Wifed By The Mountain Man: A Modern Mail-Order Bride Romance (2 page)

I
’m late as fuck
, and this is not exactly the way I wanted to start things off with this woman coming to be my wife.

Cruising down the highway toward Skagway, I know there isn’t a chance in hell I’ll be on time. I’ll easily be thirty minutes late, if not more.

And the gas tank is on empty.

That’s become the story of my life the past few months: running on motherfucking empty.

I should have just had someone go get her, but obviously my pickings are pretty damn slim out in the sticks. The only neighbor is Grandma Lottie, and she’s already at my place. I wasn’t gonna have her drive out to get this girl, when she already does so damn much for me.

Also, she thinks this whole idea is one hundred kinds of crazy.

Which maybe it is, but I had to do something. And at least Monique’s agency would give me a woman who had a background check, a college degree, and was guaranteed to be gorgeous, willing, and mine. Looking in the want ads isn’t going to get me someone nearly as qualified, or as fast. I live in the sticks, not exactly the prime spot for a young woman looking for a job to be hanging out. And sure, there are people in Skagway who are looking for seasonal work at the tourist shops, but that isn’t the kind of woman I need—someone who might take off after summer.

I need someone who can legitimately handle this gig, long-term. The stakes are too high to mess around with some crazy-ass hire. I need a woman who’s ready to commit.

My phone rings, and I answer it. “Hello?”

“Hey, darling, just wanted to tell you everything is fine on my end,” Lottie says. “Just want to double-check how to turn on the alarm. Now, is it two clicks to the left, or the right?”

This is why I can’t trust Lottie alone at my place. She’s nearly seventy, and not exactly cutting edge in terms of technology. She can’t even operate a garage door opener. Which is fine—she doesn’t need to know how to work gadgets. She lives in a cabin, she has a son who visits her every week to make sure she’s good, and I head over there as often as I can also. But helping me full-time is beyond her ability.

“Don’t mess with the alarm. Seriously, just stay in the living room. You don’t need to do a thing, Lottie. Just stay there.”

“Okay, honey. Will do. Just wanted to double-check.”

“You don’t need to set an alarm. I’ll be back in an hour. Just stay where you are.”

I hang up the phone. This was a stupid idea, but Lottie drove over there just as I was loading up the truck, and insisted on staying with Hope.

I figured the last thing a nine-month-old wants to do is sit in a carseat all afternoon, especially since it was her naptime and she’d just fallen asleep. But already I’m second-guessing whether leaving her with Lottie was the right call.

This is why I need a wife. Too many damn decisions I’m not prepared for.

Decisions I never wanted to make.

I don’t want to be a husband, or a father. I want to be my own goddamned man.

I want to be in the woods, hunting, or on the lake, fishing. I didn’t sell my multimillion-dollar company and move to the sticks to live life on my own terms, only to have some baby show up on my doorstep and throw all my plans out the window.

But I have to make this work. Hope is my daughter, and she needs me to take care of her; she has no one else. But God knows I have no fucking clue how to be her father. It’ll be easier when this bride comes home and can be the parent. I’ll pay for this family, but it doesn’t mean I need to be very involved.

I flip on the radio, wishing I’d cleaned out the car or some shit. There are packages of baby wipes on the passenger seat, and I toss them in the back. I can’t think of the last time I had a woman in this car. It’s been a long fucking time, and there’s a reason for that.

The last woman I was with was Hope’s mother, but she skipped out on me without telling me she was pregnant with my daughter. Of course, this was months before I sold my company and made a fortune. Maybe she’d have made a different choice if she knew what I had to offer.

Doesn’t matter, I don’t want a gold-digger. Or a partner. Or anyone else to take care of.

I just need someone to take care of Hope.

And that’s why I’m getting her a mother.

I
end
the call with Everly after wishing her good luck. She needs it. She was legit spasming out over having sex with her husband-to-be.

Which, come on, honey. What did you think this entire thing was going to be like? I mean, you signed up to be that guy’s freaking wife. There are some expectations that go along with it.

I mean, as far as I can guess. I don’t actually know what my husband’s expectations of me are, considering he doesn’t even have the decency to show up on freaking time to meet me.

