Mountain Man's Mail Order Bride

by Kelsey King

  Sophia smiles up at me, but she still seems nervous.

  “Is this okay?” I ask.

  She looks surprised. “Of course. It’s what we talked about, isn’t it? And we hardly have time to plan anything big, and besides that, who would we invite?”

  I laugh. “My mom’s garden club and her quilting group. Maybe the ranger who hauled off the bear?”

  Sophia elbows me. “I think small sounds perfect.”

  I put an arm around her. I believe her, but there’s something else that’s bothering her. “Then what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she says, almost too insistently. Then she sighs. “Did you mean what you said last night?”

  “That I want you to be my wife?” I ask, furrowing my brows at her question.

  She gives me a look, which is fair. I know perfectly well what she’s talking about.

  “Yes, I meant it,” I assure her. “I’m not sure how it could happen so fast, but I care deeply about you. Just the thought of losing you. It’s not something I ever want to think about again.”

  Her eyes narrow slightly like she’s seeing through my bluster. Which is also fair.

  I hold up my hands. “I think that’s what people say when they care deeply about someone.”

  Sophia smiles. “And you’re sure.”

  I nod. “Without a doubt.”

  I take it from all her questions that she doesn’t feel the same, but then she takes my hand in hers and holds it tight.

  “Well, I love you too. Though it hardly seems possible.” She smiles and kisses my knuckles.

  My shoulders relax, and I exhale in relief. “Trust me, I know. I’m the biggest skeptic around.”

  She smiles.

  “What a pair we are. Why even try this international dating thing if we didn’t think it was possible to fall in love quickly?”

  I laugh. “Irony? Stupidity? Blind luck?”

  “Fate,” Sophia says. “Or divine intervention.”

  “I’ve never been one to believe in that. But I’m not sure what else it could possibly be.”

  Sophia climbs onto my lap with her knees on either side of me, and I suck in a breath, running my hands down her body. She turns me on to no end, even now, when I should be completely exhausted. She runs her lips over my earlobe, and I put my hands on her ass, pulling her against me.

  Her voice is low in my ear and sends shivers down my spine. “Do you need to be getting to work?” she asks.

  God, with her living here, I’m not sure how I’m ever going to get any work done again. “No, I think I’m taking today off.” I smile against her lips.

  “Mmmm,” she says, eliciting more shivers. “Oh, really? Did you have any special plans?”

  Burning through that box of condoms, for one. I clearly should’ve gotten a bigger pack. I run my hands up her back, pressing my fingers into her soft skin.

  “I think I’m going to make love to my fiancée,” I say. “And then maybe make her breakfast.”

  Sophia squeals softly. “It’s already past noon. And at this rate, I’m not even sure we’ll make it downstairs for lunch.”

  “Dinner, then,” I say, gasping as her fingers work their way down my chest and over my stomach. “With candles and soft music and a bottle of wine.”

  “Hmm,” she says, grinding against me. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to seduce me.”

  “I would,” I say, “but you beat me to it.” I lie back on the bed, pulling Sophia down with me, and for the next few hours, we’re lost to the pleasure of being with each other. I wonder how I could ever want for anything more.

  9

  Sophia

  I hope Hunter doesn’t feel bad that we’re not having a big wedding, but honestly, that’s not something I’ve ever wanted. I’ve never had much family, and am too private a person to have droves of friends. Even as a child, I imagined a small group, my mother, of course, and my Aunt Anna, and a few other people I assumed I would meet when I was older. But now that my mother is gone, I don’t mind not being surrounded even by those few people I have left.

  I have Hunter, and he wants to do this for his mother, and I don’t mind that one bit. I buy a nice dress at a department store near the hospital. It’s white, but simple, definitely not a standard wedding dress. I love the delicate lace and the way it clings to my figure, and it’s still tasteful enough to wear in front of Hunter’s mother. Hunter already had a suit—it’s sharp and fits him well and is more than suitable, a joke that he makes three separate times and yet still, each time, I laugh.

