The Fake Bride Loophole - A Mountain Man Romance

by Layla Valentine

  Banner gives me a friendly nod, while Lauren crosses her arms. “You’re thirty-seven.”

  “Gracious of you to remember,” I say.

  “You can fight this in court,” Lauren replies.

  “I’d need a lawyer. Know a good one? Ideally one that won’t cost more than my land?”

  I can almost hear her resolve deflating like a balloon. “Oh, Daley, how the hell did you get yourself into this mess?”

  “Me?! Why don’t you ask Simeon Cline? He’s the one aching for this piece of land. Fixated on his stupid luxury mountain resort and whatever. Like Teddy’s mountain would ever be for any of those fancy folks he’s so desperate to bring over…”

  Banner has his hands in his pockets. All he can offer is a shrug. His dealings with Cline have been minimal to zero. Lauren, on the other hand, has had to come between me and the loaded bastard every time he accosted me down in Dickinson.

  “Every time I look around, I feel more and more afraid that I might have to say goodbye to this place before I’m dyin’ of old age,” I tell Lauren.

  “You’re right, though,” she says. “Cline is desperate to bring his Colorado socialites over. He wants to make this the new Aspen, Daley. He’s bought a lot of the land below, but yours is prime real estate because once you’re out of the way, he can carve the resort into this side of the mountain—forest and wildlife be damned.”

  “I’m surprised the EPA would even allow it,” I mutter.

  “Cline’s got friends in high places, but because no one knows you, he can’t get to you other than through this Bachelor Amendment thing. You can’t let him do this. You’re the only person left standing between his vile ambition and the potential demise of Dickinson as we know it,” Lauren says.

  I’m surprised by her attitude. “I thought you were all for revitalizing Dickinson and getting more jobs down there?”

  Banner cuts in. “The luxury resort would force most of us to move out. Cline will do his damned best to make sure we become unwelcome in our own town. He plans on building staff apartments and buying up as much of the town as possible.”

  “He already owns the old theater and the gas stations,” Lauren adds.

  “What, both gas stations?” I ask.

  She nods. “Buffy’s and the Gas ’n’ Mart, too.”

  “Okay, so he’s definitely going somewhere with this.”

  “Yeah, over your head and into this goddamn mountain,” Lauren replies. “You have to stop him.” She says it as if I’m actually capable of doing something other than what she knows I’m already prepared to do. “Without killing him, Daley.”

  “Easier said. My only other option is to get a wife.”

  “Then get one!”

  Banner is the cold shower that no one asked for. “You’d still be thirty-seven when you’re married. Cline will fight this in court.”

  “And then, I’ll get a lawyer,” I reply dryly. “At least I’ll have a wife.” I have to pause and take a deep breath, running a hand through my hair. It’s grown since the last time I’ve cut it, reaching below my ears in an uneven way. I could do with a shave, too. “I can’t believe he’s doing this to me. I never hurt anyone, ever. I just asked to be left alone.”

  Lauren gives me this long and knowing look. She remembers when my parents died. She knows what I went through back then. “Daley… You should’ve stayed in Dickinson. You should’ve sold this cabin instead of your parents’ house.”

  “It’s a little late for hindsight, don’t you think?” I scoff. “Besides, if I could go back, I would do it all over again. I’ve been living off the land and the forest for twenty years, Lauren, and nothing could come close to the happiness I’ve experienced here, in this calm wilderness. But you’re right, though. I can’t let Cline take it away from me.”

  “If you want, I can talk to my cousin Louise,” Banner says awkwardly. “She’s recently divorced, but I know she wouldn’t say no to you, Daley.”

  Grunting softly, I try not to let despair grip me by the throat.

  I can’t really blame Cline for his persistence. A land so close to Theodore Roosevelt National Park is a goddamn treasure. It’s dirt gold, and realtors would kill one another to land a commission from this sale.

  But it’s my home. It was my summer home growing up, and it became my permanent home after my parents died. It’s my nest, my haven away from the madness. My own fortress of solitude, one might say.

