She wasn’t going to do this again, choose someone who wouldn’t pull their weight. The entire point of her putting an ad out for a helpmate was so that she didn’t have to run this place alone. She wasn’t looking to be pampered, but she wasn’t tacking on more work than this man was worth, either.
A strong back. That was the first requirement she’d listed in the ad, so why had she interviewed three lame men now? Because apparently the only ones who took a husband-for-hire advertisement seriously in modern times were drunkards, moochers, and men old enough to fart dust who were tired of living alone. One of them had even called her his “retirement plan.” Hell nope.
“Thanks for coming by, Mr. Daltry. I’ll be sure to keep you in mind when I make my final decision.”
He was murmuring incomprehensibly as he listed all of his finer qualities, too fast for her to understand, but she was pretty sure she heard him say, “I only drink on weekdays” as she led him gently to the door.
And when she finally closed it on him and his truck engine roared to life, she rested her forehead on the rough wood of her door and sighed. Seven months since Cole had left, four months since his brother, Miller, had informed her that he’d died in the backcountry from a bear attack, and now it felt like she would never feel normal again. Tears stung her eyes as she pulled the newspaper off the table by the door. She had the damned thing memorized, but re-read it anyway. She had a couple of months left of warm weather, but she was so far behind on stocking up for winter, she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. Perhaps if she re-worded the advertisement again.
Husband for Hire
Good Alaskan man wanted. Must have strong back. Hunter preferable and bonus points for good marksmanship. Must not be prone to cabin fever and must be self-entertaining. Works well under stress for long hours. Good hygiene. Romantics need not apply.
Any longer and she’d have to pay for a bigger ad, and she was low on money as it was.
A knock sounded on the door, and she tried not to groan out loud. The damned barrier wasn’t sealed well, and old man Daltry would hear her. Perhaps he’d left his pain pills on the chair he’d sat in, or perhaps he was back because he’d just remembered some fascinating tidbit that would be sure to change her mind.
Steeling herself, she tucked her loose hair behind her ears, gripped the handle for a moment to plaster a polite smile on her face, and opened the door. She jolted at the sight of the behemoth before her, and from the startled expression on his face, she’d surprised him just as badly. He was definitely not Mr. Daltry.
“Holy shit,” she murmured as she looked hungrily at the powerful legs encased in his jeans to a tapered waist and strong, wide shoulders pushing against the fabric of his blue sweater. He had the top button undone, and layers of muscle underneath led to a thick throat where his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. It was his face that held her frozen, though. Sure, a reddish beard covered his jaw, but at least he’d trimmed it recently, and looking past the scruff, any red-blooded woman could tell this man was a vision. Smooth, sun-tanned skin, and a straight, narrow, proud nose. A crop of sandy brown, messy hair covered his head, but it was his eyes that had her knees going wobbly. Piercing blue and hard to look away from. And now he was smiling. Kind of. He looked a little uncomfortable, but that was okay.
Elyse stepped outside onto the sagging porch and looked him up and down as she shuffled around him in a wide circle. She even kicked the back of his locked knees with her boot, but he didn’t wobble at all. Sturdy as a pine tree, this one. “You’re not even hideous to look at.”
“I beg your pardon?” the man asked, twisting around and following her with his gaze.
“You aren’t repulsive.”
He frowned. “Thank you?”
“It’s just, everyone else who answered my ad…you know…was missing most of their teeth.” And smelled, but not this one. She leaned forward and sniffed. Soap and animal. Nice. He could probably ride a horse, and chop wood like a demon, and had definitely read the part of her advertisement about good hygiene. Oh, and he was a big, muscle-bound brawny man. She gripped his bicep and gave an approving whistle when her hand wouldn’t reach around it by half. So firm. So big.
The man wore a troubled frown, so she quit poking him.
“Are you all right?”
“And caring. Nice touch. Do you hunt?”
His eyes narrowed, but he nodded once.
“Good aim?”
“With a rifle?”
She nodded and crossed her arms, waiting and trying her best not to look at those powerhouse legs again. She’d already established his back was strong enough.
“I’m a fair shot.”
“Good. And are you a self-entertaining sort of man?”
“You mean am I independent?”
She’d never seen a more confused look on a man’s face. Maybe he’d forgotten what the ad said, so she reached inside the doorway and picked up the paper, then handed it to him and pointed at the article.