I’m standing on the airstrip with my pathetic luggage, alone, looking like a fool waiting for my ride. A fool because, you know, I thought I’d look cute for when my husband came to meet me, but this wind is freaking insane and blowing my hair all over the place, and my feet are killing me from this long ass day of travel and, yeah, maybe I shouldn’t have worn heels to the Alaskan-freaking-frontier, but really Monique did some serious upselling when she told us about this mail-order bride gig.

All I know is, I’m standing outside an “airport”—I mean, come on, this is the smallest airport known to man—and the plane I just took here was basically a deathtrap because the weather is really shitty today. Apparently there was a bad storm last night in the area.

But, thankfully, I didn’t die. I mean, here I am. A recent college graduate, with fake eyelashes, fake fingernails, and a fake smile. Knowing that this is one hundred kinds of stupid. I don’t even like the way I look—I’m just trying to look hot. Look appealing. Look like someone a man might want to spend his life with.

Am I insecure? Hell yeah, I am. My boyfriend of four years just broke up with me like two weeks ago. Over text. Because, you know, a four-year relationship is not even worth a freaking phone call. When I insisted on meeting up with him to talk it out, he tried to tell me it wasn’t necessary. But I insisted. I needed closure.

But when I got what I wanted, I realized pretty damn quickly that Derrick would never want me back—mostly because his new supermodel-hot girlfriend was with him. A girlfriend with extensions and long nails and spray-tanned arms and … basically not me. Like at all. I have a closet full of sweats and tank tops, and rock a messy bun 24/7.

Well, I
did
.

Not anymore. Monique gave us a stipend to get some new clothes before we travelled to meet our men, and I used my money wisely, to get an entirely new look. I look better than that girl Derrick left me for, and I’m going to post selfies all over the Internet to make sure he regrets his decision.

Have I moved on? Well, I mean, that’s relative. Isn’t it?

I mean, yes, Everly and Delta are a teeny bit concerned about my present state of mind, but I’ve assured them that this is no ploy to make Derrick jealous.

Okay, if we’re talking ploys here, there might be concern about my motivation—but I’m a grownup, ready to take life by the horns, or the bull by the reins, or whatever freaking metaphor will keep me as far from Portland and Derrick and his new girlfriend as possible.

So is this a drastic life decision? Yes. But it’s also a necessary one. I need a fresh start. A clean slate. A chance to be something other than Derrick’s ex-girlfriend.

And Monique says she has the perfect man for me.

Which is good. Because all I’m looking for is a man who’s going to cherish me, love me, and want to take care of me. And, in exchange, I will be the perfect wife. I can cook and clean, and I’m adequate at sex … I assume.

Basically, this is the perfect arrangement.

I breathe, trying to clear all these thoughts from my mind as a pickup truck pulls into the parking lot.

Okay. This is it. This is the beginning of an entirely new chapter.

I close my eyes, hoping that this guy is husband material.

When I open them, a broad-shouldered, six foot three, brown-haired, bearded mountain man is staring me down.

Oh, damn, this guy is hot.

“You’re wearing the red scarf,” he says, pointing to the accessory Monique instructed us to wear for identifying purposes. We don’t know our new partners’ names or anything about them. Apparently those details eff up matches faster than anything else. Googling a husband before you meet them can apparently give a bride-to-be misconstrued ideas about the match.

“Yeah,” I say breathlessly, hating how googly-eyed I know I am being, but … um. Even though he has a shirt on, I can tell that he’s ripped, and that’s impressive in and of itself.

I stick out my hand to introduce myself, but what I really want is to wrap my arms around his waist and pull him in for an indecent hello.

Instead I laugh to myself like a weirdo, and say, “I’m Amelia. Your new wife.”

“My wife ... right,” he says slowly, as if not knowing that’s who I am, or what I’m here for. “Well, okay, let’s get your shit in the truck.”

“Oh, okay,” I falter. I already feel like I messed something up, but I have no clue what. He didn’t even tell me his name, or seem like he wants a bride. It’s as if the word
wife
itself caused him to squirm.

He grabs my suitcases and carries them to the truck, dropping them into the bed and not even looking back to make sure I’m following. What an ass. I mean, yes, his actual ass is hot, hello. But also he is being a literal ass. Who treats a new bride like that?

Huffing, I watch him get in the driver’s seat, and when I don’t move to get in—because, I mean, call me crazy but I thought my new husband might open the door, you know, might think about me and be a gentleman, but instead his eyebrows are raised and he’s looking at me like I’m a little slow on the uptake—he unrolls the automatic windows and says, “You coming in, honey? Because I got places to go.”

