Mail Ordered Bride

by Tory Baker

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Mail Ordered Bride

  Tory Baker

  Contents

  Mail Ordered Bride

  Blurb

  1. Stone

  2. Carly

  3. Stone

  4. Carly

  5. Stone

  6. Carly

  7. Stone

  8. Carly

  9. Stone

  10. Carly

  11. Stone

  12. Carly

  13. Stone

  14. Stone

  15. Carly

  16. Stone

  17. Carly

  18. Stone

  19. Carly

  20. Stone

  21. Carly

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon from Tory

  Links

  Other Books by Tory Baker

  Mail Ordered Bride

  Tory Baker

  Mail Ordered Bride

  By Tory Baker

  Edited: Kasi Alexander

  Contact Tory:

  Newsletter: https://goo.gl/qmNkcM

  Email: torybakerbooks@gmail.com

  Copyright © XXX 2017 by Tory Baker

  First E-book Publication: XXX 2017

  Photographer: Wander Aguiar Photography

  Cover model: Jamie Walker and Tara McMichen

  Photo provided by: Wander Book Club

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of any part of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  This literary work is fiction. Any name, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.

  Please respect the author and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials that would violate the author’s rights.

  Created with Vellum

  Blurb

  In the wilds of Alaska single women are few and far between.

  An online site to find the perfect bride seems ridiculous, but Stone is willing to give it a try.

  As he looks at Carly’s pictures and reads her words, he’s convinced she’s the one.

  He spends his nights imagining what it will be like to finally touch her, to sink inside and hear her cry out his name. When she finally gets there, she’ll be lucky if he doesn’t tie her to his bed.

  Too bad the woman getting off the plane is not the one he agreed to marry.

  Chapter One

  Stone

  I slam the door against the wind with a hard bang. The Alaskan winds are gearing up for winter and they’re going to be harsh about it. I work in the midst of nature’s most hellish elements, on fishing boats, so this isn’t exactly welcome news, even if it is to be expected. It’s a cold fucking job, but it more than pays the bills, it keeps me out of the nine-to-five grind that would probably kill me, and it lets me be free, smell clean air and live, which is more than I could do in the city. I’d die going back to the life I had before.

  I walk over to the fireplace and stoke the ashes from the fire I had roaring before I left this morning. I make quick work of adding more wood and in no time I can hear the crackling of the fire and feel the warmth from the blaze. My cabin isn’t huge. I have a secondary heat source, but it’s about sixty in here right now, so the fire is definitely needed.

  I look around the large great room with a sense of pride. I built this house from the ground up. I did everything, from cutting the logs to honing the wood. It’s mine, completely. The polished wood ceilings and walls shine, and the ceilings are huge. I didn’t want an attic. I wanted space. I’m tall at 6’10 and the last thing I want to worry about is bumping my head when I walk into my own damn house. I’m a big hulk of a man, broad and tall, with muscles gained from working outdoors for the last fifteen years. I wanted a place where I could be comfortable. I made this house to reflect that. The great room is indeed great. Cathedral ceilings, wood floors, ceilings, and walls. There are large top-to-bottom windows that showcase the beautiful—but deadly—landscape. The room is open to the kitchen, mainly because I didn’t want walls to hold me in, either. One outer wall contains nothing but large, rectangular windows that start at the floor and go up about nine feet before they stop. There are three of those in a wide vertical display that’s broken only by about a foot and a half of shiplap between them. A glass door follows those and then three more windows, for a uniform geometric design that feeds my OCD while maintaining my need to feel like I’m outside, even when I’m not. The kitchen contains one large wall of cabinets with granite counters and a copper farmer’s sink. There’s a large bar in the middle of the room, made from shiplap and butcher block counters. The stove and fridge are on a side wall creating an L-shaped layout and keeping the kitchen streamlined and uncluttered.

  Yes. This house is me. This land is me. I might have been twenty-one when I moved here, but now at thirty-six I am Alaskan. I couldn’t be happy anywhere else.

  There is only one thing that I’m missing. A woman. Women here are few and far between. The ones that are here usually have men who keep them close. The ones that don’t have a man, for whatever reason, are usually hardened by the lifestyle. They don’t call it the wilds of Alaska for nothing. That doesn’t appeal to me.

  I have a clear vision of the kind of woman I want.

  I’ve jacked off to the vision of her for years.

  She’d be tall. I’m a big man with a big cock, and I don’t want to feel like I’m risking hurting a woman just because I get a little rough in the bedroom. She’d have blond hair. Hair to remind me of the warm Alaskan sunshine that blazes across the mountains. She’d have blue eyes the color of the water that owns part of my soul and she’d be able to care for herself when I’m away working late. I don’t want someone I have to constantly worry about.

