Page 4 of Miles. Alton & The 9:04 (Modern Mail Order Brides #19)

T hom Brown wasn't a fancy man. He lived a simple life.

Each morning, he went to his day job, and in the evenings, he returned to a modest home partially filled with basic furniture.

A typical evening in his world consisted of a bit of light work in the museum and depending on the time of year, he would tend his garden or work in the greenhouse, ensuring he had fresh veggies year round.

All of these notes he placed in the particulars of his profile for the matchmaking agency.

He'd never considered himself to be a prize catch, but he was a good man with a good heart and solid values.

Thom Brown wanted a wife who wanted to be a mother, and he wanted a few kids.

He didn't care if she worked outside of the home or worked from home remotely for a larger firm, but he cared that she worked.

A self-sufficient man, he didn't need a wife-mom with whom he could have sex who cleaned up after him and washed his soiled undies. Thom desired a life partner.

Chores around the house were nothing new to him, and he didn’t have an issue sharing the workload to maintain a smoothly running house.

He would not, however, live in chaos. He sure as hell wasn't planning to live in a home with children who ran wild and colored on the walls.

Growing up in foster care had reduced his patience with those levels of bullshit.

All of this he made clear in the correspondence with his three potential brides.

When the weekend was over, he would have himself a potential wife.

Megan Dootch, a homemaker, would arrive on Sunday.

She was a bit of a crafter and sold items in an online store.

Access to the post office for her was a must-have as well as room for storing the crafted items and a shipping station.

His coworker, the night manager at the train depot, had ordered a She-shed for his wife to use in the backyard.

If he and Megan got on well and she agreed to be Mrs. Brown, he would order or build one of those sheds for her business. He was fair in that manner.

The second potential bride, Agnes Spignew, would arrive on Saturday.

Agnes appeared to have a great deal going on in her life.

She was an amateur ghost hunter, an amateur beekeeper, a honey enthusiast, and a stamp collector.

In her free time, she performed ghost tours in Schaumburg, Illinois for 3 A.M. Xtreme Paranormal Ghost Hunting Society.

Agnes possessed a soft voice, which reminded him of a naughty librarian allowing you to check out one extra book, although you were over your book check-out limit.

She also possessed a pair of stunning green eyes and hearty, thick, rich shoulder-length auburn hair.

He looked forward to spending the day with her, prayerful the connection on paper would transfer into real life.

The last candidate, whom he was meeting today, was Carrie Mulligan, an actual librarian who collected teapots and lived in St. Louis.

The thirty-six-minute drive placed her in Alton just at lunchtime, and he planned to meet her at Castellini's for some of the best fried chicken he'd eaten outside of Aunt Sue's.

He was encouraged with her being so close to Alton in case it worked out and there could be a little back and forth and potentially some dating before the big day.

For some reason, the idea of agreeing to marriage with a woman he hadn't actually dated didn't bode well with Thom.

Today, he would find out if his instincts were correct as he found a parking spot across the street from the eatery.

The lady arrived on time, but to his surprise, she was not what he expected.

Their calls were always head shots, and his face remained unchanged when she stepped from her vehicle, her wide bottom unfolding in waves as she gained her footing on feet which appeared too small to support the wide hips.

The skirt with large, printed flowers that she wore did little to accentuate the small waist, since when she turned, a petunia appeared to disappear between the cheeks of her butt.

“Okay then,” he said, walking over to greet her. “Hello, Agnes. It is a pleasure.”

The woman turned, surprised to see him arriving on time and being taller than she expected. He looked just as he had on the video chats, but he had always worn a hat that covered the tops of his ears. Now she knew why.

“What's up with your ear? Is that a birth defect? Your profile never mentioned you had a birth defect,” she said, frowning at him.

“It is from a childhood accident,” he said, immediately feeling on guard. “I can hear out of the ear just fine. How was your drive over?”

She looked at the restaurant, turning up her nose. “Is the food good here? I see they have fried chicken; I don't do fried foods. Anywhere else we can eat?”