“I’m not getting in unless I know your name. That feels creepy and weird, and like you might be an axe murderer.”

He sets his mouth in a firm line, turning on the ignition. “And telling you my name will kill the murder vibe?”

Is he for reals?

I don’t answer because what in God’s green earth would I even say to that?

“It’s Reed.” He doesn’t offer me anything more. It’s really windy out on the airstrip, there’s only fuzzy cell reception—and even if it were better, who would I call? My two besties are probably fucking their hot mountain men husbands as we speak. Well, maybe not Everly, because she’s Everly, but most certainly Delta, because she’s a woman on a mission when it comes to this.

I open the door, slide in, and buckle up. This is gonna be one hell of a ride. I feel Reed’s eyes on me and I cross my ankles, feeling completely over my head. And absolutely wrong for him.

I wanted a man who would scoop me up in his arms, and Reed looks like I’m the last thing he expected to marry.

T
his girl doesn’t look
like she’s ever been outdoors in her life. She has fake everything—except her smile. Damn, that is genuine as hell; it’s wide and bright, and like she has ... hope.

Except that smile I saw when I first stepped out of my truck is long gone.

Now, in the truck, she looks about as comfortable as I was the day the social worker showed up on my doorstep with a seven-month-old. Meaning, not at all.

And she doesn’t even know I have a kid yet.

“So ... do you live far from here?” she asks.

“Not very.” I’ve never done well with small talk, and God knows I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in a few months. My head isn’t clear enough to talk backstory with this woman.

She tries again. “Have you always lived in Alaska?”

“Born and raised.”

She’s watching me closely, her fingernails tapping on the door, her foot shaking incessantly. I turn to meet her gaze, but she quickly turns her head toward the window the moment I do.

Her long hair swishes, leaving the scent of vanilla shampoo wafting through the cab of my truck. My cock twitches with just the goddamn scent of her, and I realize it’s been a long time since I even thought about being with a woman. There aren’t many prospects out here—and none anywhere near as gorgeous as Amelia.

I went with Monique’s agency because I was guaranteed a woman who wanted to be a mother ... but right now I’m not interested in her taking care of anything besides my cock.

I bite my bottom lip, forcing my eyes on the road and not her perfectly shaped legs, a foot away. I wouldn’t mind pulling her into my lap, and giving her a ride she wouldn’t easily forget.

“What made you want to order a wife?” she asks. “Because, Reed, you seem really ... uninterested.”

“Shit, woman. Are you one of those high maintenance girls?”

She just huffs. Crosses her arms. Rolls her eyes.

I can’t help but smirk. A woman with an attitude turns me on in ways I don’t admit to just anyone.

“Don’t smirk. That’s rude, Reed.”

“You gonna get in my truck and start telling me what I can and cannot do?”

“Well, I mean, you should be nice to me. I can’t marry an asshole.”

“Oh, honey, I’m one hundred percent asshole.”

“Are you for reals right now?” She huffs again, exasperated. “Because, honestly, that isn’t funny.”

“No one’s laughing.” My humor may be deadpan in general, but I can’t help messing with her. She’s all fire and brimstone—and fucking sexy, and fucking pissed.

“I can’t do this if you’re going to tease me. I need you to respect me, Reed. This is supposed to be a marriage, not an opportunity for you to be a dick.”

“Wow.” I shake my head slowly, not having anticipated a woman like this. Hell, I figured Monique would do her best, but Amelia is all kinds of hot and bothered. “I didn’t expect to get a woman so demanding. I was hoping for someone more malleable.”

“Then you have the wrong girl.” Her voice seems to soften, and I don’t want to look at her because I know she’s the sort of woman who’s gonna be on the brink of tears minutes after she’s barking up my tree. “Because I’m not a doormat,” she continues, clearly trying hard to keep her voice even. “And I want a husband, not a jerk. I’ve had enough of those for a lifetime.”

“You want me to turn back around, honey?”

She huffs, turning on the bench seat to face me. I try to keep my eyes on the road, but damn, with her body twisted toward me all I can think about is the other ways I’d like her body to bend.

But I need her to stay. I have no fucking intention of taking her back to the airstrip. Hope needs a mother, and I have someone capable of that job, right here in the truck. I can’t lose her after she came so far, plus I need to go on my fishing trips next week and there’s no way I can manage that if I have my daughter.