  I pick up the scattered envelopes lying on the coffee table. The woman I’ve found is nothing like that, but she has me fascinated with her.

  I want Carly. I open the envelope and pull out the latest picture she sent me. She’s outside kayaking. Her face is alive and full of happiness. Her long, brown hair is pulled back, while her dark eyes are captured, sparkling at the camera. She’s nothing like what I was looking for, but she’s exactly what I want. I can hardly believe I found her.

  A couple of the men on the ship with me told me about the website Single Alaskan Men. Apparently, Nate found his woman that way. I was skeptical but I’ve been writing back and forth with Carly for about five months now and I’m convinced. She’s exactly what I need. She’s the final piece to the puzzle. Once she’s here, my life will be exactly what I’ve wanted from the beginning.

  I’ve never seen her in person; all I have are the pictures she sends me. We haven’t video chatted or any of the things that long-distance couples would normally do. I could have made the effort, I guess, but I would have had to drive into town and borrowed the hotel’s internet. I don’t want Jason an
d Mary Blum—the hotel owners—to know what I’m doing. They would have had my business spread all over town.

  It’s not that I’m ashamed of it; apparently a lot of men here have gone similar routes. That said, until I know if this is going to work out, I’d rather not have the entire town taking bets on it.

  I’ve heard her voice, of course. It’s soft, lyrical almost, and when she laughs I can feel it hit me deep down. She’s arriving tomorrow morning. I can’t take off work, but I arranged for Nate’s wife, Page, to pick her up and bring her to the cabin. I had mailed her a key to my cabin earlier. She’ll be here when I get home tomorrow.

  Tomorrow I will finally hold Carly in my arms.

  Chapter Two

  Carly

  “Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” Page asks from the door. She’s been very nice. More than nice, if you take into consideration I’m not who she thought I’d be.

  “I’m good, just exhausted. It’s been a long trip,” I tell her, and that part at least is not a lie.

  She was standing at the dock waiting as my seaplane stopped. I didn’t realize they had actual planes that were made to land and take off on water. It was a bumpy ride and, though the mountains of Alaska are extremely beautiful, I was scared to death. I’ve never been on a plane. The large jet I flew into Juneau on was scary enough, but the small seaplane was terrifying. If this blows up in my face, as I imagine it will, I’m not sure how I will get back home to Cranville, Georgia.

  Home. If you can call it that. I lived in a trailer park in Cranville with a man who stayed drunk and was beginning to look at me as much more than his stepdaughter. I was desperate to escape. As a waitress in Cranville, I didn’t get paid minimum wage; I was paid a flat rate and got to keep my tips. In theory that would have been great, but Cranville isn’t filled with big tippers. Most tip nothing at all, and those that do might throw a spare dollar or so down. I held down two jobs to try and make ends meet—they never did. Still, I did okay. I managed to scrimp and save for months and finally I had enough to start over and rent a place until I found a job in another state.

  Then one night, four months ago, I was left devastated. I’d just finished working sixteen hours straight. I came home and crashed. I had worked so much overtime that week, I was worn out. That’s what led me to make my big mistake. I locked my bedroom door, but I put my purse on my nightstand beside me instead of hiding it in the closet. When I woke up the next morning, my wallet was empty and my stepfather was nowhere to be seen.

  It would have been okay, I could have recovered, but my purse contained every bit of the money I was saving. I’d withdrawn it all from the bank on my lunch hour earlier that day. I was planning on leaving the next day and I wanted to make sure everything was packed up, closed out and ready. That was my second mistake. If I had just waited until I was heading out of town, my stepfather would have never had the chance to take my money. I had two thousand dollars and he took every single dime of it.

  That was four months ago, and I don’t know where he went. All I know is that I hope I never see him again. I lived in Cranville alone for four months—struggling. Struggling because my stepfather left behind a mountain of debt. Debt I tried to manage because I was left with no choice. Since he drained my account, it was a struggle for me to keep electricity. A co-worker told me about Alaskan men. I won’t lie. I was lonely, but in my life there was no room for a man. I told her she was crazy—after all, a man was the reason I was in such dire straits.

  Then, one night last month, I broke down in front of her. They were going to repo the trailer I was living in. They were coming out to cut the power and I had made a grand total of twenty bucks in tips for the night. That’s when she confessed that she was writing some dude in Alaska twice a month—pretending to be me. I thought she was insane. I was mad, hurt and a million other things that I couldn’t find the words to describe. I will admit, though, that there was a part of me that was intrigued, even excited. I read through the letters and I began to really like the man. He was straight and to the point, gruff almost. Yet, as he began talking about his love for Alaska, and what he wanted out of life, I began to see a side to him that I really liked. I got the feeling it was a side he didn’t show a lot and I liked that he would let himself be vulnerable in his letters.

