Wifed By The Mountain Man: A Modern Mail-Order Bride Romance (7 page)

I
need
to get my head on fucking straight.

For a moment there, in the hallway with Amelia, I swear I looked at her and wanted her for more. Wanted her for everything.

But shit, that is way too much too fast. I didn’t plan on being a father, and I sure as hell don’t want a wife ... a real wife.

Except when I looked at Amelia—with her eyes half-closed, her mouth parted, her soft skin and tender touch—I couldn’t help but wonder if going all-in with her is really the worst idea.

At dinner, it’s clear Amelia’s pulling back, and I see her mind working as she feeds Hope spoonfuls of peas and carrots, as she plates spaghetti for her and me. We clink wine glasses … but damn, it’s tense.

“You wanna talk about something, Amelia?”

She gives a short laugh. “Talk? Wow, you’re a completely different man from the one I met eight days ago.”

“Well, eight days ago I was a fucking sleep-deprived zombie.”

“Earmuffs, Reed,” she says, deadpan.

I nod. “I know. I’m just … Amelia, what’s your problem?”

Just then Hope starts crying, reaching for Amelia. “Upupup.”

Amelia lets out a long sigh. “She’s really smart.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I read those baby books you haven’t cracked open. They say that having lots of words at nine months means she’s a baby genius.”

I narrow my eyes at Amelia. I wish I could read her mind. Why is she telling me this? I’m smarter than to get my hopes up; I have no doubt she’ll leave eventually. The idea that a woman would actually want this life is beyond the realm of reality.

I’m a stranger, and while I may have a cock I know for certain Amelia loves, she doesn’t seem like she wants to be a mother. She wants to decorate nurseries and play make-believe. I need more than that for Hope.

But, honestly, even if she plans on leaving, I hope she’ll stay till the end of the week. I have a charter halibut trip planned all day tomorrow, leaving from a port in Skagway; the very next day I have a two-day fishing trip planned. It’s one of the reasons I requested a bride when I did. I don’t want to lose some of the prime fishing time this season because of my daughter. I have to get it in while I can.

“You read the books?” I ask.

“Yeah.” Amelia wipes Hope’s fingers with a washcloth. “What else am I gonna do up here while you’re gone playing and she’s asleep?”

There’s a sharp edge to her voice that I haven’t heard before.

“I don’t know. What did you do before you came up here?”

“I was a college student, Reed. You know that. Paying off my loans was part of the deal, right?”

“But what did you go to school for?”

“Fine Arts.” She smirks, taking Hope from the high chair and sitting back in her dining room chair, bouncing the baby on her lap. “Lot of good that will do me. I’m not even a good artist.”

“Is this one of those things girls do, where they say they’re terrible at something but are actually world-renowned?”

“No,” she sighs. “Reed, you have me pegged all wrong. I’m not like that. I don’t need you to think I’m amazing at something I’m not.”

“I thought that was your whole deal—the reason you put on heels you swear you never wore before, with a manicure and perfect hair. You wanted to come off as something you weren’t.”

“Stop being an ass.” She eats a forkful of pasta, clearly annoyed. And fuck, I don’t even know why.

“I can’t win with you right now, you’re in some mood I don’t understand.”

“Because you don’t want to,” she mutters.

“What?” I ask, legitimately annoyed now. “You don’t think I want to understand you?”

“Isn’t that the entire point of this dream-scenario for you? Get what you want from me, without giving me a lick in return.”

“Oh, I’ll give you a lick, honey.” I smirk, running my hand over my beard as I watch her eyes widen—not the pouty-mouth response I expect. “I’ll give you all the licks. You’re the one refusing them.”

She rolls her eyes aggressively, standing and setting Hope in her Jumperoo.

“Are you seriously going to talk about going down on me right now? I swear that’s the only thing on your mind.”

“Right, and you never think about sex.” I stand, walking toward her with one single thing on my mind: her pussy. “Just so we’re clear, Amelia, I want to understand you.”

“Do you?” she asks, shaking her head. “This all feels so one-sided, Reed. You get everything here. What do I get?”

