Page 1 of Filthy Rich

Chapter One

Trish

If I were creating my own town, I’d make one just like this. A Main Street with a dozen shops cozied into the side of a mountain with a population of less than a few thousand people. The postmaster would know everyone by name, and by sunset, the diner would be filled with folks talking about their day. The only thing I’d change is the number of available men.

You’d think we’d have loads of them with all the logging, ranching, and seasonal work going on up here, yet there’s a shortage. A long term, hardcore, definite shortage that doesn’t seem to be getting any better.

Thankfully, that’s not my concern. Not tonight, maybe not ever. I decided last week that I’m happy to spend eternity in love with myself. I mean, what’s not to like? Me and myself both love cheesy romance novels, long walks to the fridge, and snuggly puppies. I can’t lose with myself, and I’m happy to keep things that way.

“Where’d you go?” My friend Sasha hangs on the other end of the phone line. We do this most nights. I correct papers and she reads quietly while we sit on the phone with each other. It started a couple of months ago when a friend of hers moved out and it rolled into a nightly thing. Apparently, I’m the kind of lonely that holds up my friend’s evening as well.

How thoughtful of me.

“Still reading Ethan Baxter’s essay on legalizing prostitution. You’d be amazed at the thoughts a seventh grader has on the topic.”

Sasha laughs. “A seventh grader writing an essay on prostitution? What the hell?”

“He’s using the‘my body, my choice’argument.”

She laughs harder as the wind howls through the cracks in the wood boards on the east side of the cabin. I really need to get someone out here to fix this place up, but first I need money, which is something I don’t have much of on a teacher's salary.

It’s fine. I didn’t go into teaching because I loved the money. I went into it because I loved connecting with kids. Trouble is, I haven’t been able to do much of that lately either. “Well, that’s one we should keep our eye on.”

“You’re not kidding. I’ll hand deliver this essay to his parents at the parent-teacher conference next week. I haven’t met them yet, and I can’t wait to see who raised this opinionated little monster. What are you reading?”

“Some stupid romance that’s only gonna depress me, so I’m not sure why I picked it up.” She sighs and I hear the heavy flip of pages as though she’s closed the book.

I haven’t read in ages. I really should. I used to love kicking my feet up by the back window to read while I watched the woodland critters play in the yard. Now, if I sit by the back window, I have to bring a parka with me because of all the cold air that makes its way through the cracks in the seal. Yet another thing that money would be helpful for.

“So maybe you should put your name down at that new ranch everyone is talking about. The Mail Order Mountain Man thing. A friend of mine just had great luck with it.”

“I did, like weeks ago, but the guys are all… weird. Besides, you’ve been on that site for a while now. What have you found?”

“Don’t use me as an example.”

“Why not? We’re practically the same person. If you can’t find someone, how am I gonna find anyone?”

“We’re not the same person, Sasha. You’re way cooler than me.”

I can almost see her playful scowl over the phone. “What are you talking about?You’re way more interesting than me, and you have a classroom of kids that would for sure back me up.”

“Well, that’s not what the ranch guys think. I’ve put in for at least eight dates and I’ve been rejected all but once.”

“Okay, so how’d that one time go?”

I laugh. “It was a train wreck, but that’s just me. You have—”

“No, no, no. Wait…you didn’t tell me about this train wreck of a date. How come?”

“Because it’s depressing.” I lift my coffee mug from the counter, taking a long, warm sip before settling it down again.

“Why is it depressing? You actually got a date. That’s a big deal. Come on. Tell me why it wasn’t right.”

I sigh and fold back the first sheet of paper on Ethan's prostitution essay. “The guy was weird.”

“Weird how?” she presses. I get the feeling she’s not letting this go.

“He was arrogant.”

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