A Catalog's Perfect Match Read online

  A Catalog's Perfect Match

  Bell Thompson

  Copyright © 2019 by Tealight Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  1. Adeline

  2. Jackson

  3. Adeline

  4. Jackson

  5. Adeline

  6. Jackson

  7. Adeline

  8. Jackson

  9. Addy

  10. Jackson

  11. Addy

  12. Jackson

  About Bell Thompson

  About Tealight Publishing

  1

  Adeline

  The air doesn’t smell much different here than it does in Tennessee. I guess maybe the odor of horse manure is not as strong in San Francisco as it is back home, but not by much. Though I honestly can’t say why that surprises me or is the first thing I notice.

  Gathering my skirts about me, I step down off the train and onto the platform as the autumn sun beats down on me. It is quite a bit more temperate here than I expected it to be, which is something I welcome. Blackthorn, Tennessee can get blistering hot at times, so being so near the cooling wind coming in off the ocean is wonderful. It’s just like he described it to me.

  Even though I have his face memorized by now, I glance at the picture I’m carrying one more time as butterflies churn within my stomach. And then I see him standing at the end of the platform and feel my head start to spin with the surreal feeling of it all. He gives me an awkward, perhaps shy smile, and walks over to me.

  I extend my hand and he gives it a gentle shake. Jackson Miller is a tall man with wide shoulders and a body that’s strong and taut. No doubt life as a rancher has toned and corded his muscles and given him skin so tawny that he looks almost like an Indian. He has hair that’s darker than the sky at midnight, eyes to match, and a strong jawline covered with a thick beard that has some silver strands wound through it.

  “Ms. Parker,” he greets me.

  He quickly takes the hat off his head and looks embarrassed by temporarily forgetting his manners. His voice has a rich, deep rumble I feel reverberate through my entire body, and is colored by the gentlemanly accent of his native Virginia.

  “I suppose if we’re to be married, it would only be proper for you to call me by my given name,” I say.

  A small, gentle smile touches his lips. “Suppose so,” he replies. “I hope your trip out wasn’t too trying – Adeline.”

  “Please, just Addy is fine,” I tell him.

  “Addy it is.”

  He rolls my name around his mouth like it’s a sweet piece of candy and flashes me a warm smile that makes him look positively boyish. I don’t know why it occurs to me but as I look at him, I get the impression he’s a man who doesn’t smile often.

  “As far as the trip, I suppose there are worse ways to travel than spending a few days on a train,” I report.

  “Having come out here on horseback on my own, I can say you’re right about that.”

  We share a polite laugh then lapse into in an awkward silence that’s charged with something akin to anticipation or perhaps expectation. I suppose there will be plenty more strained silences between us – at least until we get comfortable around each other. I expect that’s normal when you agree to marry somebody you’ve never laid eyes on before.

  “Get your bags for you?”

  “Oh yes, please,” I respond. “Thank you.”

  Jackson hefts my bags like they weigh nothing at all and I follow him down the platform, my eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. Coming from a small town in Tennessee, I’ve never seen anything quite like this before.

  There are more men on horses, wagons, and buggies rumbling up and down the hard-packed dirt street than my entire hometown has combined. Large buildings line the road – general stores, saloons, hotels, theaters, and a host of other business I couldn’t possibly guess at.

  San Francisco is far and away the largest city I’ve ever seen. It’s so large that it’s almost as overwhelming as it is breathtaking. I stand there a moment, taking it all in. The sheer enormity of the place scares me, but it also sends a charge of electricity running through my veins at the same time.

  “Really somethin’, ain’t it?”

  I look down to find Jackson smiling up at me and I nod eagerly. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

  “You’ll get used to it, I imagine,” he reassures me.

  He offers me his hand and helps me down the three stairs from the platform. I follow him to a wagon that’s hitched to a fine-looking pair of Quarter Horses. As Jackson puts my bags in the back of the wagon, I run my hand along the well-muscled flanks of the horses and give a gentle rub beneath their chins, making them softly whicker.

  “Here. They like these,” he says as he steps up beside me. “The one closest to you is Martha, and the other one is George.”

  I smile and take the pair of sugar cubes he holds out to me in his open palm. “Martha and George?”

  He shrugs. “I like history.”

  “Well thank you,” I respond as I give the horses their sugar cubes, rubbing each of their necks as they munch.

  “You’re good with horses,” he observes.

  “They’re beautiful animals,” I reply. “I grew up around horses so they don’t intimidate me.”

  He nods. “I’ve known a few women who are afraid to get anywhere near them.”

  A soft smile touches my lips. “I enjoy riding.”

  “We should probably get goin’ before we lose the sun,” he says. “We’ve still got a bit of a ride ahead of us, I’m afraid.”

  “Of course.”

  Jackson offers me his hand and helps me up into the seat of the wagon. Once I’m settled, he walks around and climbs up on the other side, picking up the reins and disengaging the brake.