  “He’s got Judge Durbin ready to go ahead with an eviction notice,” I say, remembering my conversation with the puny lawyer. “I think Sykes is keen on coming back at the end of the week to catch me wife-less. I told him she was at her parents’ house, visiting, then pointed my gun at his head when he started asking questions.” I look at Lauren. “In case you were wondering how that started.”

  She squeezes my shoulder gently. “It’s gonna be okay, Daley. We’ll figure something out. I can’t have Cline gentrifying our town like this. There’s so much potential in and around Dickinson… It angers me that he just wants to raze everything to the ground and blow this whole area up with dynamite for his ‘elite terrace.’”

  “Elite what?”

  “It’s what he called it when he explained his plans the other week.” Lauren sighs, genuinely worn out by the situation. “This would be a ginormous terrace with thermal pools and logwood fencing, a cocktail bar and a luxury barbecue area where his chefs would only grill freshly cut Wagyu beef… It’s a whole story, Daley, and no part of it bodes well for our district, despite the promise of lavish income.”

  “I agree. Money can’t replace what we’ve already got in Dickinson,” Banner says. “I’ve been trying to push for more artisanal shops to open, you know? I suggested doing craft fairs and music festivals. A couple miles down and north of here there’s a beautiful ridge coming out of a spacious plateau, perfect for a stage and tents and stuff.”

  “Hudson’s Peak, you mean?” I reply.

  He nods. “It’s easy to reach, plenty of cleaning jobs to be had before and especially after each event. There’s even a possibility of drawing a power line all the way to the base of the ridge, provided the local council approves it.”

  Lauren curses under her breath. “They’re in Cline’s pockets for now. I’ll bet one of them dug up the Bachelor Amendment, anyway.”

  A request comes through the deputy’s walkie-talkie. I don’t understand much of that crunching and warbling, but Banner seems used to it.

  “We gotta go, chief,” he says. “Marsha wants us back at the station.”

  “Well, that’s it for now,” Lauren says to me. “Consider yourself slapped on the wrists with regard to the rifle incident, and please… be careful from now on. Cline is ready to make things worse in a matter of days.”

  We say goodbye, and I watch them go back down the trail.

  Once their SUV pulls away and onto the gravel road leading to Route 94, Jax joins my side, sliding his wet nose under my hand—his usual way of asking for an ear scratch.

  I kneel and give him all the love I’ve got, turning a scratch into a hug. Somehow, I imagine he knows what I’m going through, which is why he lets me hold him like this.

  The rhythm of his thumping heart gives me a powerful reason to push forward. This is my place. It’s where I raised my wolfdog and my lazy cats. It’s where I sleep and eat and live. And no friggin’ billionaire is going to throw me out to build a thermal pool here. Or a luxury barbecue area.

  “What the hell is a luxury barbecue area, anyway?” I mutter to myself.

  Chapter 4

  Michelle

  Dickinson is smaller than I imagined. It’s listed as a city, but when compared to Minneapolis, it’s literally the size of my neighborhood. It doesn’t matter, though. This is where I’m stocking up on supplies before I head over to the park.

  The Gas ’n’ Mart is open early, thank the stars, so I go in and grab some latte cups, a handful of protein bars and a gallon of spring water. Everything else is cann
ed and packed in my hiking backpack, which is about two-thirds of my height. People always gasp when they see me with it—not my fault I’m petite!

  Once I reach the counter, I’m greeted by a gentleman in a red plaid shirt and denim overalls, smiling broadly despite a few visible gaps. He’s in his late sixties, and I’m surprised he’s still working, but I assume this current economy doesn’t go easy on anybody. I can only hope I’ll get to retire at a decent age. His name tag says Ed.

  “Good morning, Ed,” I tell him, mirroring his vivid and homey brightness.

  “Good morning, ma’am. How’s your day so far?” He rings up my items and slips them into a paper bag.

  “Not bad, actually. I’m about to go into the Teddy Roosevelt park.”

  “Oh! Weekdays are always better.”

  “Yeah, I plan on taking the lesser-traveled paths,” I reply.