  I began to get excited, but I couldn’t overlook the biggest obstacle. Tally, my coworker, might have been writing with my name, but she’s not me. All of those letters, they were based on what Tally thought of me.

  They’re not me. I didn’t write them.

  “If you’re sure then, I guess I’ll go,” Page says, bringing my thoughts back around to the present.

  “I’m sure. Thank you so much.”

  “You’re different than Stone described,” she says, and those butterflies in my stomach all take off at once. I swallow down the nausea and search my brain for a plausible excuse.

  “Really, how?”

  “I’m not sure how to explain it, but I think Stone is in for a surprise,” she says with a smile.

  “Do you think he will be disappointed?” I ask before I can stop myself.

  “Have you looked in the mirror?” She laughs, shaking her head. “You’re beautiful, girl.”

  Her words make heat rise into my face. I feel the blush spread.

  “What time does Stone get in?”

  Page looks down at her watch. She’s the beautiful one. Blond, beautiful blue eyes, tall, curvy, and everything I’ve always wanted to be. I have mouse brown hair, my breasts are so small that most of the time I don’t bother with a bra, and I’m barely five-foot-five on a good day.

  I’ve read through the letters that Tally and Stone have exchanged. After seeing a picture of me, he mentioned that I wasn’t what he was looking for, but that he was intrigued by me. I have no idea what that meant, but it’s worrying. If this doesn’t work out, I’m in real trouble. That brings to mind the biggest problem in my mind right now.

  Can I do this? Can I live with a man I barely know? Can I give my body to a man… to a stranger?

  “He should be home around six this evening, maybe seven. With men like this, their hours are never the same,” Page answers and I smile.

  I blather on some nonsense and she finally leaves. When I close the door, I lean against it for support as I look at this monster of a house. It’s beautiful, but it’s all so clean and huge… It’s cold almost. I shiver at the thought.

  Will Stone be just as cold?

  Chapter Three

  Stone

  I shut off my truck and climb out, sore, hungry and damn tired. I slam the door shut with more power than needed, but it brings me comfort. I was wanting to get home early to talk to Carly. It’s almost ten o’clock. With my luck she’ll be in bed. It’d be too much to hope she’ll be in my bed. It’s probably too soon for me to fuck her. Women get some crazy notions about that shit, but my dick has been raging all day at the thought of Carly here, waiting for me. I walk to the house and, stepping on the porch, I see two things. One I fucking love. She’s turned the porch light on for me. It’s a small gesture, but one that I like… a lot.

  The other thing has me frowning. She has a small plastic container of what looks like leftover food on the porch. Is she trying to feed the wildlife? Carly told me in a letter that she was an avid camper and enjoyed the outdoors. She should know better than anyone that feeding anything around here is dangerous. There are bears, wolves, coyotes and a bunch of things out there that would tear her to shreds. I pick up the dish and unlock the door. I’ll have to have a talk with her, I suppose.

  The house is dark except for a lamp that’s turned on by the couch. I start to walk toward it and stumble. I look down and see a pair of tennis shoes. They’re small; they have to be Carly’s. They’re also not on the mat as you go through the door. Annoying. I like things a certain way and shoes clearly have a designated spot by the door. As I look around the room I notice an open magazine on the table, and the throw that is norma
lly folded in the corner is all messed up on the floor, like someone was covered with it on the couch and then just let it fall to the floor when they got up.

  In her letters, Carly said she definitely understood my need to keep a home neat and orderly. Perhaps this is just because she was nervous. I shrug it off. It will take time for her to get used to living here.

  I was hoping she would be waiting up for me, but it was a long trip. I’m sure she’s worn out. I’m pretty damn beat myself. I walk to the kitchen to grab myself a beer when I see the note on the fridge.

  Stone,

  I figured something must have come up. I made a small dinner. I saved yours and put it in the warming drawer in case you were hungry.

  C.

  I frown. She has to be really nervous. Her note even has a different tone than her letters. In her letters she was never so short and concise. It’s one of the things I loved. She would write pages to my one-page note.

  The dinner is unexpected. Carly had mentioned she hated cooking. Having her make my food wasn’t what was most on my mind, but this shows that she’s willing to cook the occasional meal and that’s an added bonus for sure. I open the drawer and find a stir-fry with steak and noodles in it. I’m not big on vegetables, but I’m hungry enough I don’t really care tonight. I grab the plate and a beer from the fridge and sit down. The house is quiet. That was another thing I was hoping to avoid tonight.