Thom's facial expression had not changed. “They serve more than fried foods, Agnes,” he offered. “Would you like to at least see the menu before saying you don't wish to dine here?”

“If you insist,” she huffed.

“I don't insist at all. If this isn't something you desire, we don't have to take this time,” Thom said.

Agnes frowned at him again, creating this unseen friction which began to grate on Thom. “Is that some form of double entendre or something?”

“A double entendre would imply a risqué comment about something overtly sexual. I have said no such thing,” Thom clarified.

She frowned at him again. The lovely blue eyes which seemed to dance when they spoke over the video calls were not dancing today. Today, she reminded him of an angry Karen ready to call for the manager. “Then what are you saying?”

Thom's hope for a lovely afternoon with the lady was slowly dwindling. “I'm simply suggesting, Agnes, that if the establishment or the company for the afternoon is displeasing to you, we can easily take the loss and walk away,” he said.

“Oh, heck no! I drove all this way. I'm eating,” she said, looking him up and down. “You're taller than I expected. I know the profile said six feet, but you know how that goes and men fudge the numbers a bit. Okay. What else do they have to eat in this place?”

He cocked his head, “Did you simply come for the free meal?”

“Yeah, and to see what you were working with,” Agnes said, looking at his crotch. You have big feet and those hands have long thick fingers, but is that enough to handle me?”

Thom stood for a moment. He watched her face, thinking the kind eyes were a ruse to house an unfettered, untrained, feral demon. He wasn't making any comments on the wide bottom which seemed to move on its own, even though the woman was stationary.

A wry smile graced his lips, “I can handle all of you just fine. Shall we go in?”

Thom walked behind her, using every skill in him to not watch the hips, which appeared to bump customers and tables as she went along.

Thankfully, the waiter seated them immediately, and Thom helped her with the seat.

He also took a seat across from her, coming to a conclusion on how the day would end without any prompting from the lady.

“Agnes, on paper we are a good match; however, in person, not so much,” he said.

She was frowning at him again as she looked up from the menu. “What are you saying? Oh, this half portion of baked pasta sounds good. The chicken fried steak does as well if I ate fried foods. I think I'm going to order a steak. I'm sorry; what were you saying?”

He blinked several times, wondering where in the fresh hell this woman came from and why in person, she was so different from the gentlewoman he'd corresponded with over the past few months. “I'm attempting to tell you, my sweet lady, I don't think you and I shall work out,” he said.

“I know you're not about to make an issue about the size of my ass, considering you've got a deformed ear,” Agnes spewed, almost growling at him.

He offered a smile. “The wide ass is not an issue. The ass that is speaking is. However, you came all this way for a meal, which I shall honor. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

From his wallet, he removed a crisp hundred and laid upon the table. “For your lunch and fuel for driving over. I'm sorry it didn’t work out. I wanted to see your teapots.”

“I was planning to show you more than my teapot,” she said, frowning at him again.

Thom stood slowly. He was speechless as he looked at the woman. He sighed deeply, having no words to add to her retort as he left the restaurant to head to the office. He'd taken off from work for the afternoon to spend with Agnes, but he could scratch that potential bride off the list.

“Jesus,” he muttered as he climbed into his Jeep and headed to the station. “I didn't think our first meeting would be a sparring match. Good grief.”

He arrived at the station, feeling out of sorts. Randy Muldoon, a local kid, about 12 years old, often darted through the train station on his skateboard. The ramps and smooth concrete were a constant hassle between Thom and the local skater boys.

“Randy, why aren't you in school?” Thom called out.

“The same reason you're single,” the boy countered.

“Your Auntie doesn't want me to stay single, you little toilet roll,” he called after the boy.

Randy rolled up to him, offering his small hand for a fist bump. “Good one, but even you're too white and nerdy for my Auntie, and she's white and nerdy, Train Man.”

“You should be in school. Off with you,” Thom said, waving the kid away.

“Hey, can I still get some help with my history report? It's due next week,” Randy said.

“My weekend is kind of booked, but get me what you've done already, so I’ll know how much I have to help you fill in,” he said to the boy.

“What I have right now is what you see, nothing,” Randy replied.