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Authors: Debbie Macomber
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…”
“Oh, yes. I’d forgotten about that.”
“You purposely chose an unflattering one.”
She nodded.
“But … why?”
“Because there’s more to me than meets the eye. I didn’t want you to be swayed by appearances…. I wanted you to know
me
, the real me.” Her gaze flew to his, but then she quickly averted it. Dave wasn’t sure what to make of that, but he guessed there was something she hadn’t told him, something she wouldn’t until they met. He held his breath, wondering.
Before either could speak, the waitress approached their table. Dave ordered a bottle of wine; he had the feeling he was going to need it. While they waited, they each studied the menu, although Dave didn’t have much of an appetite.
Once the wine had been opened, approved and poured, they relaxed a bit.
“Would you like my assessment of you?” Emma asked.
Dave took a gulp of wine. “Please.”
“You’re exactly what you led me to believe. Your picture said it all.”
The picture. Dave felt a little embarrassed. He hadn’t wanted to deceive Emma, but he wasn’t going to discount what he had to offer, either.
“Your photo showed a man who’s proud of who he is and what he does. A man who understands hard work. Your ad said you were decent and honest, and for what it’s worth, your photograph and letters confirm it.”
“My picture said all that?” She held his gaze and he asked, “So, what was
your
picture supposed to tell
me?
” He couldn’t help being curious, since she’d deliberately set out to delude him.
“Mine?” she blurted, then reached for her wineglass. “Well, for one thing, it said I’m not as trusting as I once was. It said … I had something to hide.”
“And do you?” Might as well lay it on the line now, he decided.
She took a long time answering, long enough for Dave to fear this entire episode had been a waste of time.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I have a three-year-old daughter. I was as honest as I could be about everything else, but I have to tell you—I come as part of a package deal. It’s me and Jamie, and if you can accept the two of us, I’ll marry you.”
Two
T oday, the twenty-second of April, was Emma Fowler’s wedding day. She hadn’t realized she would agree to marry Dave Stafford until she’d actually uttered the words. Her friends said she was crazy and Emma couldn’t really argue; marrying a man she’d only met the week before
did
sound certifiable.
She’d found the
Farmer’s Newsletter
at the rural feed store where she’d taken Jamie to look at puppies. It’d been a Saturday afternoon, and they’d gone for a drive in the country. She’d read the brief, straightforward ad, and for reasons she couldn’t explain, Dave Stafford’s words had struck a chord within her. The idea of contacting this North Dakota farmer had slowly but surely taken hold in her mind.
Life in Seattle, raising Jamie alone, was difficult and often hectic. She raced to the day-care center every morning, carrying a sleeping Jamie into the building, whispering goodbye and then rushing off to work. By the end of her shift she was tired, depleted. All she wanted was to get home, get dinner on the table, and spend whatever timeshe could with her daughter. During those evenings, she often sat at Jamie’s bedside, her heart aching, thinking this was no way to raise a child.
She’d once dreamed of being a photographer, of having her pictures appear on calendars and in magazines. In fact, it was in a photography class that she’d met Gary Simpson. He was handsome and talented and he’d made a point of pursuing her. They’d gotten involved, more involved than Emma intended, and then he’d abruptly broken it off without explanation, disappearing from the photography class, refusing to return her calls. When Emma learned she was pregnant, Gary had reluctantly confessed that he was married and in couples’ counseling with his wife. Left reeling from the shock, Emma changed the
“Oh, yes. I’d forgotten about that.”
“You purposely chose an unflattering one.”
She nodded.
“But … why?”
“Because there’s more to me than meets the eye. I didn’t want you to be swayed by appearances…. I wanted you to know
me
, the real me.” Her gaze flew to his, but then she quickly averted it. Dave wasn’t sure what to make of that, but he guessed there was something she hadn’t told him, something she wouldn’t until they met. He held his breath, wondering.
Before either could speak, the waitress approached their table. Dave ordered a bottle of wine; he had the feeling he was going to need it. While they waited, they each studied the menu, although Dave didn’t have much of an appetite.
Once the wine had been opened, approved and poured, they relaxed a bit.
“Would you like my assessment of you?” Emma asked.
Dave took a gulp of wine. “Please.”
“You’re exactly what you led me to believe. Your picture said it all.”
The picture. Dave felt a little embarrassed. He hadn’t wanted to deceive Emma, but he wasn’t going to discount what he had to offer, either.
“Your photo showed a man who’s proud of who he is and what he does. A man who understands hard work. Your ad said you were decent and honest, and for what it’s worth, your photograph and letters confirm it.”
“My picture said all that?” She held his gaze and he asked, “So, what was
your
picture supposed to tell
me?
” He couldn’t help being curious, since she’d deliberately set out to delude him.
“Mine?” she blurted, then reached for her wineglass. “Well, for one thing, it said I’m not as trusting as I once was. It said … I had something to hide.”
“And do you?” Might as well lay it on the line now, he decided.
She took a long time answering, long enough for Dave to fear this entire episode had been a waste of time.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I have a three-year-old daughter. I was as honest as I could be about everything else, but I have to tell you—I come as part of a package deal. It’s me and Jamie, and if you can accept the two of us, I’ll marry you.”
Two
T oday, the twenty-second of April, was Emma Fowler’s wedding day. She hadn’t realized she would agree to marry Dave Stafford until she’d actually uttered the words. Her friends said she was crazy and Emma couldn’t really argue; marrying a man she’d only met the week before
did
sound certifiable.
She’d found the
Farmer’s Newsletter
at the rural feed store where she’d taken Jamie to look at puppies. It’d been a Saturday afternoon, and they’d gone for a drive in the country. She’d read the brief, straightforward ad, and for reasons she couldn’t explain, Dave Stafford’s words had struck a chord within her. The idea of contacting this North Dakota farmer had slowly but surely taken hold in her mind.
Life in Seattle, raising Jamie alone, was difficult and often hectic. She raced to the day-care center every morning, carrying a sleeping Jamie into the building, whispering goodbye and then rushing off to work. By the end of her shift she was tired, depleted. All she wanted was to get home, get dinner on the table, and spend whatever timeshe could with her daughter. During those evenings, she often sat at Jamie’s bedside, her heart aching, thinking this was no way to raise a child.
She’d once dreamed of being a photographer, of having her pictures appear on calendars and in magazines. In fact, it was in a photography class that she’d met Gary Simpson. He was handsome and talented and he’d made a point of pursuing her. They’d gotten involved, more involved than Emma intended, and then he’d abruptly broken it off without explanation, disappearing from the photography class, refusing to return her calls. When Emma learned she was pregnant, Gary had reluctantly confessed that he was married and in couples’ counseling with his wife. Left reeling from the shock, Emma changed the
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