Page 15 of Miles. Alton & The 9:04 (Modern Mail Order Brides #19)

M ary Alice Elizabeth Weston served as the Director of Philanthropy for the Burlington Eastern Santa Fe Railroad, which she simply referred to as the company.

Upon taking the role five years prior, the philanthropic budget was a mere five million that was stretched to its limits giving to organizations that were already well funded.

Her first job was to pull back the giving for a year, investing one million in emerging markets and green companies, which doubled the funds in the philanthropy accounts.

By the end of the year, the five million had doubled and now five years later, Mae Weston oversaw an annual budget of nearly a billion dollars.

The sheer amount of funds in the account placed a bullseye on her back because no one believed a woman who looked like Mae could sufficiently manage such a large fund.

Mae was smart. She kept a low profile and was rarely seen and seldom heard from unless needed, which also provoked the ire of those jockeying for her job.

Mae remained quiet, creating a book scholarship fund for the children of employees attending college and majoring in anything related to train science.

The third year, the philanthropic efforts expanded to Texas, centering on efforts in Fort Worth, the headquarters of the organization.

Mae's philanthropic efforts supported the vagrant, especially women and children, who were often found in train stations trying to use the facilities or even find a well-lit place to sleep.

This approach to helping the unhoused drew more backlash, and Mae volunteered to leave the position.

The CEO wouldn't accept her resignation, and instead placed her in the spotlight, cheering her efforts. His attempt at solidarity only increased the target on her back, and as she entered year four, the bloodhounds were after the fox.

“I don't see why she gets to pick and choose where the money is spent,” Laura Fishburn whined. “Does she even have a team, or is it just her?”

Clyde Walker, the CFO and overseer of the fund, cleared it up. “She has a staff of seven. Any dispersal of funds is cleared not only by me, but by the COO, and the CEO. Ms. Weston has done an amazing job.”

Laura Fishburn's jealousy only grew when she saw Mae in the train yard, climbing aboard a diesel engine that she was actually driving.

It was now a personal vendetta against Mae as Laura rallied others to her cause.

People Mae never heard of were being rude to her, giving her dirty looks and being snide for no reason.

The job she had once loved, she currently hated, and arriving back in Chicago, she appreciated the peace of having dinner at a table with a man while listening to music.

There was no unnecessary talking or arguing over semantics like with her family each Sunday over dinner. A quiet life seemed ideal compared to the hell of walking into a building where it seemed everyone hated her guts for giving away money.

Sighing deeply, she parked her engine in the train yard, inside its barn.

She made her way to the parking lot, finding her car with scratches down the sides, deep scratches made with a key into the black paint.

At this point, she didn't even feel like being bothered with filing a report as she backed out of her assigned parking spot heading home.

On her way, she called Thom. The sound of his voice instantly made her feel better, although she was going home alone to a takeout dinner she would eat in front of the television.

She had several shows she planned to watch over the next few days to decompress, and her voice was tense when he answered.

“I made it home,” she said.

“Sounds like something went wrong,” Thom said.

“An asshole keyed my car. Now there are deep scratches all over it, and I'm just, anyway, I'm home,” she said.

“Okay, I enjoyed your visit. You've given me lots to think about on ways to move forward with my ideas,” he said, pausing.

“Listen, Thom. I am going to text you my address,” Mae told him.

“I don't feel like the coy game of texting and waiting a day to text back. Friday night, you have the choice of a deep dish and a pasta side with a salad and a red. Or I can do white or red meat with a starch and green veggie. You tell me.”

“Deep dish,” he said, smiling at the directness.

“We aren't going out either,” she told him.

“It is a four-hour drive for you. The week is already sucking, and I have to go into the office tomorrow to more than likely coming face to face with the jack hole who vandalized my car. I want to end the week with some more of the quiet dinner with music and sexy time on the couch.”

“Sounds like a plan. I look forward to seeing you on Friday. Do you have an ideal arrival time for me?”

“Six would be perfect,” she told him.

“Six it is, and I'll take care of the car for you as well this weekend,” he offered.

“You don't have to do that,” she said softly.