I turn my head toward Hope. “What do you want, Amelia?”

Her head falls back. Her top slides off her shoulder, and tight yoga pants cover her round ass. Her hair is tied up, messy, with tendrils framing her face, and her skin is free of make-up, leaving nothing to the imagination. She looks undone, and it’s hot as hell.

“I think I want something you can’t give.”

I swallow, draw in a deep breath. I’m completely over my head. I don’t know how to go all-in, so I draw back.

“I’m going on a fishing trip tomorrow. Leaving at dawn, won’t be back until after eight at night. And the next day I’m leaving for an overnight trip. We’re going out to deeper waters.”

“Of course you are.” She purses her lips, disappointment in her eyes. I know it’s shitty of me to ask what she wants and then not do anything about it, but damn, this is all way more than I bargained for.

“Why am I surprised?” she adds as she takes Hope from the Jumperoo. “You wanted a glorified babysitter, and that’s exactly what I am.”

“You wanna go? Go.”

“Right, like I’m gonna leave Hope with a man who wants out.” Hope is already nestled in her shoulder, yawning.

“I don’t want out of that. I want to be her father. I
am
her father.”

“Well, that’s fantastic, but I think you’ve gotten confused on a few things, Reed.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?” I ask, fucking pissed. She wants to call me out when I have been one hundred percent up front about what I want? She wants me to be a man I have no intention of being?

She wants me to declare my motherfucking love, but the truth is I brought her here for one reason and one reason only.

She wants to be something she isn’t.

Mine.

“You say you want better for Hope than you had? Well, she deserves a real family. This”—she points to the space between us—“this isn’t a real family. This is make-believe.”

She grabs a baby bottle from the counter and storms upstairs.

She may not be my wife, and right now she’s not my lover, but clearly I’m fucking screwed.

A
small part
of me thinks that Reed won’t go on the fishing trip, that he’ll walk into the guest room—which is, of course, where I slept in the early morning hours—and tell me he’s sorry for being an asshole, and beg for my forgiveness.

But he doesn’t. And why would he? He has this macho mountain man thing going on—which, okay, is seriously fucking hot as hell, but if that’s the level of his depth, I don’t want any part of it.

I want a man who wants me. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. And I stayed with Derrick far too long, hoping that one day he’d give me what I craved.

Maybe I’ve stayed here too long also.

I tiptoe to Hope’s doorway and peek inside; she’s still sound asleep. Grateful for a few minutes alone, I pad down the stairs to make some coffee.

Reed is standing next to the kitchen island, with a thermos in hand and a cooler on the counter.

“Just heading out,” he says, grabbing his stuff. “You gonna be okay here?”

“I’m fine, Reed.”

I look down at my hands, feeling stuck, feeling full of emotions I don’t know how to articulate. Emotions that make me feel weak, that make me wish I had a man who wanted to help me be strong.

Reed clears his throat. “Amelia,” he begins. I force my eyes to his. They’re as conflicted as mine.

Before he can say anything else, Hope starts crying from her crib.

My eyes fill with tears, and I wipe them away as fast as I can. This is all a lot harder than some internet site made it out to be.

Last night I was wrong about what I said. This isn’t make believe ... this is real. And really confusing.

“I should go get her,” I say softly.

“You want me to stay?” he asks, saying exactly the wrong thing.

“Just go, Reed. I’m fine. I got this.”

And I want him to leave. I honestly can’t handle him right now. I said he was an ass the moment I met him, and it’s no different now—in fact, it’s worse. Because I see how warm he is to Hope, and how cold he is to me.

The only time he’s hot with me is when I take off my clothes.

“All right,” he says. “I’ll be back tonight.”

He steps toward me like he wants to hug me, or kiss me—and I don’t know how I feel about any of that, but luckily it doesn’t matter. Because instead of pulling me close, he goes right past me and leaves through the front door.

* * *

H
ope
and I spend the morning in the nursery. She has a pile of soft blocks that she throws, then crawls after, and I’m painting a border above the bead board trim. It’s a string of baby animals: a fawn, a bunny, a squirrel, a chickadee. The bedroom door is closed, which makes Hope happy because she’s free to crawl around. My paints are high on the dresser, and I hold one little pot of color at a time.