  My only request for the wedding was the photographer who came to take our picture in the gardens outside the hospital. Hunter looked less than thrilled when I suggested it, and I giggled, remembering his awkward selfie. But as we stand under a stone arch, ivy dangling down around us, I look up into his eyes, and he smiles.

  This may be the first picture in existence of Hunter actually smiling naturally, but if I have anything to do with it, it won’t be the last.

  Hunter’s mother is Lutheran, so Hunter got a minister from her church to come perform the ceremony. The nurses wheel her into the tiny chapel in a chair, attached to an oxygen tank and a mass of IV bags on a portable stand. Yet somehow, she’s still wearing a beautiful purple blouse and a pair of slacks, though she has slippers on her feet rather than shoes. Hunter got permission to bring in Cocoa, and she sits at his mom’s feet while his mom gently pets her head with one hand. Hunter and I both kiss her on the cheek, and then we stand at the front of the chapel, and the minister reads us our vows.

  For richer, for poorer, in sickness, and in health, until death do we part. These words should scare me, and they do a little. What do I really know about this man? How much could he have hidden from me in the few weeks I’ve known him?

  But his hands are in mine, my Hunter, and he’s smiling at me like he’s never been so happy in his life. And I can’t help but feel like whatever brought us together, the two of us are everything good and right in the world, and while this may be an impetuous choice, it also feels like a right one.

  “I do,” I say, and Hunter does too.

  The ceremony is over quickly, and the photographer takes one more picture of the four of us—me, Hunter, Cocoa, and Hunter’s mother. Someone, perhaps one of the nurses, has tied a white ribbon to Cocoa’s collar, so she’s practically a little flower dog.

  When it’s over, before she’s taken back to her room, Hunter’s mother reaches up and hands me a small jewelry box. Inside is a necklace with a single pearl.

  “My mother gave it to me. And I always wanted to give it to a daughter. I was going to leave it to Hunter for his future wife, but it’s so lovely to be able to give it to you myself.”

  I smile and hug her again, and then put it on. The one perfect pearl hangs on a tiny silver chain, shorter than the silver star that I wore even today so that it hangs perfectly right above it.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  She beams at me, and then Hunter and I are on our way out of the hospital.

  Hunter holds my hand, his smile wider than I’ve ever seen it, and he opens the door to the truck to let Cocoa and I in. Before I climb up, he sweeps me into his arms, kissing me against the side of the truck, and I kiss him back with everything in me.

  God, I love this man, and I couldn’t be happier to be his bride, mail ordered or otherwise.

  We spend four perfect days in our cabin in the woods, during which we file the paperwork so that I can stay in America.

  On my fifth day as a married woman, I’m sitting with the remains of breakfast, checking my email on a tablet just after Hunter has gone up to work when I receive an email from a name I don’t recognize. I open it, hoping its information about my green card.

  Ms. Sophia Kelly, it reads. I have urgent news about your inheritance. Please call immediately. There’s a name: Sam Kelly, someone I don’t know, and a phone number in Ireland.

  I grab the phone Hunter got me. It’s an
international call, and will no doubt be expensive. I think for a moment about asking Hunter before I call this person. It’s probably a scam, after all. My mother didn’t leave me an inheritance, and I have no other family.

  But that name Sam Kelly sounds familiar. I think I remember my mother saying something about a brother named Sam, though she didn’t like to talk about her family, and always said that those that were left weren’t people we wanted in our lives.

  I suppose I’d always believed her.

  I pick up my phone and dial. It takes four rings before the man on the other end answers.

  “Sam,” he says.

  “Hello,” I say. “This is Sophia Kelly. You sent me an email.”

  “Yes,” Sam says, sounding almost surprised to hear from me. “Sophia, your mother was Alice Kelly, correct? Of Waterford?”

  “Yes. That’s where she grew up. But she didn’t leave me an inheritance, and I’m not going to wire you any money to get one.”

