Page 2 of Miles. Alton & The 9:04 (Modern Mail Order Brides #19)

From the coat rack which rested behind the door of his office, he removed the outerwear he'd hung earlier.

The corduroy felt heavy in his hand, almost equaling the weight of his regrets as he donned the knee-length coat.

Momentarily, it would be time to go out to meet the train.

There were people in the station waiting to board for St. Louis, the next stop for the Lincoln Service line after picking up traveling connectors for Western riders on through Kansas City.

Between himself and the ticket agent, Pearlie Mae, they could load, unload, and board passengers in less than fifteen minutes.

No one really chose Alton, Illinois, as a destination outside of ghost hunting season or the jazz fest, but the town was used as a connection at a station with less traffic than Springfield and less densely populated that St. Louis.

Residents of nearby cities like Effingham or Centralia preferred to drive over to Alton versus bus it over as part of the fare with the rail lines.

Snow and dust flew in the air as the train barreled down the track and pulled into the station.

The loud hiss of the brakes, followed by the smell of diesel fuel, announced the engine parking.

Bodies exited the rail cars as people met friends and families, while loners clutched tightly to singular backpacks for a start to a new journey as they disembarked the cylindrical passenger car.

Conductors called the names of long travelers who had paid for the privacy of a sleeping car while others filed on board the economy seats, preparing for a ride.

Pearlie Mae and the station manager loaded and unloaded the rail car and aided passengers who needed assistance to get on board. This was his life. Each day, five days a week, loading, and unloading other people seeking a new way of life or returning to an old one.

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes and the train’s whistle blew and the engine went into gear, followed by the releasing of the brakes.

Slowly, like an old dinosaur headed to the tar pit, the engine tugged its load, hauling the passengers in the cars, moving to their next destination.

Thom Brown watched the train depart, mulling in his mind the next stop in his.

He aspired to be married with a family of his own.

He wanted more out of life than simply loading and unloading a train.

At the end of the day, he desired to come home to a little woman, who was glad to see him and made him lamb chops with mint jelly and smashed potatoes.

A side of crunchy green beans would also be amazing, but in his current state, Thom Brown, was simply seated squarely in a box of aloness.

The phone in his pocket jangled, and it was a call from his foster brother Mateo, who’d recently lost his big toe to a spider bite. Mateo only called when he needed something. He wondered this time what the man could want.

“Hey, whatcha need?” Thom said into the line.

“Why is it that when I call you, there is this same question? No hi, how are you? How's the toe? How's the wife?” Mateo Zingales commented. “Can't I simply be calling to check on you?”

“Hell no. What do you want?”

“I do need a small favor,” Mateo said, pausing.

“The pause tells me the favor isn't small, so spit it out,” Thom pushed.

“Okay fine,” he said. “I bought a lot of vintage horns. They are in New York. I can't go pick them up, but if you could, I'd pay.”

Thom sighed. Favors for Mateo were never simple. Each request was multi-layered and required several chunks of effort to make it happen. This mission was a no win for Thom, and he didn't want to do it.

“Nope,” he said, ready to end the call.

Mateo wouldn't give up that easily. He wanted to sweeten the pot. He lowered the octaves of his voice.

“I will pay the fee for the Matchmaking lady and set you an appointment if you go to New York to pick up my collection of horns for me,” Mateo said.

“Excuse me; what?”

“The service we used to get our perfect matches, I will pay the fee for you if you go to New York and get my horns,” Mateo said.

“Isn't that like ten grand or something?”

“Or something. I want those horns for the school. I need those horns for the school,” he said.

“That's an 18-hour drive,” Thom said.

“I have an additional RV in New York,” Mateo said. “Get the RV from the storage unit; I’ve already had it serviced. Pick up the horns, drive the RV back and think of it as a mini vacation. Plus, I'm paying for it all. I need the horns.”

“I don't think I like you, Mateo,” Thom said. “There are always these layers of bullpuckey in your requests, which you lace with this false sense of added value for the sucker you reel in.”

“Am I reeling you in? I mean, I am setting an appointment for you with the matchmaker.

She will work her green-eyed magic and find you a little woman who actually likes lamb chops with mint jelly and will happily dust your train collection.

Hey, she may even find you a goofy little woman who is okay with your alarm clock being a mini train set that arrives like it's coming from the Village of Make Believe.”

“Hey, watch yourself. I paid a lot of money for that train set from Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood ,” Thom said defensively.

“I know, and with a plane ride and an RV drive from New York to Arkansas, it can be a whirlwind of a day, and you get a woman,” Mateo said. “If you want, I will even spring for the train ride from Little Rock to Chicago, and you can get your train fix in as well. Whaddya say, my brother?”

“Sometimes, I don't I like you, but fine,” Thom said, looking at the calendar on his desk. “When does all of this need to happen?”

“How does tomorrow sound? Too soon?”

“You want me to fly out tomorrow?”

“Yes, the appointment with the matchmaker will be tomorrow afternoon, you pick up the RV and horns the day after, and you can be in Arkansas by Sunday and home by Monday,” Mateo said. “Do we have a deal?”

Thom looked around his office. It had been a while since he'd taken a vacation. His last trip away from his home had been to Iowa to help his foster brother Macalister with his home and mail order honey. She was a thoughtful lady, and they had a baby. The baby also had red hair similar to Macalister’s and was quite adorable.

He imagined coming home to changing diapers and a flustered little woman. A smile eased across his lips.

“Sure. Why not,” Thom said, uncertain what he'd agreed to or why.

However, it was possibly the best decision he'd ever made in his life and would forever change not only the way he saw the world but also how he saw himself.

The turn his life took based on saying, “Why not,” to his foster brother created a chain of events, and he would later thank the universe for coming to his rescue.

The trip had been six months ago. This weekend, he would meet his potential new brides, and out of ten he’d corresponded with over the past one hundred and eighty-two days, he'd narrowed it down to three women.

Three women would arrive in the next few days to look at his home, ask questions, possibly make out with him, and decide if he was an ideal candidate for procreating.

“What the hell have I gotten myself into?” Thom said, taking a deep sigh.