Wifed By The Mountain Man: A Modern Mail-Order Bride Romance

by Frankie Love

  Wifed By The Mountain Man

  A Modern Mail-Order Bride Romance

  Frankie Love

  Contents

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

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  Edited by Larks and Katydids

  Cover by Mayhem Cover Creations

  Copyright © 2016 by Frankie Love

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  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 Oregon 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.”

  “You don’t need to take it slow,” Amelia says. “You need a man who isn’t going to take no for an answer.”

  “I don’t need to take it slow, either,” Delta says. “I just want to take it, if you know what I mean.”

  Amelia shoves a pillow in Delta’s face. “Yes, we get it. You want to get laid. But on a more serious note, maybe there are new apartments on Craigslist?” Amelia suggests. “You know, since we’re getting evicted.”

  “Not evicted,” Everly reminds her. “It’s just we’re in campus housing. We have to go.”

  “Like, in a week.” Delta sighs. “This is dumb. Let’s do something bananas. Like, move to a commune. Or become Amish.”

  Noticing the now-empty glasses, Everly returns to the kitchen and brings back some more champagne. “I just want a nice house and a normal life. Nothing crazy, just something regular.”

  “With good sex,” Delta adds, winking. “And on that note, let’s look in the Help Wanted section with an open mind.” She opens her laptop. “At this point we don’t have many requirements.”

  “I just want to get out of this college town,” Amelia says. Forgoing a glass, she grabs the bottle from Everly’s hand and takes a swig. “I can’t handle it here,” she says, wiping her mouth. “There are way too many memories of Derrick and me in this town, and I need to move on. Stat.”

  Delta scrolls through the housing pages, and it’s more of what they’ve already seen. Tiny studios or massive houses requiring three months’ security deposit.

  “Hmmm.” Delta keeps clicking, but there are no new listings. Eventually she takes th
e bottle from Amelia and drinks before passing it to Everly.

  Everly follows suit, then sits between them once again, starting to feel more than a little tipsy.

  “There’s nothing,” Amelia moans.

  “Even if there were,” Everly adds, “it doesn’t matter. None of us have jobs. That’s priority number one.”

  “Tell me again why none of us have parents who can help out?”

  The three of them were roommates freshman year, and instantly bonded over the fact they’d all been raised by their grandparents. It was such a coincidence—it felt like destiny, and they had to stick together.

  And they always did, through thick and thin, for four years. They put Delta’s grandpa in assisted living, attended the funeral for Everly’s grandma and grandpa, and were there when Amelia’s grandma moved in with her older sister.

  They have family that love them, but not family that can support them, or even house them.

  It’s time they figure this out on their own.

  “Okay, go to the want ads,” Everly says, pointing at the tab on the screen.

  “Let’s see, here.” Delta takes another sip as the page loads.

  The three of them read the job descriptions, not one of them remotely appealing.

  Dog walker, ten hours a week.

  Editor, must be proficient in Dutch.

  Smoothie stand, pasties the required uniform.

  “Well, we could do that,” Delta says, laughing. “We all have decent racks.”

  “More than decent, but that doesn’t mean I could do it,” Everly says, frowning, knowing her looks have never been her problem.

  The problem is, she’s never had a real boyfriend because she always gets so nervous and shy around guys.

  “We’re all cute enough so the tips would be good,” Amelia says, considering the smoothie stand position. “But, it just seems so cold.” She covers her chest with her hands, cracking up.

  Okay, so they are definitely buzzed.

  “This is stupid.” Everly hovers her fingers over Delta’s keyboard. “Let’s try something totally different.”

  In the search bar, she types: pretty girls, college degrees, open-minded, need jobs.

  The first hit causes all three girls to tilt their heads to the side, and reach for the champagne, simultaneously.

  Huh.

  WANTED:

  MODERN MAIL ORDER BRIDES

  FOR ALASKAN MOUNTAIN MEN.

  Chapter One

  Reed

  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.

  Chapter Two

  Amelia

  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 s
torm 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.