Even before she arrived, when Mason asked what I’d done to get ready for my wife, I said she was coming here to serve me, and that was that.
That isn’t a fucking marriage.
Maybe that’s the way I treat everyone. Fit in my box, or I don’t have space for you.
I look at my brother, a guy who’s clearly down on his fucking luck. A guy who’s carrying a shit-ton of guilt over my parent’s death … and what have I done to help him with that? Nothing. I just get pissed when he isn’t ready to step up and work, be the sort of man I am.
It’s pretty insulting.
“This whole time, I’ve pushed you when you weren’t ready for it,” I tell Mason.
“You think I’m weak,” he says, “and maybe I am. But damn it, I want to be strong. I want to get my shit together—but, Boone, everyone deals with their stuff differently. It’s taking me longer than it’s taking you.”
“I hear you—I do—but I’m still pissed about what happened here with Delta. I was planning on laying my heart on the line for that girl tonight, but you got to her first.”
“It wasn’t like that. You didn’t give her a chance to explain.”
“Would her talking change things?”
“Boone, you may be a fucking mountain man, but you’re a goddamned fool.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Boone.” Mason shakes his head. “Talking changes everything.”
Chapter Twenty
Delta
I’m pretty sure my ankle is twisted. I mean, I don’t think it’s broken, but a half hour after the fall my ankle is swollen and ugly and hurts like hell.
But I don’t know what hurts more: my foot, or my feelings.
Boone didn’t even give me space to explain.
He dismissed me, didn’t even consider me, wouldn’t hear me out.
He let me go, and didn’t come after me.
And now I’m stuck in a hole about eight feet deep, in the woods. Why is this even here?
Also, I could ask myself, why was I running through the woods in the first place? Obviously I’d have had to return at some point to get my stuff—my luggage and wallet and phone. It was like the idiot decisions girls make in scary movies.
I’m the idiot girl.
In, like, a thousand ways.
And that’s why I start crying.
I never meant to kiss Mason. Obviously. And seriously, Boone is his identical-freaking-twin-brother. Give me a break.
He didn’t smell like Boone, or taste like Boone, and he sure as hell didn’t kiss like Boone—but I didn’t know that until my mouth was already firmly planted on his.
A little late.
And then before I could explain that I don’t have some twin-brother fetish, Boone just pushed me away.
I’m trying to hold it together, but it’s getting late … though not dark. It never gets dark in Alaska this time of year. But, really, it feels dark down here in a freaking hole in the woods.
And all I want is to yell at Boone. I should have punched him in the gut before I ran. He deserves that. He deserves more. I was going to give him my entire heart, for reals. Forever. And then one look at a stupid mistaken lip-lock and he tosses me aside.
Such bullshit. I may have wanted a mountain man, but I do not want an asshole.
Though I’m starting to think there might not be much of a difference.
I scream out in frustration.
As if he was just waiting for my cry for help, I see Boone. My Boone, looking down at me.
“Shit. Delta?” Boone asks, concerned.
“Hey. So.” I shrug, pointing toward my propped ankle. It’s propped on a pile of dirt. I’m classy like that.
“Is it broke?”
“I think it’s just sprained.
“Shit. What the hell were you thinking?”
“That my fiancé just broke things off with me. In the middle of nowhere. Without cell service. I was thinking that my life was a pretty massive cluster-fuck and that I was basically screwed.”
“Right.” Boone runs his hand through his hair and I want him to say he is sorry and beg for my forgiveness. I don’t know when I became such a sappy, desperate woman, but I’m guessing it was somewhere in the space of this week, when I realized being his was the only thing I wanted. “Hang on; I’ll get help.”
He doesn’t apologize, just steps from the edge of the hole.
It sounds like he’s jogging off, and I know I didn’t get terribly far from the house. I mean, I may be stupid but I’m not such an idiot that I’d run into a bear-infested mountain without protection. I just figured I’d take a leisurely run to the edge of the property and clear my head.
It didn’t work. Not even sort of.
“Delta,” Boone calls, now back from his mission to get help. “Can you hold onto this rope?”
I nod, because I can, and I want out. And soon enough I see the crew of fishing and hunting guides crowd around the hole, around me, and a few jump into the hole, helping lift me into a makeshift sling that the guys tie around my waist. And then Boone holds the rope, pulling me up with his bare hands and brute strength, and I want to both kiss him and smack him for coming out here and finding me. I want to run and hide, and I want to be found.
Which makes me feel like a real throwback in terms of feminism and women’s lib, because this is the guy who was just a complete ass to me ... and then the moment he becomes my knight in shining armor, all I want is to jump his bones.
Still, I’m not jumping anything because my ankle hurts like hell. Instead of slapping him, I let him pull me into his arms and carry me out of the woods, into the lodge, up the stairs and onto our—I mean, his—bed.
“It really hurts,” I tell him, but he’s not listening. He’s already sending Sally downstairs for bandages and ice packs. He’s already rooting around for ibuprofen and a glass of water. He’s already sitting on the edge of the bed, telling me to open up as he sets the pill on my tongue.
I swallow.