“I don’t, but I shall. See you Friday,” Thom said and ended the call.

Mae drove to the West Loop apartment complex where she lived in a box, paying too much rent with other rats in a maze. The stylish apartment was the ideal height of success for her at one point, and now it simply meant living in a decorated cage that came from a boxed store.

Instead of watching television, she ended up on her tablet, looking at Pinterest pages on home decor.

It took her a few moments to realize what she was doing, but she was decorating the Thom's house.

She imagined a boho country chic look for the home with hearty textiles and color coordinated but not matching patterns.

“What are you doing, Mae?” she said out loud, continuing to search and save items to her boards. “Maybe I was sent there to show me that what I thought I was pleased having in my life is showing me that I'm not content with my existence here at all.”

****

F RIDAY ARRIVED WITH Thom Brown packing the old Subaru with items he never expected for a sexy weekend.

He wasn't sure about her jest with the mini train engines, and for good measure, he packed three, thought better of it, and added three more.

He also added a container of peanut butter, his car care kit, black touch up paint for Audi vehicles and a really good wax for her vehicle.

“Well, if nothing else, it will be interesting,” he said, pulling out of the garage and heading for the interstate.

He opted to not drive his Jeep after having lived in Chicago for several years.

No one wanted to steal a Subaru, which is why he still had it, and the faithful Forrester had nearly 300,000 miles and ran like a dream.

As he drove, he thought of the number of after-hours and speakeasy jazz spots throughout the city that the day dwellers knew nothing about that came to life when the clock struck 2 a.m. In his heart, he thought of trying to impress Mae by taking her to a spot he was certain she was unaware existed since only the old jazz heads frequented it.

It was where Mateo would drag him for jam sessions when he and Chambers Claypool were in town.

He smiled all the way up the road, thinking of the days he went into work smelling like stale smoke, brown liquor and questionable life choices.

Thom also figured it was the reason most people on the job didn't mess with him since he looked one way but small inconsistencies in his behavior leaned toward him living a nefarious life.

It didn't bother him much. He was never the corporate type, anyway.

He simply ticked the boxes to go on to what was next.

In his life, a partner to travel the rest of the journey ranked high on his list. He wanted to tick the next box, but there was information needed to fill those sections. So many things, so few things, so much he didn't know about Mae Weston.

“Shit, I never asked what kind of music she liked,” he said, frowning. “I never asked a lot of things since her visit was to find out about me and my plans.”

In his office, on the BNSF computer, he went to the company website, going to employees and entering her name in a database search.

Mae's face came up with the name Mary A.

E. Weston, Director, Philanthropy. He had figured as much, sitting back during her visit and not impeding the woman doing her job. This weekend was a different animal.

He arrived on time and found a guest parking spot in front of the building.

Habit and big city living had taught him to leave nothing in the vehicle of value or otherwise.

His weekender had wheels. The buffing and polishing kit came with its own bag, and the other goodies, he stashed in a shopper.

He rode to the sixth floor, found apartment 623, and tapped lightly on the door.

A voice called out and he waited patiently.

Thom kept his word, wearing a black suit, lavender shirt, and coordinating mottled tie. He always wore a hat because of the ear, which was partially covered in his favorite Trilby.

“You're looking mighty fine there, Mr. Brown,” she said, opening the door wide.

Mae Weston, in a colorful, flowing knee length dress, nearly stopped his heart. The box braids were gone. Light brown natural hair hung loosely to her shoulders and just a smidgen of lip color on her lips made Thom want to chunk all the goodies to the side and go for what he knew.

“You're looking very lovely. The hair is nice. Love the colors of the dress,” he said, rolling past her. “The perfume is nice as well. You smell absolutely wonderful.”

“Thank but, what's all that? Are you planning to move in and didn't tell me?” she asked blushing furiously, looking at the bags.

Thom rolled the luggage and items to the counter. He showed her first the buffing kit for her vehicle to remove the scratches. From the shopper, he pulled out a bouquet of fragrant flowers, a box of decadent chocolates, and a hundred-dollar bottle of red wine.