The Mountain Man's Cure

by Frankie Love

  She slips into the bathroom, and it gives me time to undress and to take off my prosthetic. while I mentally work through being open and honest with her.

  A large part of me is self-conscious, and I want her to know it has nothing to do with her. It’s all about me and the baggage I carry.

  When she steps out of the bathroom, my heart starts pounding in my chest. "God," I sigh. "You look so fucking beautiful, Hannah."

  She licks her lips, the little blue nightie she has on barely covers her ass cheeks, and the silky fabric hugs her hips. The top of the lingerie pulls on her tits, her little nipples poking out and making my cock hard as hell. I run my hand over my shaft, and her eyes land on my length.

  "You look happy to see me," she says with a small laugh on her lips.

  "More than happy. Fucking thrilled."

  "I missed you today," she says, stepping closer to me.

  "I'm so sorry, Hannah."

  "I know." She smiles. "I just want you to know, really know, that you were on my mind all day."

  My heart clenches at her words. "You were on my mind too, I knew I had to come home, come back to you."

  She stands in front of me and I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her tightly to me, needing to hold her close. I kiss her belly, breathe in her scent, and feel my shoulders relax as she runs her hands through my hair. I look up at her, and she must know what she is doing to me in this lingerie.

  It's maddening, her beauty. And I run my hands under the hem of the nightdress, her round, bare ass cheeks in my palms and I squeeze them, growling as I do so.

  "You like my ass?"

  "I love it."

  She turns, bending over, and I press my mouth to her cheeks, kissing her perfect ass, then I run my hands up, over her, wanting to hold her tits. She moves back around, and I run my hands up under the silky fabric, getting harder as I touch her perfect globes.

  She kneels before me, a needy look in her eyes. She peels off her nightie, her naked body so perfect, her titties big and round and a fucking feast for my eyes. She opens her pink lips, her little tongue darting out before she pulls my hard cock into her mouth.

  I brace myself on the bed as she begins to get me off, swirling her tongue around my cock, her fingers rolling over my balls, her head bobbing up and down as she takes me in as far as she can.

  "Fuck," I groan, but she keeps going, her hand moving up and down my shaft as she sucks me, with a nice tight suction, knowing my throbbing length is about to come hard and fast. She moves her head faster, I hear her gag on my thickness, and it just makes her suck me all the more. Her tongue swirls all over me, and she whimpers, moaning, getting so hot as she gets me ready to explode.

  "I'm gonna come, baby," I groan, and when I do, she pulls me from her hot little mouth and aims my cock at her perky tits. I come against her, ribbons of my release shooting over those round globes of desire until she’s coated in my come. She pumps my cock, her tongue catching my come as I get off against my bride-to-be.

  "Fuck me," she moans. "My pussy is so ready for you," she begs, "please."

  I run my hands over her tits, my cock throbbing from her mouth fuck, and I know at that moment, she is mine. Now and forever.

  "I love you, Hannah," I whisper, looking down at her.

  Her eyes meet mine.

  She doesn't say it back.

  Chapter Eleven

  Hannah

  Love?

  I look down at Harrison, his eyes so full of devotion. Never has a man told me he loves me, and it takes my breath away.

  It wasn't what I was expecting.

  Hoping for, maybe. But not anticipating. Especially not after the last twenty-four hours.

  "It's okay," he says. "I just had to say it, admit what I feel."

  "Thank you," I whisper, not wanting the moment to be ruined but also not wanting to say something I'm not ready for. He left all day. Will he leave again?

  "Did I ruin things?" he asks.

  I shake my head. "Not in the slightest."

  "Good," he says with a smile. "Because I really want to fuck you."

  I laugh then, appreciating his ability to take a tense moment and make it something memorable.

  We move up on the bed, and I crawl on top of him, his strong, chiseled body against mine, making me wet with desire. "I don't think I could ever be tired of this view,” I tell him, running my hand over his ladder of abs.

  He exhales. "God, it feels fucking good to hear you say that."

  I move my hand to his cock, leading his thickness to my willing pussy. He groans as I begin to sink down against him, wanting to feel his fullness inside of me.

  I close my eyes, relishing the way he feels in me. He's bigger than I knew men could be. Thick and long and pulsing with heat, making my pussy clench tightly around his ridges, wanting to ride him until my cunt drips, until I am ragged and raw.

  "You're so strong," I moan as he fills me up, as his hands take hold of my hips as I begin rocking in tight little circles. My clit is stimulated and alive as we grind against one another. He thrusts against me, making me whimper and then cry out as it gets more intense.

  "You're so fucking tight against me."

  I smile. "How do you know? You were a virgin before we met."

  "Yeah, but there's no way any pussy could be tighter than you."

  "Well," I laugh, my hand pressed against his pecs, "I do my Kegels like a good girl."

  Harrison grins, his hands on my back, drawing me closer to him as we both near our climax.

  "You're a good girl, huh?"

  I nod. "Yes, I'm a good girl who was looking for a good man to take care of me." I moan, the pleasure erupting in my core as his cock continues to hit me deep, in just the right place.

  "I want to take care of you, Hannah, so fucking bad."

  "Then you will," I say it plainly, because it is a choice, and I know the choice I want to make. Make with him.

  "I don't want to fuck up," he tells me, kissing my ears, my hair, my nose. My everything.