  The bell above the door chimes as someone comes in. I only give myself a moment to look his way—a middle-aged man with curly hair, tweed coat tucked over one arm of his navy-blue suit and a Bluetooth headset in his left ear.

  I watch as he goes into the small snack aisle. There’s something about him, perhaps his sheer presence, that commands one’s full attention. He’s tall, with broad shoulders and piercing blue eyes. By the looks of things, he has a tailor on speed dial.

  “That’ll be fifteen forty-three, ma’am,” Ed tells me, and I offer my card. He seems a tad worried, though there is a card machine next to the till.

  “Would you mind if I pay cash?” I decide to ask, putting the card back into my wallet and offering him a twenty-dollar bill instead.

  Ed looks relieved. “Please, yes. I’m not that good with this new technology stuff…”

  “It’s the twenty-first century, Ed,” the suited man says from across the room. “Don’t mind him, miss. We have younger staff coming soon.”

  I don’t like the attitude. “Well, I’m perfectly happy with Ed’s service, if you ask me.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Ed says, giving me my change.

  Before I can head for the door, the suit walks over to my side.

  “I’m Simeon Cline, owner of this establishment, along with a few others.” He offers me a hand.

  Stealing a quick glance at Ed, I can tell Mr. Cline doesn’t have many fans here in Dickinson. It’s not exactly shocking, given his attitude.

  Curious, I shake his hand and smile. “It’s a pleasure making your acquaintance, Mr. Cline,” I say. “Michelle Perez.”

  “Please, call me Simeon.”

  “Only if you call me Michelle.”

  He looks happy. “Absolutely. So! What brings you to our lovely little town? I always stop by the Gas ’n’ Mart in the morning and ask the same question.”

  “How so?”

  “I’m looking to understand what brings people to Dickinson,” he says. “Given that I’ve got a considerable swath of real estate ownership in the area, I want to make sure I’m investing wisely.”

  Ed pretends to restock a chewing gum display, but one look at him and I see years of hard work and raising a family. That ring on his finger has seen its fair share of wear and tear, so to speak. But his eyes evoke kindness, his smile… patience. I wouldn’t trade him for some perky tween name Trixie just because she can operate a card machine.

  “I’m off to hike through the Teddy Roosevelt National Park,” I tell Simeon.

  “Ah. One of many,” he says and chuckles, “but brave nonetheless. I admire such endeavors!”

  “It’s just hiking through the woods. I’m not climbing Mount Everest.”

  “Even so. A woman on her own? In these parts? That’s brave!”

  I give Ed a curious look. “Is there something I should be wary of, in particular?”

  Before he can reply, however, Simeon hijacks the conversation, pointing out the large storefront window. In the distance, mountains rise against the pink and orange sunrise, their ridges covered with pine forests. “Just the natural splendor of this place,” he says. “The park rangers are all very nice and helpful fellows. I’ve made sure to make my voice heard during town councils and even at a state assembly level.”

  “Okay…”

  “See that mountain there? The smaller one to the east…”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s where I’m building a resort. Luxury ski and thermal spa haven!”

  I don’t like the sound of that. “Isn’t it protected land?”

  “Nope. That mountain is on the border of the national park and under no federal protection whatsoever,” Simeon replies, almost giddy with excitement. “This will be better than Aspen. The Swiss will come here in the winter to enjoy our ski slopes and luxurious barbecues.”

  “Luxurious barbecues…” Ed scoffs, no longer able to keep his thoughts to himself. “Sir, with all due respect, there is nothing glamorous about burning meat on a grill.”

  “I disagree. It’s absolutely luxurious when it’s a two-hundred-dollar piece of grass-fed Wagyu sizzling over a cedar-only fire,” Simeon replies, then looks to me for a reaction.

  All I have is a shrug. “Me, I’m all for barbecue and mulled wine. I’m not sure a luxury resort would work out here. This place strikes me as something middle-class people enjoy… Aspen is Aspen, Dickinson is… well, Dickinson.”

  Simeon seems disappointed. “You’d be surprised by how easy this whole region could turn into a winter wonderland, the Hamptons of North Dakota! Where’s your vision of the future?”