I hate this—letting him save me, when the truth is he pushed me away.
But also ... maybe it’s exactly what I want. Him to stay. Me to stay. No one to go, ever.
I love him.
Loved him?
I want him, maybe more than ever.
“Delta,” he begins, once my foot is wrapped tightly and an ice pack is set on top. Pillow under my foot, and my back propped up with a mountain of pillows.
“Yes?” I don’t want to fight. I thought when I first met him that we were bad for one another. But someone invented the phrase so bad it’s good for a reason.
We aren’t bad for one another, we’re perfect.
Boone’s tension is back; his face is covered in hard lines and unforgiving eyes. It isn’t fair. I want to explain, but I hate that I have to.
“I have something to tell you,” he says.
I draw in a sharp breath. Pastor Vince is coming tomorrow. We should be getting married. That was what I wanted to tell him—announce—this afternoon when I found him in the outbuilding. I wanted to tell him I was his, undoubtedly, forever.
“What is it, Boone?”
“I know you can’t move, so I’m going to get Sally to pack your things. It’s time to go.”
My eyes fill with tears, and whatever confidence I carried is gone. Boone doesn’t want to hear me out.
He doesn’t want me at all.
Chapter Twenty-One
Boone
Delta sits back on the pile of pillows, her foot propped up. I hate to see her this way—tears in her eyes, shaking her head, confused.
I fucked it up again.
“Don’t cry, Delta,” I tell her, taking her hand.
“I hate it when people say that. Why is crying so bad anyway? It’s what makes me human.”
“I didn’t say you shouldn’t be human, woman. I just said ... don’t.... Okay, I did say not to cry.”
The corner of her lip pulls up ever so slightly. “Did you just
admit defeat, Boone?”
I shrug, running my hand over my beard, a smile hitching across my face. Damn it, I am so over my head with this woman.
“How about I try again. Why are you crying?”
She snorts, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. I stand and grab her a tissue from the bedside table.
“Mostly because you just told me to pack my bags and go.”
Oh. So maybe my phrasing was completely fucked up.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not great with words, with speeches and fucking declarations.”
“What were you trying to declare, Boone?”
“That I love you. So fucking much. That I want to marry you.”
Her eyes go wide. “And you were letting me know you loved me by telling me to go?”
“No.” I exhale, taking her hands in mine, wanting to pull her into my arms and kiss her lips and hold her heart. But I need to explain first, because her eyes are wide and scared, and I don’t want her to carry that fear anymore. “I was telling you that you needed to have your shit packed because I’m taking my woman to a proper courtroom, getting you some white dress and flowers and whatever shit girls like on their wedding day. I wanted you packed so I could take you to Anchorage and do this right.”
“Oh, Boone,” she says, shaking her head.
And that’s when I’m like, fuck me now. Really? She doesn’t want me after all? Because I swear to God I thought I figured her out. Figured us out.
“I was an ass for thinking you wanted my brother. And I was an ass for making this move harder on you then it needed to be. You can do yoga where you damn well please. And I’ll get all these dead animals out of the entire lodge; they’re old and dusty as shit anyway. And I’ll make Trey create a new menu of all-vegan food, and we can all eat fucking spinach and couscous.”
“You don’t need to eat couscous to convince me to stay. But I’m not going to Anchorage with you.” But then she squeezes my hand, and it gives me a sliver of hope that maybe ... maybe there is something here between us. “Boone, I may not have grown up out in the sticks, but I never wanted some fancy ceremony. I just wanted an adventure, and I thought that being so young and settling down would mean that I would have to give all that up.”
“But?”
“But marrying you, Boone, is not settling. It’s not defeat. It’s more than I could have imagined.”
My lungs fill with relief. “I love you, Delta.” I kiss her; her soft lips part, and I promise her so damn much with my mouth. I promise her everything.
“I’m not asking you to change all this stuff here at the lodge,” she says, pulling away, looking into my eyes. “Don’t do it for me.”
I smooth the hair back from her face, cradling her in my arms. “Delta, I’d do anything for you.”
“And I’d do anything for you.” She rests her forehead against mine. “I love you, Boone,” she whispers.
“So you’ll be my wife?”
“I will.”
* * *
The next day her foot is much less swollen, and I wrap it securely after helping her shower. Dirk finds her a set of crutches, and she sits on a stool in her bathroom braiding her hair.
I watch her from the doorway, smiling at this mail order bride who has surprised me in so many ways. I thought I was getting a wife, but somehow I ended up with a woman who complements me perfectly. She’s the cream in my coffee, the fucking icing on the cake. She’s the cherry on top, and she is mine.
“What are you smiling about?” she asks, looking at me in the mirror. She’s wearing a white strapless sundress, and her sun-kissed skin glows. Her shoulders are sleek and her tits are perky, and she is just goddamn perfect.
“I’m ready to start our life.”
“Dammit, Boone,” she says, smiling. “If you’d sweet-talked me like that a week ago, we would never have fought. I wouldn’t have run. And I wouldn’t have sprained my ankle.”
“Your ankle will heal, honey.”
“Sure, but it will make consummating this marriage a bit more difficult.”