  Sam chuckles. “No, I assure you, we’re not asking you for money. The inheritance is from your grandmother, actually. She died a year ago, though it’s taken me awhile to track you down. I actually went to the grocery store and found a woman who had your email. I understand your mother passed away?”

  My grandmother?

  My mother never spoke of her parents, except to tell me that they’d mistreated her, and we were both happier without them.

  “Yes,” I say. “Are you related to her?”

  “I’m your cousin,” Sam says. “The son of your mother’s brother.”

  This is making strange amount of sense, though I’ve heard that sometimes scammers unearth the records for your entire family to convince you that they’re real. It doesn’t matter how plausible this seems, if he asks me for money or bank account numbers, I’m resolved to hang up.

  “You’re named after your father. My mother had a brother named Sam.” I recall.

  “Yes.” Sam sounds pleased, though it might just be that he thinks I’ve been taken in. “I wasn’t sure if you’d even know that much. No one in the family has heard from your mother in twenty-five years.”

  That would be about right, but it puts me on edge. I wonder what I’m even doing talking to this man if I’m going to interpret everything he says as a sign he’s trying to cheat me, but I can’t help it.

  “There was a reason for that,” I say. I don’t know the details, but given what my mother went through to keep us both away from them, I’m sure that it’s true.

  “Yes. Unfortunately, our grandmother was something of a witch, if you don’t mind me saying, and our grandfather was a weak-willed pansy who always let her have her way. I can’t say I wish you’d known them, but it’s a bit of a pity we can’t commiserate together about her spite and his enablement.” He lets out a chuckle.

  I blink. I can’t imagine speaking about my family that way, but that’s probably because I didn’t know these people. What little I heard from my mother certainly dovetails with what he’s saying. “Okay. And your parents? Are you close to them?”

  “My father died ten years ago,” Sam says. “But my mother and I are close, yes. The point, though, is that our grandmother cut your mother out of her will after she left the family. Your mother, from what I understand, couldn’t stand being shunned by the family for having a child out of wedlock, and God knows our grandmother wasn’t going to be the first to apologize. But as you never had the opportunity to offend her personally, she left your mother’s half of the inheritance to you.”

  “To me? But she’d never met me.”

  “Correct. That only served to increase her opinion of you. Imagined people always do exactly as we expect them to do.”

  Sam’s voice is bitter.

  “And you? You inherited the other half?” I’m hoping so, as I don’t want to offend Sam by being some imagined perfect granddaughter who takes everything from him. Though for all I know we’re jointly inheriting a storage unit full of broken furniture and old newspapers, so I’m not particularly concerned.

  “Yes. As her only present grandchild, I also escaped unscathed, in no small part due to the ass kissing abilities of my mother.”

  I smile. I find I’m hoping this isn’t a scam, as I like Sam, and his matter-of-fact attitude about the family my mother never wanted me to know. He doesn’t seem like he would be so horrible, and given his age, my mother probably didn’t have a specific opinion about him.

  “So what is this inheritance?” I ask, letting my skepticism leak into my voice.

  “It’s the family business,” Sam says. “A parfumerie. We export perfume all over the world.”

  “That sounds lovely,” I say. A little romantic, even.

  “Yes, we export to the tune of nearly a billion a year.”

  I stare at what’s left of my eggs, growing cold on my plate. “A billion? A billion euros?”

  “Yes. Though it’s not as if we take that much home. Though the profits are substantial, so if you join us your salary would be seven figures, plus dividends for your share, of course.”

  “My salary?” I’m back to believing that this is a scam because there’s no way my relatives are billionaire perfume company owners.

  Though now I’m remembering how my mother avoided perfume shops, always saying it was because every scent smelled like chemicals, and she preferred the smell of fresh, clean soap. How she often commented that rich people were full of themselves, or too judgmental, and yet how she also seemed to resent them, as if they had personally taken something from her.

