Page 1 of The Cowboy Takes A Bride

1

When old man Brady brushed up against her, using the contact as an opportunity to slide his hand around her thigh to cup her butt, Meredith Hanover was positive one of two things would happen.

She was either going to vomit the petit fours and hors d'oeuvres of tonight's charity event all over his tux or knee him in the groin.

Maybe both.

Oh, how she wished she could dosomething.Meredith swallowed hard, forcing back the bile that had risen, and stepped away, scanning the room for her father. If she made a scene, if she insulted the man Father hoped would soon merge his bank with Father's brokerage company, there would be hell to pay.

Why couldn't he have left her alone? She'd selected a quiet corner by a plant as her cover and was attempting to enjoy the profiteroles, her dessert plate thankfully hiding a brochure that someone—she couldn't recall who—had thrust at her at the dessert table. Inside the folded paper contained the outline of the next charity and likely her next obligation. Tonight's charityevent not even over and already someone was planning another. It wasn't about doing good; it was about looking good. Looking important and being seen. She could hear their requests in her head. She really must be on the board they'd said. They couldn't do it without her. Yet, they'd done just as well before she got involved.

The brochure had been the instigator for the initial flashes of a headache.

Then Brady had infiltrated her hidey-hole spot and pinched her rear.

Behind her right eye, a sharp stabbing pain began to pulse.

She should have stayed in the open. He'd have never been so bold had she not been behind the potted plant.

She thrust her dish at Beady-eyed Brady. "I'm not feeling well."

He took the dish and leered. "I can take you to my home. Your father would approve."

Meredith covered her mouth and spun on her heels. Her goal was to reach the nearest ladies room as quickly as she could without breaking into a run.

Were there other people in the world that hated their lives as much as she did?

For what had to be the millionth time, she wished her life were different. She craved a miracle that would change everything.

If given the chance at one wish, Meredith was certain most people would ask for three more wishes. Not Meredith, she would be content with the one. That was all she needed to change her life. One simple wish. The trick came in how she would word said request.

There would be no asking for freedom. It wasn’t specific enough. Asking for freedom from her father was likelytoo vague as well.

No, she would have to be right on point. She'd have to ask for a new life in a certain town with a great job. Maybe running a bookstore or being a teacher. She did have her degree in education, after all. Though, if that didn’t work, she’d clean houses or work with animals, having always loved horses. Anything had to be better than what she did. Eavesdropping for her father was not an occupation or a purposeful life.

While managing to avoid all eye contact, Meredith wove through the crowd, circumventing her father, her focus on the ladies’ room. Her teeth clenched together with hopes of holding back both the headache and nausea, she pushed the door open then slipped through the narrow opening, anxious for the door to close behind her. Blissfully, she noted the room was empty. Afraid she might still be sick, Meredith locked herself in a stall and waited, hoping the quiet would help her headache recede.

One wish. That's all she needed.

Meredith knew there'd be some nuance she’d forget to consider with that one wish. A distinction small enough it would easily be overlooked but significant enough she would end up with her “freedom,” but living a life just as unfulfilling, uneventful, and sadly as heartbreaking as her current one.

Therefore, she concluded, even if she found a genie in a bottle, her life would not improve, and wishing things would change was never going to be enough. Action would be required on her part. It was up to her to take back her freedom.

How did the saying go? Freedom doesn’t come free. Apparently not in any situation. Was she willing to pay the price? Looking from the outside, her life appeared cushy. After all, she was a resident of Victors Club, one of the richest suburbs outside Dallas-Fort Worth. Nothing said “winner” more than a postal code that deemed it so. Oh, and the three-quarter-of-a-million dollar starter homes. Her father's home, a brick two-storyMcMansion with a chauffeur, a cook, and a housekeeper was a dream for most people. Who wouldn't want that?

All these people around her, but no one to really talk with. All the money to make life enjoyable, but the marble and steel decor of her father's home made her feel cold and breakable. All those advantages, but none for her. She was only permitted to go and do as much as her father's leash would allow. Sure, he thought she had everything. Pretty dresses and fancy shoes to wear to charity events. What more could she want?

What more indeed. Simply contemplating her life made the pain behind her eyes flare.

She braced her hand against the stall wall, not caring if her forced yoga breathing sounded odd or out of place. Giving into the oncoming headache would be far worse. These events did this to her every time. Bad Breath Brady made them come on quicker.

It was hard to make conversation and “keep her ears open” like her father demanded when she was doing everything in her power to not lie on the floor, cover her eyes with her arm, and fade to black. That was the best way to deal with a painful onslaught poorly named a benign migraine. It should be called “sledgehammer headache” or “slow death.”

Her hand shook when she raised her arm to cover her eyes. The paper she’d forgotten she was holding drew her attention when it flapped and crinkled.

She peeked at it from under her arm.

Youth Village of Dallas. A local orphanage and treatment center for kids. It was an admirable charity in all aspects. Who didn’t want to help parentless children? Who didn’t want to give them clothes and toys they would not normally receive?

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