  “I’m afraid this won’t be as comfortable as the train,” he says.

  “It’s just fine,” I assure him.

  He nods and gets the horses moving. We leave the main part of the city and head north along the coast, the wagon bumping and bounding through the pits and ruts in the road. It’s not comfortable, as he said, but still, things could be far worse – I could still be stuck in Tennessee with no hope of carving out a better life for myself.

  I look over to the man beside me, admiring his strong, handsome profile. His eyes are fixed on the road ahead but I can tell he sees everything. This is a man who’s watchful and cautious. A man who doesn’t miss much. But he’s quiet and unassuming and I imagine it would be easy to underestimate him.

  But Jackson also strikes me as a man who is incredibly guarded and doesn’t let people get too close to him. He looks like he’s haunted by something in his past – something he is desperate to escape. He seems to be a man who is content to keep his own counsel but one whose loneliness drove him to seek out companionship in a matrimonial catalog.

  The only thing I can say for certain at this point is that Jackson Miller seems to be far more complicated than the man I corresponded with.

  2

  Jackson

  My first impression of Adeline Parker is that she’s a beautiful woman, and the photograph I received through the matrimonial catalog doesn’t do her justice. The second is that there is far more to her than meets the eye. She doesn’t tend to say much, but when she does speak, I can hear the core of steel in her words. Addy Parker is not a woman who can be pushed around.

  Though the conversation has been a bit
sparse and tentative – which is probably a product of having just met each other – I can see she’s quite a formidable woman. She hasn’t once complained about being jostled and bounced around for the last two hours, even though I know it’s not comfortable. She’s more knowledgeable about horses than I expected her to be, and I can see she’s an intelligent and fiercely independent woman.

  I steal a glance over at her, admiring the way the fading sunlight sets her red hair on fire, makes her alabaster colored skin glow as with an inner light, and makes her eyes sparkle like polished jade. I sit back and give my head a small shake. I’m not the most poetic or well-spoken man, so having those thoughts run through my head are surprising. I mean, I’m not some babbling idiot or anything – I do have an education – I just don’t tend to use a lot of flowery words when I speak. Something about Addy is bringing it out in me, I guess.

  “How much farther is it?” she asks.

  I clear my throat and pull my head out of the clouds long enough to point to the hill a little way up the road in front of us.

  “Just over that rise,” I tell her. “We should be there pretty quick. I’m sure you’re anxious to get off this wagon.”

  She gives me a small grin. “I’m just anxious to be back on my own feet walking around again,” she explains. “It’s been a few days.”

  “Right,” I nod. “Don’t worry, we’ll have you on your feet soon enough.”

  We ride along the rest of the way in easy silence. It’s not long before we crest the rise and see my ranch, such as it is, spread out below on its large parcel of land. There’s the main house, which is a two-story affair – three bedrooms on the upper floor – a parlor, a great room, and a kitchen on the bottom floor. Jutting off the back is another section of the house I started building after Addy and I agreed to wed. When that’s finished, those will be the bedrooms for our children.

  There are half a dozen outbuildings behind the main house. One of those is my office and the other five are for my ranch hands – though only three of them are currently occupied. Once I get the ranch rolling along smoothly, I figure I’ll hire more hands. I’ve also built one barn and am in the process of building another. A split rail fence separates the main yard from the pastures where the majority of my horses are kept. I’ve also got some cows, pigs, chicken, and goats I keep as well.

  I cut a glance over to Addy and her eyes are wide as she takes in the spread below us. But, I also see something else in her eyes. It’s something wistful. A longing and a sense of sadness.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask.

  She turns to me, her smile small and fragile. “Yes, I’m fine,” she responds. “Just – remembering.”

  “Home?”

  Addy nods. “Yes. I was just thinking about where I grew up.”

  “You grew up on a ranch?”

  “Not exactly,” she replies.

  Addy seems to tense up a bit and doesn’t elaborate on her comment and I don’t want to push her, so I let it go for now. I get the feeling she’s got an interesting story and one I want to hear, but that’ll have to come in time.

  I rein the horses to a stop at the foot of the stairs that lead to the front porch and engage the brake. One of my ranch hands, Francisco, steps up and takes the reins from me as I climb down. We exchange a few words before I help Addy down from the wagon. My other ranch hand, Angel, grabs her bags out of the back of the wagon and takes them into the house.

  “Did you build all this?” she asks, looking around.

  I nod. “Francisco, Angel, and I did most of the work on our own.”

  “It’s beautiful here.”

  I turn and look around my land. I’ve seen it every day for a long while now and I don’t know that I’d ever described it as beautiful. I look closer and try to see it as Addy does but I guess I’m not geared to see things that way. When I look, I see a useful piece of land large enough for my horses, livestock, and buildings. I see a piece of land that provides for me and mine.