  On one hand, I understand the drive and ambition pushing him. I imagine he has spent hefty millions on real estate in the area, which means he’s desperate to make it worth more, to get a good return on his investment. But I seriously doubt he has a good understanding of North Dakota’s overall demographic. At the end of the day, these are the people who will come here first before others join them. Aspen didn’t become Aspen in one day. Neither did the Hamptons.

  And stripping the side of a mountain to build a resort feels… futile and even offensive to the people of Dickinson. Ed’s face tells me that much. Alas, few can change the mind of a stubborn millionaire, and I certainly don’t intend to waste my time trying.

  “I wish you the best of luck,” I tell Simeon, then give Ed a heartfelt smile. “And thank you for your service.”

  I recognized the pin on his lapel. Grandpa Enrique has one. I used to play with it whenever he flew in from Puerto Rico to see us.

  Ed nods politely. “We’ll see you around, ma’am.”

  “Would you like to join me for dinner when you get back from your trip?” Simeon steps in, offering me a business card. “I worry I didn’t make myself clear enough with regards to my resort plans.”

  “That’s kind of you, Simeon, but I’ll be honest. I’m a woman of nature and simplicity. Your vision was clear from the very beginning. I just think it’s pretentious, as well as a waste of money and an insult to the state’s entire demographic, but hey… it’s your fortune you’re throwing out the window.”

  I head for the door, but Simeon catches up, putting on a debonair smile. “So, that’s a no on dinner?” he asks.

  “I’m afraid so,” I reply. “Have a nice day, Simeon.”

  Leaving the Gas ’n’ Mart behind, I can almost feel his gaze on me, drilling holes into the back of my neck. I don’t even care anymore. That mountain he pointed at is quite close to where I plan on starting my hike, and no matter how many times I look at it, I still can’t imagine a stupid resort.

  The wilderness is beautiful. Why spoil it?

  Chapter 5

  Michelle

  So far, so good. I’m still amazed by how much I can fit into a single camping backpack, and how teeny-tiny my tent is when wrapped in its lightweight bag.

  Day two of my hike is interesting, to say the least. I’m basking in the very heart of the wilderness, about half a mile off the known path. There is nothing but endless greenery, with old pines and firs greeting me every step of the way. Dew drips from the gra
ss at sunrise—tiny pearls rolling down and seeping into the hard ground. A month from now, the first snows will powder the mountain peaks, but until then, I’m enjoying the crispy air and the freshness of… well, everything. My lungs feel cleaner. My skin cold but brighter. My heart filled with wonderful things.

  I always forget about the world when I’m out here like this. Existence itself is reduced to a primal, splendiferous state of being that is superior to anything else. I doubt a Tibetan monk ever felt the enlightenment that I experience whenever I trek through the woods.

  Most people don’t fully understand what it’s like to be at one with nature. Yes, I have all of these worldly items on me, but I am able to disconnect. The last time I tried hiking with other people, they brought Bluetooth speakers. I mean, come on…

  Since I’m on a bit of a cleanse after that hefty Sunday dinner, most of my food consists of protein bars, toast, peanut butter and jelly, canned tuna and rice. For breakfast, I usually settle for some coffee and one of the protein bars, so I rekindle a small fire and start some water boiling in a tin cup. I love the smell of burnt wood. It’s probably one of those scents that I will carry with me into the afterlife.

  Everything is simpler out here. At home my coffee usually involves a brewed espresso and foamed milk, but in the woods it’s just instant coffee and hot water. Even my favorite tastes are reduced to their most primitive forms, and I don’t mind that. It reminds me of a time before we discovered spices and six kinds of sugars. Before we had phones and tablets and jumbo-sized TVs. Before we had electricity.

  By the time I’m done with my bitter coffee, the fire is out, so I pour some water on the remaining embers and ashes, then pack up and head for the main path. According to my GPS navigator, I still have a day’s worth of hiking to the top before I reach the other side and go back inside the limits of the park. If I’m not mistaken, I’m right where Simeon Cline was pointing the other day.