Page 13 of Miles. Alton & The 9:04 (Modern Mail Order Brides #19)

T hom Brown had a great deal to contend with over the next two days; however, he'd finally gotten an in-person response from corporate on his idea, and his focus needed to be there and, on the messenger, who'd finally gotten the message.

However, being the man that he was, leaving a defenseless bunny to the mercy of the Fae wasn't in his nature.

He walked outside to his rear deck and called for Megan.

Mae remained in the kitchen out of view, but in listening range. He maintained a safe distance between him and the blond woman, speaking to her as a big brother would to his favorite sister. His tone wasn't condescending or reprimanding but encouraging.

“Megan, do you have enough supplies to begin replenishing your stock to reopen your Etsy shop in the next month?” he inquired.

“I have enough to get started, but I didn't factor in having to pay rent,” she said, almost stomping her foot.

“Jiminy is not going to charge you rent until you have income coming in,” he offered. “I assume you have you a Wi-Fi hotspot, computer, and light boxes for shooting newly branded items made in Illinois and not South Dakota, or does that factor into the branding?”

“I have everything with me to get started again,” she said, “but no furniture, outside of my crafting table.”

The sadness in her touched him. This was difficult for him as well, but he knew better than to take on the bad decisions of another. He'd find a means to help her transition, but he wasn't going to become her emotional support animal.

“Megan, for the past six months I have enjoyed our weekly conversations and the friendship we've built.

I am still your friend, offering silent support as you figure out what's next,” he told her.

“In the other room is my potential future.

I finally got a response from corporate, and I have two days to sell my idea or come up with a new plan. I can't waste my shot.”

“I understand.”

“Do you? Do you also understand the opportunity you have here to build a life you want, versus building a life based on what I or any other man would want for you?” he asked. “Use this time wisely. It is a gift.”

Megan watched him carefully. “Can I ask, if she hadn't shown up, would you have gone through with marrying me?”

“Honestly, more than likely not,” he said. “What is next for me is going to be hard, backbreaking and soul-bending. A beautiful spirit like you doesn't deserve that kind of life.”

“I was willing to build beside you, Thom, massaging out the kinks, all the while providing love and support,” Megan said.

“I know, and in return, my conversations would center on trains and jazz and jazz and trains,” he said. “Those aren't your passions, but mine. I realized in the past three days, I want to discuss those things with someone who speaks my language.”

“I was willing to learn.”

“I know, my sweet, but you have to ask if I would have given as much back in return. A marriage requires balance, and we would have been out of balance,” he said, “Go ahead and prepare to head over with Jiminy. I'll be by later to check on you.”

“Thom,” she said, “thanks for being who I thought you were and not taking advantage.”

“And I won't let anyone else take advantage of you either. I have to run. I'm late for work and I have a Big Wig in my kitchen to impress,” he said, nodding to Megan. “Jiminy, I'll check in with you later.”

Mae Weston, upon hearing herself referenced, stepped out on the back deck.

It overlooked an area the size of a football field and a half.

A sizeable amount of work would be required to build a stage and sound system, plus the rental of portable toilets.

The cost to get the festival off the ground would be substantial to do the build-out.

Even if the company purchased the land and built an outdoor amphitheater, the location felt a bit Woodstocky.

She snapped a few photos, turning to find the man staring at her.

“It's a bit too remote and has a Woodstock kind of vibe,” Mae said.

“The build-out for the stage and sound system can run upwards of mid to upper seven figures, not to mention the leasing of the portable bathrooms, security, and the like. You come out better holding it your local convention center.”

“Factored those things in,” he said, closing the back door and securing it with a key.

“If the City of Alton currently has a jazz festival, yours will be in direct competition which is no go at Corporate.” she told him. “Even if you were to work with the city on possibly a Sunday jazz in the park theme in the fall, it would be feasible, but it removes the train aspect.”

“Speaking of trains, I need to go to the station. I will also show you around the city, we can talk some more, and you can tell me about you, how you have that amazing diesel engine you drove in, and its name,” Thom said, leading her over to his Jeep. “Do you need to get your purse or anything?”

