Randle pushed his hat back and looked at the leaden sky. There was a smell of snow in the air; a heavy snow, by the feel of the wind whistling through the Pines and Aspens around his cabin. He shivered slightly, and headed to the woodshed for more tinder. He'd have to keep both the stove and fireplace stoked for the next few days, if he was any judge of the weather sign. Snow came early in the Sawtooths, and September was coming to an end more than high time for the weather to turn.

He called his dog to his side, and together the two trudged the short distance to the two-story cabin. Randle lived alone on the Yankee Fork of the Salmon River, enjoying his solitude. There were a few neighbors if one needed help, or for companionship, he could drive to Hailey, Sun Valley, Twin Falls, or Challis but on the whole, Jackson Randle was a loner. He had worked hard to build this cabin, making it rustic yet with all the modern conveniences a person would need in order to live here full time. He worked from here, writing his stories and sending them off to the publisher with regularity every six to ten months. 

Right now, however, he was totally stumped for a plot and a story. Writer's block was something he had never had to struggle with. The thirty-four year old had begun writing at the age of eighteen, while in college studying pre-medicine, and had become a published author at twenty-three. Well, maybe it was his turn to have a dry spell. It wasn't as if he needed the money, as the royalties from his published works had provided him with more than enough to retire now if he wanted to. No what Randle needed now was something more undefined. He was tired of the bar scene, and ski bunnies were definitely not his type of woman. He wanted someone more down to earth, more womanly, less worldly. He sighed as he sat down at the desk and looked over the ad he had been writing

Single 34yo male in search of the right woman, age 26-34, for companionship, housekeeping, cooking, possible matrimony. Contact J. Randle, PO Box 42 Sunshine, Idaho, or email [email protected] for more information.

He read the ad aloud to Patches. The dog wagged his feathery tail and woofed sharply, as if in approval, then went back to sleep. Jackson grinned at the canine's obvious lack of interest, put the ad into the envelope, sealed it, and shrugged into his coat again. "C'mon Patch, let's go for a walk to the Post Office." The dog snorted and rolled over, turning his back on his master. Randle shook his head, laughing, and headed out the door. He walked the two miles to the general store/post office, his thoughts on whether he would get any decent answers. He had already placed a feeler out on the Internet. God, he thought he was desperate.

As he ambled back to the cabin, the first flakes of snow began to fall. He stood and enjoyed the soft brush against his strong, tanned face, at one with nature.

When he returned to the house, he found he had several emails waiting. He read through each one, casting some aside, mulling over others. He hadn't realized there would be so many women looking for love relationships or just a place to call home. This might prove to be harder than he'd thought. He read and re-read each one he had earmarked, sorting them carefully until one in particular caught his eye. He zoomed in on the photo she had attached to the message a very pretty girl. Kind of young looking, but something in those eyes tugged at him. Deep, sky-blue eyes and coppery hair. He leaned back in his chair, picturing a family of little red-headed kids, all with those eyes, and then he pulled out the sliding desktop and typed out a reply, pushing send before he had time to change his mind. Less than an hour later, he'd received another email from her, and took delight in discovering she was prompt. To him, that was a very good sign that they would get along, for he was a stickler for punctuality. Well he had set things in motion now all he could do was give it some time and hope his instincts were right.