Also, all I can think about at this particular moment is how gorgeous Amelia is, attitude or not.

“I don’t want you to go. I ordered you for a reason.”

“Can we start over then?”

“Girl, we’ve only been driving for fifteen minutes.” I shake my head. “You already need a redo?”

“It just seems like things are already all screwy. Like, you think I’m a bitch and I think you’re an ass.”

“I
am
an ass.”

She sighs. “Okay, whatever. Stick with that, Reed. See how well this all goes.” She turns back to the window, clearly annoyed.

I grab her hand, and the moment our skin touches I feel something pass between us. Damn, this woman is trouble.

I squeeze, she squeezes back.

“I want to be a wife,” she tells me softly, her face still turned toward the window. “I want to be your wife. I don’t want to go back to Portland.”

The word
wife
sends chills down my back, because the truth is, when I signed up for this gig, I was looking for a mother for Hope, not a wife. And I may be a self-proclaimed asshole, but I know I need to be nicer if I want this to go well.

This isn’t just a job; this is forever. And I need to get along with the woman who’s going to raise my daughter.

“How do you want to start over, Amelia?”

“You should have opened the door for me back at the airstrip. And maybe asked me about my life. And not been so....”

“Difficult?”

“Yes.”

I exhale, trying really fucking hard here, to make her happy. I pull the truck off the road, where there’s a big empty strip of gravel.

“Get out,” I say.

“What?”

“You heard me, Amelia. Get out of the truck.”

“You want me to leave? Like, on the road in the middle of nowhere? Oh my God, Reed!” She pushes open the door, turning to me with fiery eyes. “You are such a prick.”

I watch her get out of the truck, with difficulty—those heels she’s wearing are motherfucking ridiculous. She catches herself though, arms out for balance, and I just watch as she slams the door shut, staggering away from the car.

Well, fuck.

I get out, head to her side so I can try to calm this woman down. Is this how it’s always gonna be living with a woman—this woman? Because damn, what did I do to deserve this one?

Leaning against the cab, I cross my arms, watching her walk across the gravel going nowhere.

“I wanted you to get out so I could try again. Open the door just like you asked.”

She stops and turns to me. Seeing her silhouetted—with the mountains behind her, the blue Alaskan sky above, the bright sun hitting her skin so she glows—it’s impossible not to see her as a fucking angel. She’s got this tiny waist and these big tits … but more than that, she has soft features, wide eyes, and pouty lips, and is just about the perfect size for me to pick her up and put her anywhere I’d like.

And I know where I’d like her right now.

“I feel like you’re teasing me,” she says, not budging.

“I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a tease. That’s something you should know about me, honey: I say it like it is.”

“You don’t want me to leave?” She crosses her arms, studying me, not giving me any grace for our rocky start.

I run my hand over my beard, shaking my head. Amelia looks like she fell from heaven, though I’m damn certain she hasn’t earned any wings. Not with her attitude—a little fierce, a little bold. But also a little scared.

“Right about now,” I tell her, stepping away from the truck, and toward her, “I’d like you sitting my cock. So no, I don’t want you to go.”

She opens her mouth, snaps it shut. Raises an eyebrow. She steps toward me and speaks. “That is so inappropriate.”

“And you’re all about propriety in those
fuck-me-now
heels and that push-up bra?”

She smirks. Her eyes blink slowly, and her chin lowers. When she looks back up, I know what she’s thinking.

She wants to sit on me as badly as I want her to.

“I know a way we can get things off to a little better start,” I tell her.

“You want to get things off?”

We’re a foot apart and the air is hot, and her chest heaves as she breathes. I’d watch her tits rise and fall all day, but I don’t have forever. I need to get back to my place before too long.

“You’re funnier than I thought, Amelia.”

“No one thinks I’m funny.”

“What do they think?”

“They underestimate me.”

“I’m not underestimating you right now.” And I’m not. I can tell by her sassy and sweet attitude that she is one hell of a package. “But we haven’t given this thing a real test drive.”

She bites her bottom lip, suppressing a smile—a smile I want to see, because when I saw it before I knew it was one of a kind.

“What kind of ride would you like, Reed?” she asks coyly, as if she knows her play on words will get to me.

“Damn, woman, I think you know what kind of ride I want.”

I pull her to me, closing the space between us, and kiss those pouty lips. Hard.