“Everything I need is on me,” she said, climbing into the Jeep and noticing the three yellow rubber ducks on the dashboard. Once Thom entered the driver's side, she pointed at the ducks.

“The first one, some dude at a gas station walked up and handed it to me,” Thom said.

“The drive out plates were on the vehicle, so he knew my ride was right off the lot. Honestly, I was about to fight him, because I thought the duck was some kind of weird sexual suggestion. He was about to get these hands.”

Mae chuckled, “The other two?”

“My brother LeBeau sent one, and the other one is from my sister Kimbrae, who helped me with the financing options,” he said.

“Financing options?”

“She's my accountant,” he replied. “Our first jobs, we would bring home our checks and give them to her.

She'd take the checks to the bank and deposit them in our accounts, then bring back a weekly allowance. We learned fiscal responsibility, contributed the household and had money to buy our first vehicles and in time, our first homes.”

“Like the one on your property?”

“Neither of these are my first home,” he told her. “I got the depot for the cost of the taxes and the city wanted to be done with it, since it was becoming a gathering place for the vagabonds and vagrants and, of course crime. I did them a favor buying the property.”

“Well, you have a few chips in the karma can with them,” she said as they arrived at the train station. “You live close to the station.”

“With good weather, I ride my bike into work; other days, I take my work pickup,” he said, parking as he saw the kid on the skateboard.

His mouth tensed at seeing the boy. He sighed deeply as he exited the vehicle and walked around to open the door for the lady.

They climbed the stairs of the train station together, Thom holding up his hand to the boy.

“Randy, why aren't you in school?”

“Oh, look out there now train man, I see you seeking a new adventure,” Randy said, stopping to look at Mae.

“She is from the Corporate Offices here to look at ways to stop skateboarders from using the platforms to cause havoc at train stations,” he lied. “It might even help you get out of the seventh grade.”

“I don't know, Train Man; that report you helped me with only earned me a B,” Randy said, eyeballing Mae.

“A, a B is a lot better than the zero you would have earned if I didn't. Be off with you before I call truancy,” Thom said, walking away.

Thom entered the station and people called out to him. Some waved to him, offering a morning greeting. The ticket taker leaned to the side when Mae walked past, pointing at the black woman. Thom only smiled.

“You must get that a lot, being as stunning as you are,” he complimented, unlocking his office door to let her inside.

Mae's eyes went to his desk, noticing the gnawed wood. She ignored his comment, instead pointing at the gnashed-out legs.

“Petr Qwill,” he said.

“And why is Peter...wait, what?”

“That damned porcupine. You know he traveled the ten miles from Jiminy's house to mine, and I found that bucked tooth monster in my back yard gnawing on the Adirondacks I just built,” he said. “I don't like that little snot.”

“The porcupine is named Peter Quill?”

“P.E.T.R. Q.W.I.L.L.,” he spelled for clarity.

Pearlie Mae appeared in the door of his office. “Boss, you want me to have this desk taken out and another brought in from storage?”

“Yes, if they have the old metal leg ones, that would be great,” he said. “Pearlie Mae, this is Mae Weston.”

“May or Mae?”

“M.A.E, which is an abbreviation for Mary Alice Elizabeth,” she told her.

“Hmm, you...” Pearlie Mae started, but Thom interrupted the probing and rude question about to come from her mouth.

“Pearlie Mae, Ms. Weston is from Corporate. She is in town for two days. I've called in Jack to cover the station for me until Wednesday. I have my phone on me, and I leave it in your capable hands until Jack arrives in the next twenty minutes,” he said, and the woman said no more.

Mae began to understand the man as she spent the day with him.

His next stop was a local small grocer. She said nothing as Thom gave the man two hundred dollars and a twenty for delivery.

He explained a friend was renting the little house at Jiminy's and needed basic staples.

Thom asked the man to stock the pantry, explaining it was a dorm sized fridge, so easy on the meat.

He also requested the two hundred be spent wisely to ensure the friend was covered with rice, beans, and canned tuna and chicken.

Mae noticed he never said the friend was a woman. The man also assumed it was a man, offering to add things like dried jerky, which Thom agreed to, in moderation.