“You like this one, baby girl?” I ask as I add a white spot to the bunny’s back.

She rolls over like a puppy, screeching in glee.

“Okay, crazy baby, let’s go have lunch.” I screw the lid on the paint and pick her up. Planting kisses on her cheeks, I inhale the sweet baby smell.

She may be demanding and selfish as heck, but she is also irresistible.

We’re sitting at the table, Hope with crackers and tiny slivers of a soft peach, when I hear a knock on the front door.

It’s Lottie.

“So you’re still here,” she says, as I let her inside.

“Yep, haven’t been run out just yet.”

“Hope giving you much grief?” Lottie helps herself to coffee, and sits down at the table.

“I don’t have a ton of experience with babies, but I’m managing.” I put a sippy cup of milk on Hope’s tray, hoping she’ll reach for it. I read that babies can wean off of bottles around this age.

Lottie raises an eye. “You staying put then?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I tell her, grabbing the basket of laundry from the couch and bringing it over to the large table, where I begin folding a load of towels. “I didn’t exactly know being a mom was part of the deal. I just don’t know if I’m ready to take on so much responsibility.”

“What
are
you ready for? You just want to be a mail-order bride and sit around the house all day? What would you do if Hope weren’t here, and it was just you and Reed?”

I bristle at her question. I mean, it’s kind of forward.

“What? Don’t look at me like that.” Lottie swats the air, brushing me off. “I’m seventy-two, was married to my husband for thirty-three years—until he passed, bless his soul. I raised four boys, lived in Alaska my entire life. I know a thing or two about men who want to live this sort of life. And I know a thing or two about the women who stay home.”

I pick up a hand towel, folding it in half. “What do you know about the men who live out here?”

“Living in the sticks isn’t for the faint of heart, but having a man who loves the land and the sea, who wants to be in the wild, breathing fresh air and forging his own path … that’s the best sort of man a woman could ask for. They love fiercely, and don’t quit. Ever.”

“I don’t think Reed wants a woman.”

Lottie laughs. “Oh, sweetie, no man wants a woman. No man wants to be tamed. You have to show him it’s what he needs.”

“I don’t want to force someone to want me.”

Lottie smiles softly, patting the table. “You’re looking at it wrong, Amelia. You see Reed with Hope, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Imagine him three months ago. That poor boy was over his head in a hundred ways. But Hope showed him that he couldn’t live without her.”

I shake my head. “He leaves every day the first chance he gets. Fishing or setting traps like he’s Daniel Boone or something. He’s acting like a child.”

“You want a happy man? Let him be. He’ll come back when he’s ready.”

“I feel like you’re telling me to be a doormat.”

Lottie picks up her coffee, take a sip. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. Let the boy play—eventually he’ll tire of it and want to come home to you. But in the meantime, sweetie, you can play, too.”

“How? I am out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Well, that brings us back around to where we started. You moved here knowing you’d be in the woods, and that didn’t scare you off. So what were you hoping you’d get to do all day?”

I shrug. The truth is I’ve always wanted simple things. “I like to craft and sew and scrapbook. I prefer hobbies over sophisticated art, but that never seemed like a viable career choice. I’m painting a mural in Hope’s nursery right now, and if I could work on that every day, sign me up.”

That’s what I tell Lottie, but it’s not the whole truth. Deep down what I really want is to love and be loved.

Hope throws her sippy cup on the ground, giggling as she smashes crackers in her fist.

Picking up the cup, I set it back on her tray. Hope points straight at me, and I pause, smiling at this messy-faced beauty.

“Mama,” she says, giving me a toothy grin.

My eyes fill fast, with a magic I’ve never felt.

Lottie stands, empty mug in hand. She pats my back.

“You’re doing good, sweetie,” she tells me. “I didn’t expect it when I met you a week ago—but, looking at you now, I may have been wrong about what kind of city girl you are.”

I swallow, my eyes still on Hope.

“Mama,” she coos again.

Maybe I’ve found the love I’m looking for.