I come up behind her, kissing her neck, breathing heavily into her ears. She shivers, exhales. Sinks into me.
“I think I can find a way to fuck you even if you have a sprained ankle.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she says, turning on her stool to face me. “Because like right now, for example, I could lean over and put your cock in my mouth. But….” She shrugs, smiling like she knows how badly I want her. “You already got dressed.”
“Oh, girl, that doesn’t need to stop us. Ever.”
She laughs, unbuckles my jeans, then takes my hardening cock in her hands, purrs as she wraps her perfect lips around it.
After she finishes, swallows my seed, she looks up at me with eyes full of love.
I pull up my pants, then I get down on one knee, pulling the five-carat diamond ring from my pocket and sliding it on her finger.
“Boone,” she murmurs.
“Now it’s time for you to marry me, Delta,” I order her, lifting her up in my arms. “No more stalling.”
“I wasn’t stalling, Boone. I was giving you a freaking blowjob.” She grins, wrapping an arm around my neck, staring at me.
The love we have for one another swirls around us, creating this aura of intensity that no one can break.
I carry her out of the bedroom, toward the dock where we’re exchanging our vows and beginning the rest of our life.
I may have ordered Delta, but she’s the one who has complete control over my heart.
Prologue
Grabbing the Prosecco from the fridge, Everly finds three mason jars, pops the cork, and divvies up the bubbly. The goal tonight is to forget the reality of the situation she and her two best friends have found themselves in.
Homeless. Jobless. Boy-less.
Champagne will certainly help the cause.
“Is that the last bottle?” Delta asks, as Everly balances all three glasses in her hands and walks back into the living room.
Everly moans as she delivers the drinks. She’s wearing her hair in a messy bun and her nerd-girl glasses contribute to her low-key appearance. But tonight she isn’t acting low-key. Tonight she is dramatic and drunk.
A dangerous pairing for any twenty-two-year-old woman.
“The state of my checking account was so depressing I was like, eff it, and bought two more bottles,” she says.
“That’s what I love about you, Everly,” Delta snorts. “You’re just so damn responsible.” She takes the glass from Everly’s hand and sets it on the coffee table before screwing the cap back on a bottle of eco-friendly nail polish. She’s just painted daisies on her big toes, as if declaring herself the ultimate flower child. Her long hair and boho dress complete the look. She’s a vegan, through and through, and living in Portland, Oregon makes her lifestyle easy.
Clinking the rims of their glasses, Everly takes a long sip. “I know, it’s hard to be such a put-together adult, but somebody has to do it.” She smirks, knowing she’s anything but put-together.
“No, but like, for reals, what are we going to do?” Amelia, who is braiding her hair, asks. She’s in ratty sweats and a tank top, but she gets a pass considering Derrick, her boyfriend of four years, just broke up with her. “I mean, all of us were legit counting on staying at Derrick’s summer house for the next three months. Now we’re going to get kicked out of here in a week. Then what?”
“Calm down. It’s all going to work out,” Everly tells her, not believing the words herself, but knowing Amelia needs the affirmation—considering she’s the one recovering from an unexpected break-up.
Everly falls onto the couch, squeezing between her two best friends. They all take drinks of the bubbly, each lamenting their own personal hell.
They aren’t exactly on top of the world. And they feel deceived. The entire universe led them to believe that if they went to college they would be grown-ups. But here they are, all three of them a week out of Orego
n State College, with no job prospects, no boyfriends, and—apparently—no housing.
“This sucks,” Amelia says, her head falling on Everly’s shoulder. “Why didn’t a career counselor ever mention the fact that a Fine Arts degree wouldn’t help me? All it did was teach me that I’m more of a hobbyist in terms of creating visual masterpieces. Like, I can legit scrapbook, but that isn’t a job.”
“Um, sweetie,” Delta says, “my degree is in Hospitality. There are literally no jobs for me.”
“You can be a hotel desk clerk,” Everly suggests.
“Yeah, except I didn’t need a degree for that, and it won’t offer me health insurance or pay my student loans. It’s not realistic.”
“I know,” Everly says. “Even if I sold a story to some magazine, I’d make what—fifty bucks if I was lucky? And I can’t afford to sit here and write the next great American novel. That won’t pay any of the bills.”
Everly thought a degree in English Literature would help her become a writer, but so far she’s only completed a few short stories about her life as a college student. Not exactly inspiring.
“At this point I would do anything to stop feeling so out of control. I just want a plan,” Amelia says. “I feel desperate.”
“I’m not desperate, I’m just horny as hell. I haven’t been with someone in like, three months,” Delta moans. “I want a husband, someone to keep me warm at night and fuck me all day long.”
“Then we should have gotten MRS degrees, not BAs,” Everly says, sighing into her champagne. “Not that I’m exactly ready for marriage.”
Delta and Amelia both look at Everly, giving her puppy dog eyes. It’s no secret that she’s a virgin, and if anyone needs a man, it’s her.
“What?” Everly shrugs. “I’m not holding out for Mr. Right. The problem is, I’m just never going to meet a guy who is okay with taking it slow.”
BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN: The Complete Collection Page 19