find something wrong with him and break off the relationship just like you did with Bruce, Victor, and Spencer.”
“I told you, I had good reasons to break up with them.” Even if those reasons were too humiliating to admit even to her best friends.
“So you say, but you’ve never told us what those reasons are, so how do we know they’re any good?”
“Trust me. They are. Were. Whatever.” Her friends hadn’t known those guys like Amber had. Her reasons for severing those relationships lay in the quiet conversations between her and God. That was enough.
Carrie and Heather shared dubious looks.
Amber scowled. They’d been her best friends since junior high. They should’ve known her better. Did they truly believe she was phobic because she avoided marrying guys who weren’t suited to her? “Alright, fine. Let me amend that. I’ll marry the very next guy who proposes, regardless of whether I like him or not. If the result is years of misery because I marry Mr. Wrong instead of Mr. Right, then it’s on your heads.”
Silence fell. Amber gathered the maps.
“Come on. Let’s get gas,” Carrie said. “I’ll drive from here.”
Amber slid to her feet.
Heather followed.
They stopped at the register long enough for Carrie to pay the bill then headed for the car, Amber leading the way.
As she walked to the car, she rolled the maps, making sure none of the pages wrinkled.