“Interesting,” she said.

They drove around town with Thom explaining how the 9:04 was the primary method of bringing supplies to the town, but as the town grew, the school no longer wanted the train passing by to disrupt classes.

The new wing of the hospital also didn't care for the patients to be disturbed with the frequent whistle blows.

Thom pointed out the inconsistencies in the marketing for the current jazz festival and how no one ever thought of marrying the tourists from the ghost hunting crowd with music lovers.

“Do ghost hunters like jazz?” she asked.

“Everybody likes jazz,” he said, “but most people only think of one sort of jazz, the moody bluesy kind or smooth jazz remakes of popular tunes, but imagine marrying those together and teaching others about music?”

“And the train aspect, how does that factor into your thought process?” Mae wanted to know.

“I can imagine, during the time that jazz greats, who weren't so great as they were coming along, didn't have tour buses,” he said.

“Greyhound and Trailways may not have allowed them to ride along with other passengers. The easiest way to get from Chicago to St. Louis was via train. Alton is the birthplace of Miles Davis, so I can see this being a stopover to see the family.”

“A stopover?”

“Imagine leaving a hot session in ChiTown and boarding the car for St. Louis to be seated with John Coltrane, Sonny Rollins, Dizzy Gillespie, and Gil Evans,” he said smiling.

“You seem to know a great deal about jazz,” Mae commented as they pulled up to the home so she could tour the museum. “Do you also play an instrument?”

“I play the trumpet and a bit of guitar and know my way around a keyboard,” he said, watching her facial expression. “See, you thought I was some weirdo who just collected trains.”

He said this as he opened the door to the museum. It looked like a train hoarder had hired an organizer to catalog the history of locomotives in the world. Mae's mouth fell open. She'd never seen anything like it, and she stood in the middle of the floor, pointing.

Thom sighed, “In my defense, I got this set when I was six years old, this one at 7, 8, 9.” He continued going around the room until he hit 21, which brought him to an orange trolley.

“Is that...?” Mae asked, leaning forward, whispering to the orange trolley car. “All aboard to the Land of Make Believe...”

She was smiling when she looked up at him. Thom pointed to the diesel engine she had arrived on, which was also part of the collection. Mae simply smiled, appreciating the man more and more by the second. Outside, a horn blew.

“Dinner has arrived,” he said, leading her out of the museum.

Mae checked her watch and saw that it was nearly five in the evening. The day had gone by so quickly that she didn't realize they hadn't eaten anything more than a hot dog from a vendor cart in the city since breakfast. Thom paid the driver for the food, leading Mae into the home.

“I ordered chicken, pork, and beef so choose the wine,” he told her.

He pointed to the butler's pantry, which had a shelf of red and white, and she chose a Malbec. Her bladder also screamed, and she found the bathroom and took a moment to check under the sink. Finding nothing but cleaning supplies and tissue paper, the sigh of relief alarmed her.

Mae came from the bathroom to find Thom had set the table. He checked his watch. “It's five twenty-five, so you're officially off the clock.”

“I'm never off the clock, Mr. Brown,” she said, taking a seat at the table.

Again, he held her hand as he prayed. On his phone, that she hadn't seen him use until now, he pressed a few buttons and the subtle trumpet of Miles Davis filled the space. She expected him to talk, but he didn't.

Thom opened all the containers of Chinese food and passed her a pair of chopsticks. He poured wine, and they ate their meal. He didn't fill the air with words since much of the day he'd made his pitch. It was the best meal she'd eaten in a long time in the company of a man.

There were no expectations of her when the meal was done, although she helped clear the table.

He stood on the porch, watching like a sentry as she retrieved her overnight bag from the train engine and returned to his home.

He refilled her wineglass and sat on the opposite end of the extremely long couch.

Mae had never in her life wanted to make out with a man as much as she wanted to make out with Thom Brown.

He had an energy that called to her in such a way that made her feel calm, yet craving to nest and decorate the house.

She also wanted to spend an evening in his arms, calling his name and scratching up his back.

All of it unsettled her in a way, which made her want more.

“What in the world is happening here?” she asked herself, sitting back, allowing the feelings to wash over her.