Start reading this book:
Chapter One
“For the plot.” Cam Saunders winked and laughed. His golden blond hair glinted in the early afternoon light shafting through the wall of windows of the Denver high-rise corporate condo and office suite he’d insisted on purchasing a few years ago for the company that didn’t need it. Cam did much of his work socially and on the go. The company could be run on a laptop anywhere and was.
The three words had been Cam’s catchphrase since he’d won a scholarship to University of Texas at Austin and left Oklahoma in the dust he swore it deserved. Cam was always doing something because he thought it would make a great story to tell.
“But a bride?” Telford Crow, as dark as his business partner and mentor was light, made the last word of his question sound foreign.
Cam laughed, clapped Telford on the shoulder. “You should think about it too. Double wedding. It’s a reputable agency. The woman they matched me with—wow.” He kissed his fingertips and made an exploding sound. “Delicious.” He made the female shape with his hands. “And an accountant so useful too.”
Cam was winding Telford up. He always did. The sunny, funny, play-the-room tycoon to Telford’s silent circling-in-the-shadows shark.
“Yeah, I’ll get a mail-order bride on my calendar.”
“You should,” Cam said.
For a moment, Cam’s sparkling inner light—that had dazzled Telford from the moment they’d met when he’d been matched with Cam as his Big Brother in a Lone Star nonprofit agency for troubled boys—blinded him. He almost wanted to agree with Cam, just to please him, though he was an adult now and an equal in their business partnership.
Telford still didn’t understand why a finance and business major, and an admitted “gunner” who’d only signed up for the program to finesse a letter of recommendation from a professor—on the nonprofit’s board—to a prestigious MBA program had stuck with a ten-year-old pissed-off kid with no man or caring adult in his life.
“It’s time to marry and procreate.”
Telford, researching a company he had in his sights, stared at Cam. He played the field—weekly sometimes nightly. Why was he lipping off about settling down now?
“Legacy, brother,” Cam said as if he’d read Telford’s mind. “We can’t take all this with us.” He swept his arm wide indicating the businesses they’d started and sold, others they’d bought, streamlined and improved, and sold. Physically—brick and mortar—they didn’t own a lot. But on paper—heavy bottom line. The company had cleared over a billion this year. Maybe that was what had encouraged Cam’s future-oriented introspection.
Change.
Telford hated it, though it was a necessary evil. He’d follow Cam anywhere and had, but this … a wife, kids … everything in Telford revolted. His DNA—on his father’s side—was sketch at best. And Cam with a wife would change everything. And when kids arrived, their relationship would be unrecognizable.
The selfish thought shamed him. Cam had entered Telford’s life like a comet, and he had grabbed on and ridden the white-hot, dazzling light further than he’d ever imagined going.
“But why a woman you don’t even know?” Telford demanded.
Cam chatted women up as easily as Telford breathed.
“I know her. We’ve been texting. You know all about that.” Cam laughed as if having Telford sometimes handle the texting with a woman Telford had thought of only as a potential hookup for Cam, not a potential wife, was hilarious.
If the woman found out, she might not be pleased, he thought sourly—Cam getting him in potential hot water once again. Telford felt dirty. Some of the exchanges had gone in an unexpected and not unpleasant direction—sort of whimsical at times, not at all how he thought an accountant looking to marry for money and security before love would respond. Or initiate. He felt guilty though Cam had handed him the company cell at times and told him to have at it. And it’s not like he’d deleted any of the exchanges, though at times he’d been tempted to—after taking a screenshot. It had been an uncomfortable realization that he’d had some of the most emotionally intimate conversations with a woman he’d not met but who would possibly become Cam’s wife.
And they’d have a secret between them.
What was one more to keep?
“Besides,” Cam said interrupting Telford’s brood, “bride is first on the list.”
Telford wasn’t sure he was ready to hear what was second. He had work to do—deals to make.
“Dumb thing to have on the list,” Telford grumbled. This was the first he’d heard of a list.
“Is it?” Cam seemed unconcerned with Telford’s judgment. He jammed his hands in the pocket of his Zegna Trofeo Milano charcoal suit trousers.
“Definitely.”
Cam was winding him up. He had to be. No way did the man who sometimes went to events with a woman on each of his arms want to settle down with one. Forever.
“You date often.” Telford’s frustration bubbled through. “Why not pick a … known quantity?”