  But I’m pleased she finds it beautiful. But even I can admit this place can sorely use a woman’s touch. Maybe Addy can soften the edges around the ranch. Maybe she can do something to make it look a little less utilitarian. I mean, if we’re gonna be raising a family here, it probably should feel more like home.

  “How about I show you around?” I offer.

  “I’d like that.”

  I walk her around the grounds, letting her get familiar with it all. She stops and watches the horses out in the fields for a little while, a faint smile on her lips. Her expression of near awe is one I recognize because I see it so often on my own face. Like Addy appears to, I love and respect horses. It’s why I do what I do – I just enjoy being around them. Raising them. Watching them grow.

  They’re majestic and noble creatures and to be honest, I prefer being around them more than people most of the time. Unlike people, horses are honest. They’re not duplicitous and you will always know where you stand with them. They make you earn their trust and respect but once you do, you have their loyalty for life.

  “What’s back there?” she asks.

  I follow her gaze to the thick, dense forest that sits behind the outbuildings. Eventually, I may need to clear some of the trees to make room for more horses as the ranch grows, but for now, it sits thick and wild, still untouched by man.

  “I guess it’s just a forest,” I tell her.

  She gives me a small smile. “You’ve never explored it?”

  “Honestly, I haven’t had the time,” I admit. “It’s a lot of work to build and keep up with a ranch.”

  “Yes. I imagine it is.”

  I look up at the rapidly darkening sky. “It’s getting late,” I note. “I should probably get some supper on. You must be hungry.”

  She gives me a grateful smile and follows me into the house, our footsteps thumping hollowly on the wooden floor. I close the door behind her and lead her up the stairs, stopping at the door right down the hall from my bedroom. Reaching out, I turn the knob and push the door. It swings inward with a creak and I can see her bags already sitting on the bed.

  “I had this room made up for you,” I say. “I hope it’s comfortable enough for you. But if it ain’t, just let me know and we can get you what you need.”

  She looks at me with her head cocked to the side, a curious expression on her face. I don’t need to be a mind reader to know what she’s thinking, so I point to the door a little further down the hallway.

  “I’m down there. I figured until we’re actually married and you’re comfortable here and all, it might be best if we didn’t share a room,” I tell her. “I don’t wanna put any sorta unwanted pressure on you or anything.”

  “That’s very gentlemanly of you,” her voice is soft. “I genuinely appreciate your consideration.”

  “Of course,” I reply. “Now, you get settled in and freshen up while I see to dinner.”

  Addy gives me a small smile as I turn and head back downstairs. I find Maria in the kitchen, rolling out some dough for biscuits. She looks up and gives me a warm smile.

  “Good evening Mister Jackson,” she says, her thick Spanish accent coloring her words.

  “Evenin’ Maria,” I respond.

  Maria takes care of the house for me. She handles all the domestic duties around here like cooking and cleaning. I can make a few things but I’m not much of a cook myself so I’m glad I have Maria around to pick up that slack. Especially now that Addy’s come to live with us.

  “Did you and the boys eat already?”

  Maria nods. “Si. We ate last night’s stew.”

  I give her a nod and then head to the cold room that’s set behind the kitchen. Stepping through the doorway, I’m hit with a wave of cool air from the blocks of ice piled around. It’s refreshing and I linger for a few moments, letting it cool my skin before I walk over to the table and unwrap a couple of venison steaks. It’s then that it occurs to me that I have no idea what Addy enjoys eating or if she even likes
venison, which is a staple around here since deer are so bountiful.

  It’s one of those details about her I’m going to have to find out. But one day isn’t going to kill her. I walk out of the cold room and close the door behind me then drop the two venison steaks into the cast iron pan and set it on top of the wood-burning stove. I grab some salt and pepper and season the steaks as Maria throws some vegetables into another pan and sets them to cook.

  It’s not long before the kitchen is smelled with the delicious aromas of a good meal. My first as a married man. Well, almost married man. I flip the steaks and stir the vegetables as Maria pulls the biscuits out of the oven before they burn.

  “Maria, can you go and call Addy down, please,” I say. “Dinner’s just about ready.”

  She gives me a smile. “Si, Mister Jackson.”

  3

  Adeline

  “This is delicious,” I say.

  “T – thanks,” he mutters. “I didn’t know if you liked venison or –”

  “No, it’s great,” I smile. “We ate a lot of venison back home. I like it.”

  “That’s good,” he says as he chews. “We have a lot of it here.”

  We eat in silence for a bit, the only sound around us is the crackling and popping from the fireplace. Jackson’s house is nice. It’s large and it’s clean – though I suspect that Maria has more to do with that than anything. Jackson doesn’t strike me as an exceptionally fastidious man but I can tell he is one who appreciates tidiness and organization.

  If there’s one thing about his place though, it is that it lacks a feminine touch. This house is strictly utilitarian and doesn’t really feel like a home. If we are going to be a family and raise children together, that is something I will have to see about changing.