Page 5 of December's Ride with Scar

“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you”--she cringes—“but is there anything I can do to help?”

“It's okay, sweetheart. I’m just used to living alone, so this will take some getting used to. Why don't you set the table as this is almost done.” I nod toward the mashed potatoes I'm mixing up to go with the chicken in the oven.

Once seated, she is quiet again.

“Listen, I want you to get to know me. So that means you are free to ask anything of me you want. Nothing is off limits, okay?” I say softly.

With the pensive expression on her face and the little frown, it’s obvious her mind is racing. So I give her time to figure out what she wants to ask first.

“Why did you seek out a mail-order bride?” she asks.

I could tell her the truth, but I don't think that this is the time to drop that bombshell.

“Well, I watched all my friends fall in love, and I wanted that. It's lonely out here in the mountains. I joined the site on impulse, saw you, and had to reach out. I'm glad I did. What about you? Why did you do it?”

Even though she shifts in her seat, clearly uncomfortable, I want to get it all in the open.

“Last year, my parents were in a car crash before Christmas. My mom never recovered, and my dad passed a few months after her. They left behind a mountain of debt. I was working two jobs and couldn't keep up. One of my jobs was working at the local diner, and a customer mentioned the site as a joke. After a few tequila shots, I set up my profile. The day I got the message from you, I received my eviction notice, so it seemed like a sign to go for it.”

“How much debt do you have, sweetheart?” I ask softly because in no way is this a deal breaker.

“Oh, I can sign a prenup that all the debt remains mine, so you don’t have to take on a cent,” she says quickly.

“No need, sweetheart. What’s mine is yours. How much is it?”

“$48,700 the last time I added it up,” she says, her shoulders sagging.

“Get me the info. I will pay it off even if you choose not to stay with me,” I say, though the words taste like acid in my mouth. There is no world in which she will be leaving me. I will make sure of it. A few of my brothers-in-arms kidnapped their girls, so that is always an option.

Her eyes go wide.“You don't have to do that,” she says, clearly shocked.

“I know I don't, but I'm going to.”

I can visibly see a weight being lifted off of her, and her smile is much brighter.

“I know what it's like to lose your parents. I lost mine a few years ago to a drunk driver too. It's hard to deal with the financial end of it while you try to grieve,” I say, trying to keep my emotions down.

“What do you do for work?” she asks.

I'm thankful for the change of subject.

“I do security management.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“I am hired to test companies’ online security systems. I basically get paid to try to hack them and then help them strengthen the weak points.”

“That actually sounds really interesting,” she says.

“So, you are a teacher?” I ask.

“Yeah, I've taught Kindergarten, but they have too much energy for me. Then I tried teaching eighth grade, but they didn't listen to me. This year I was teaching third grade, and I really liked it.”

“How did you get the name Scar?” she asks.

Rolling up the right sleeve of my shirt, I show her the nasty looking scar that runs up my arm. When I was younger, I used to hide it. But I don’t anymore.

“It happened during my first motorcycle accident. I was young and stupid and trying to show off to some friends. It’s the one that taught me to respect the road and left me this to remind me every day.”

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