“The spice of life has its place,” Cam shot back easily. “But the women who meet the standards of this agency are thoroughly vetted and interviewed. They are educated, accomplished, health-screened, and want families. Also”—Cam grinned like a kid—“for the plot?”
Telford barely managed to unclench his fists, a childhood holdover from the violence he’d faced as a kid once his mother and grandfather had been murdered, thrusting him into the system at age eight. He breathed in deeply. There was no threat. Except for Cam going rogue, which Telford absolutely should not see as a threat. But it still sounded impulsive.
“Why a matchmaker or a … mail-order bride?”
Just the sound of those three words together evoked the long-defunct Sears catalogue and the untamed wild west where outlaws, settlers, ranchers, and Native Americans fought and schemed to wrestle a fistful of something, anything, and call it their own start to the American dream.
Cam could have anyone.
“Three reasons. Out of pocket so it will be a good story for my kids.”
Telford doubted that.
“Two, it themes with my goal this year to buy a huge spread for us in Montana.”
“Us.” Telford followed up with a colorful swear word that made Cam grin like a happy lunatic. “Montana? When did the treasure state make the list?”
Cam would never survive in rural Montana. He was all about urban living—high-tech gym and trainer, Uber Eats, a delivery service for his dry cleaning and groceries, and car detailing.
“Did you hit your head?”
“And third.” Cam ignored Telford as he always did when he pushed back. “Legacy. What are we doing here, brother, if not building the next generation?”
“You build because it’s in your blood,” Telford answered automatically.
“Interesting pronoun.” Cam got serious. “This company is not about me. You see the opportunity. You’re a damn savant,” Cam said, his voice softer. “But it’s time for us to build something else. You’re turning thirty in another year. I turned forty last week.”
Telford remembered. To celebrate he’d flown them both to a two-week outdoor adventure and survivalist tour that had featured fishing, kayaking, climbing, hiking, and camping rough as well as building their own shelter and learning to survive and navigate the woods. He’d loved it. He’d felt like he and nature pitted their skills against one another, and he’d won. Cam had participated. He was competitive, but it had kicked his butt. They’d been a team, but Telford had had to carry more of the load. Gym fit didn’t necessarily translate to outdoor fit.
Cam had completed the course. He’d never let Telford down. And he’d thanked him profusely for the experience, but as soon as the helicopter had arrived to carry them back to the private jet, Cam had crashed and was still moving stiffly a week out.
Telford had never felt more alive during those two weeks into the Alaskan wilderness.
“It’s time for a new business deal,” Cam said. “I’m starting with the wife. Then the ranch. Three kids. I want a future beyond money, socializing to make deals and racking up wins.”
“Then be logical and set out in the traditional manner to meet a … an appropriate woman. I don’t even think …” Telford blanked on the woman’s name.
Her username had been something cutesy with numbers, but it hadn’t suited her a lot of the time. She was inconsistent, like she had a dual personality—right there that was a deal-breaker in Telford’s estimation. Emotional high maintenance wouldn’t work with Cam. He had to be the star.
“A mail-order bride or match-made marriage is as wrong for you as Montana.”
“Lots of cultures broker arranged marriages.” Cam was unfazed by the objections. “I’m not risking picking some pretty gold digger who pretends to be someone she’s not. And Montana is key—for both of us. It’s time, Tel.”
It will never be time.
Cam was the only one he’d shared his so-called origin story with. Might not even be true, though his mother had never lied to him.
“I don’t want you to be alone, Telford.”
His heart felt like it stopped. He remembered how quiet Cam had been on the trip. How deeply he’d slept. How he’d seemed weaker than Telford would have imagined since Cam had a trainer and was always honing his body.
“You sick?”
“No,” Cam said, but he wasn’t smiling. “I just feel like time’s running away.”
Telford fought but lost to the goose bumps that crawled over his skin. His mom had had what some people called second sight. She could read and communicate with horses like a mystic. And she said danger had a smell to it. Not that it had helped her that night, but she’d been focused on hiding him, protecting him.
If his mom were here, she would have smiled, kissed his forehead and pulled him close, drawn a sign of protection on his forehead with her finger and whispered something from her mother tongue.
He dragged his attention back to what they called their boardroom and tried to think of the right question to ask to get Cam to reveal what was really bothering him. Cam was all about the here and now. Technology. Modern world. He wouldn’t believe in signs.