  I suppose if Sam is to be believed, my grandmother did.

  “Yes,” Sam continues. “Our grandmother was staunchly against handouts. The will specifically says that you need to come and run the business if you want the money—dividends included. But don’t worry if you don’t have any training. We’ll teach you everything you need to know, and the job isn’t that hard. I do it, after all.”

  I open my mouth and then close it again. I should probably respond to Sam’s slight on himself, but my mind is still spinning over the logistics. “I’d need to come work there?” I ask. “In Ireland?”

  “Yes,” Sam says. “I thought the number looked strange. Are you not in Ireland now?”

  My throat closes, and it takes me a moment to answer. “No. I just moved to America to be with my new husband.”

  “Oh,” Sam says, sounding surprised. “Congratulations. I hope you and your husband will be able to make it over. I’d really like to get to know you better. You’re absolutely welcome to come stay with my family. My wife and I have extra space, though our children can make quite a ruckus. My mother lives in an enormous house all alone, so either way, we’ll be able to put you up for as long as you need.”

  I look down at Cocoa, who is curled up on top of my feet, as if she knows what’s happening, of what I’m considering. Then I glance up the stairs in the direction of Hunter’s office.

  I don’t want to leave. These past weeks have been the most wonderful I’ve had in so long.

  But Sam sounds kind, and not at all like my mother described the rest of her family. In fact, it seems as if all the people she was trying to avoid have died. If she knew Sam at all, he must’ve only been a baby at the time.

  I could return home to Ireland, to be trained to co-run a billion dollar exporting business. I know nothing about corporations or perfumes for that matter, but they’d teach me, and I could learn. In the meantime, I could get to know a cousin, a blood relative, and his wife and mother and children. Have the money to live where I’m from, to be near the people I know, and be surrounded by the sorts of people I’ve always dreamed existed, but long ago gave up imagining could be real.

  The whole thing would sound too good to be true if it didn’t mean I’d have to leave Hunter.

  Though he only wanted a wedding for his mother, didn’t he? He’s already fulfilled his end of the bargain, and if he didn’t have to share his space with me, while I wander around twiddling my thumb
s…but I know our relationship is more than that. My heart aches, and I’m torn.

  “Can I think about it?” I ask.

  “Oh, absolutely,” Sam says. “It’s taken me a year just to track you down. If I haven’t heard from you, I’ll check back with you in a few weeks. Stay in touch, if you would?”

  “Of course. I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”

  Sam and I exchange pleasantries, and then we hang up. I sit in the chair, staring at the dirty dishes on the table, knowing I should clear and wash them and go about my day as if nothing’s happened.

  I’m married, for goodness sake. Hunter and I made a commitment, and what’s more, we’re really in love. I came here looking for something, and I found it—a beautiful life in the arms of a man I adore.

  But I’d been running from a reality I didn’t know how to escape from, from poverty and eviction and the fear of being alone.

  If I had known about this inheritance before I came to America, would I have made the same choice? My heart sinks because I know the answer. Of course, I wouldn’t have. I would’ve remained in Ireland and learned to run a company, gotten to know my family and seen where that life could take me. It was an adventure waiting to happen if I’d just been patient enough for it.

  Moving to America did happen, but that doesn’t change that there’s a family—my blood relatives, something I didn’t realize mattered to me as much as it apparently does—in Ireland, that wants to welcome me into their lives.

  I know I need to discuss this with Hunter. That’s what married couples do, or at least, I think it is, not that I’ve ever known any great examples. I realize now that I have no idea what a marriage should be like, what Hunter wants it to be like. We haven’t talked much past the present—only that we’d both like children someday.

  When we talked about it, late at night, bodies pressed together, I could almost see them. A dark-haired girl and a red-headed boy, running through the woods outside the house. Cocoa sleeping in the shade of the trees, too old to run with kids, and a new puppy alternating between bouncing along after the kids and annoying Cocoa while she’s trying to nap.