Free Montana (Modern Mail Order Bride Book 2) by Olivia Gaines Page A

pulled the French braids from her hair, mussing it with her fingertips, and then added a headband.  He said nothing as she snapped a selfie with and without a smile. 
    Pecola handed him the phone with the now black and white photos.  She also passed over a copy of the book with the back flap opened.  In it, she showed him the author photo.
    It didn’t register immediately what he was seeing. He stared at the cell phone photo for a while, then at the book photo for a minute before looking at up her. She smiled like she had in the photo.  Now, she pulled a copy of her book, The Oregon Trail Master , handing it to him with the back page opened to an unsmiling photo of Montana Hart.
    “Hell, Pecola, this here is you!”  He said in disbelief.
    “Yes hell, it is William,” she responded.
    His lips were pressed tightly together as he paused to chew on the bottom one.  “As I said, you write really well, but you don’t know a damned thing about men!”
    “As proven by my vomiting, I don’t know anything about Western living either,” she told him.
    Loud laughter filled the room as they shared stories about her books even when they entered the kitchen to have lunch.  Over lunch, they spoke of plots, themes, and writing for a living.  The awkwardness she had felt about him before had all but left her and was replaced with a new feeling of comfort.
    “William,” she asked, “How soon would you like to open this lodge writing retreat thingy?”
    He sipped at the lemonade he’d made for them.  “As I said this morning, it depends on you.  I can’t see trying to make sure cabins are delivered when I am worried about being too far from the house when our son needs to be delivered.”
    The expression on her face was priceless. “Are you talking about delivering our child yourself?”
    His head was cocked. “Delivering an eight pound, the two-legged human is a helluva lot easier than a 100 pound four-legged anything!”
    “How many children have you delivered?”
    “About twenty-five, I reckon,” he said calmly.
    “Twenty-five!  What, are you an obstetrician as well?”
    “No, Honey, but we’re pretty remote.  Doctors are hard to get out to these parts. I am the backup midwife or doula for the county.”
    “Aren’t you full of surprises? What else have you not told me?” she asked him.
    “Saturday is a barn raising over at the Gibbons place.  Then there’s a dance that evening.  We usually pack up everything for the day, a picnic, change of clothing, and a small tent, to head over and spend the day. If it gets too late, we stay the night in the tent.  I have cots and everything,” he told her.
    “A tent.  In what a field?” she questioned.
    “Yup.  Pretty much.  There are inside facilities that can be used for the call of nature, but mostly, we wash off in a tub in the tent and get changed before the dance,” he told her.
    “All the men are helping with the barn raising while the women folk exchange recipes,” she said sarcastically.
    “Yup.  Hopefully, you make a few friends. On some weekends, we can meet up and play cards or have them over for dinner or something,” he said to her.
    This is where her hands began to sweat. Delicate questions always bothered her especially when race was involved. “How many new friends in the county will look like me?”
    “No one in the county looks anything like you, all cute as a button and smart as a whip,” he said.
    “That is not what I am asking.”
    “Then what are you asking me, Honey?”
    A loud gust of air bellowed out her nostrils.  He knew what she was asking.  He knew what she wanted to know. Fine .
    “How many people in the county are black?”
    “Just you, Honey.  As I said this morning, you and I are about to turn this part of Montana on its ear.  Our children, and our children’s children are going to be the new face of what this region will stand for...what the Rocking J will stand for...what our brand will