Cam stood up from one of the comfortable chairs, temporarily blocking part of the view of the Rocky Mountains. “You can barely fathom the concept of marriage, Telford, much less say it. That’s not good. After your mom passed—”
“She was killed,” Telford interrupted viciously.
“After your mom and grandfather were murdered, you were alone. You grew up alone.” Cam’s voice was soft, kind, but there was an ache and sympathy Telford hadn’t heard for years.
Another shiver ran through him, and a cumulus cloud must have scuttled across the sky as a shadow blocked the rays of gold kissing Cam’s expensive haircut and backlighting him with an ironic halo.
Briefly, a shadow crossed Cam’s face. “I don’t want you to be alone, Telford.”
“I’m not.” He had Cam—his business partner and friend.
“You’re a much better man than you think you are. You’re brilliant. Savvy but kind. You’re fair, honest, and loyal. But you hold your heart too tightly. Wife isn’t a four-letter word.”
“Yes it is.”
Cam laughed and walked toward him. “My bride’s arriving next Friday. I want you to be fair. We’re going to spend the weekend together. See how we suit.”
“You going to tell her that more than half the conversations were with me?”
“She’s mine.” Cam narrowed his eyes. “She doesn’t need to know all the logistics, though we will discuss contractual terms for the marriage. Expectations. Lifestyle. Goals. See if we want to pull the trigger.”
“That’s an apt description,” Telford groused. “And starting out a marriage with a lie is not a good start.”
“It will be fine—you’ll see,” Cam said confidently.
Suspicion rose hot and fast. “You didn’t book two women for next weekend, did you?” That would be so on brand.
Blindside him. Put him in a social bind where he couldn’t gracefully back away. No way. He wouldn’t have any part of that. Not even for Cam.
Cam laughed and again clapped him on the shoulder, though he knew Telford didn’t like that. “Now there’s a thought. No. Thought I’d seal my deal and then wear you down.”
“Hope you have Sydney drafting an ironclad prenup to protect your for-the-plot ass.”
“She’s dialed in. She already spoke to Vesna to give her the lay of the land financially—not that I’d cut off an ex-wife brutally, especially if kids are involved. I can be fair and generous. But don’t worry. Our company will not be part of the marriage contract.”
“That’s romantic,” Telford said sarcastically though hugely relieved Cam wasn’t letting his impetuous nature run too far ahead of him.
“Vesna has Slavic heritage. Her name refers to an ancient goddess of spring. Got me a goddess for a wife.” Cam looked happy, and Telford felt like a selfish jerk for wishing the whole mail-order-bride scheme far away.
“I can hear you thinking,” Cam said. “Heads-up, if next weekend goes well, she’s going off birth control, and I’ll be asking you to stand up for me. My best man forever.”
“What are the prenup terms?” Telford ignored the best-man announcement. He was already calculating a plan to save Cam from another one of his impulses, although this one was a much bigger change agent than wanting to launch a hostile takeover of a company Telford hadn’t fully researched yet.
“You’re not impacted financially,” Cam dodged—something he’d never done. “I’m going to head across the street to finally grab some Thai food from that truck you’re always going on about. Want me to bring anything back?”
“No. Not hungry.” The conversation and its implications had made him nauseous. “I’ve got some things to look into,” Telford dodged right back, ignoring the hurt that pinched at him.
They were men. Business partners. Friends. Not middle-school girls sharing makeup or clothing or boy tips or whatever middle-school girls did.
“Get your lunch delivered like you always do,” Telford advised.
He walked out of the room, needing to move and think and escape the idea of a bride—arranged or loved up—until he had more ammunition to shoot this dumb plan down.
“Nah, I’ll walk over. You’re the one always pushing me to have our business meetings walking along the river or to meet you for a trail run or mountain biking instead of at the gym,” Cam reminded him. “You extoll the virtues of fresh air. Hell, you’re the one who got me thinking about Montana and legacy and land.”
“What?” Telford bobbled his phone and barely caught it before it hit the acid-washed concrete floor that Cam had insisted on.
“Connect the dots like Steve Jobs.” Cam smirked. “You’ve only yourself to blame, Tel.” He left their suite smiling sunnily and humming the wedding march that sounded to Telford’s ruffled soul like a dirge.
End of Excerpt