  "Good, then don't." We laugh again, and I know it's not as simple as that. But as he fucks me, as his seed fills me up, warming me to my core, all I want is to be his forever. I come hard against him, wrapping my arms around his body, needing him to hold me tight. Wanting him to hold me for always.

  We fall asleep like that, with rain on the window as the storm sweeps back in, but I close my eyes, his arms around my bare shoulders, knowing that he is my shelter from the storm.

  I wake to him shouting. Screaming. Freaking out. He's pulling on his pants, over his prosthetic--ranting about the storm, the noise. The curtains are pulled open and lightning streaks the sky, the thunder as loud as a bowling alley, rolling and shaking and pounding through the night.

  "It's okay," I shout. "It's just the rain, what's wrong?"

  He's screaming, about the bombs, about the bullets. Crying out names of men I don't know and then he pounds his fists against the wall. The plaster breaks as he punches holes where there were none, and hot tears fill my eyes.

  "Stop, Harrison. I'm here, it's okay," I shout, wanting him to hear me through the thunder and through his pain but he can't hear anything except the monsters in his head.

  "It's not okay!" His knuckles are bloody, and I see the horror in his eyes as he sees what he has done. He tells me to go, to leave him be. But I refuse.

  "I'm here. For you."

  "You should…" He stops talking, bending over, holding his head as the storm wails outside.

  He pulls open the bathroom door, emotion raging through him, and I'm standing here, lost and scared and wanting to help but not having any idea of what he needs.

  "Go, Hannah," he begs me. "I'm too much. Too much for you." Then he slams the door shut, I try to pull it open, but it's locked, and I pound my hand against it, but he keeps telling me to go. To leave.

  Tears fall down my face, as the reality sets in. The bliss I felt after we made love is gone, washed away with the rain.

&nb
sp; All I see are storm clouds straight ahead.

  Chapter Twelve

  Harrison

  At some point, I must have fallen asleep on the cold tile floor of the bathroom and I wake with a jolt. Fear lances through me as I remember what I did.

  What I've done.

  Hannah.

  My hand aches and I look at my fist, covered in dried blood and broken skin, and shame washes over me.

  I did the one thing I didn't want to do.

  Pushed away from the woman I love.

  I pull myself to stand, my body aching from the awkward position I slept in, and I don't even take the time to wash my face. I need to find her.

  "Hannah?" I shout, my voice filling my house, but it's nothing but an echo. She isn't here.

  I pull open the closet doors, even the laundry room door as if she's folding clothes instead of mending a broken heart.

  I hurt her. Yelled and screamed. I fucking lost it and, in the process, I lost her.

  The one thing that mattered.

  How could I be so fucking stupid?

  She is gone. One of her suitcases isn't here either. There's a tiny shred of hope in the fact some of her stuff is left behind, but then again, she probably shoved what she could into a bag and high tailed it out of here.

  Frowning, I think about what she could have driven. I pull open the front door and see the truck is gone. Now I'm stuck here, all alone.

  Exactly what I deserve.

  My cell phone is ringing, and for a moment, my pulse quickens--maybe it's her--but when I reach for it in the bedroom, it's Sullivan.

  "Hey," I say gruffly, not even knowing where to begin.

  "Hey, man," he says, his voice a little askew. Looking at the time, I realize it's just after seven a.m. This playboy usually sleeps until after nine.

  "You're up early."

  "Yeah," he says. "Had some shit to take care of. A few things came up in the middle of the night."

  I run a hand over my beard, thinking about what came up last night for me. A fucking thunderstorm that left me unhinged.

  "You okay?" Sullivan asks.

  "Uh, yeah," I say, not knowing where to start.

  "Did Hannah give you my message?"

  I frown. "You spoke to Hannah?"

  "Yeah, I called yesterday. You never answered your cell, so I called the landline. She was there. Seems like a sweetheart."

  "Yeah, I love her. She's the best fucking thing to ever happen to me."

  "Wow. Love? Big words coming from a guy like you."

  "Yeah, well, if you met her you'd understand."

  "That's good to hear. Hey, what do you think of me coming up for a few days?"

  I sigh, thinking I have no idea where Hannah is and wondering how I'm gonna explain that to my brother.

  "Look," he says. "I know about last night. About Hannah leaving."

  My jaw tenses. "You know?"

  "Yeah, she called me last night, upset. You locked yourself in a bathroom and told her to go?"

  " I was a mess. The storm and--"

  "I know. I get you. But Hannah... she didn't sign up for this."

  "So, she's gone?"

  "I don't know," he tells me. "I just know you shouldn't be alone."

  "I'm not going to fucking hurt myself."

  "Good, doesn't mean you can't have a brother around to drink beer with and fucking shoot the shit."

  "No offense, Sully. I don't want you, I want her."

  He chuckles. "I get that, but if she comes back, it's gonna be on her own terms. And it's not gonna be today."

  "You sure?"

  "I got her on a plane this morning, Harrison. So, yeah, I'm pretty fucking sure."

  "She left Alaska?"

  "Yeah," Sully says, his voice lower. "I made sure she had plenty of money, a phone, everything she might need. She's safe, she just needs some time."

  "Dammit." My head falls into my hands. "I fucked it all up."

  He doesn't disagree. "Hey," he says. "I'll be there in an hour. I'm already on my way."

  I hang up, hating what's happened. PTSD is a real fucking thing and it's messed with me so many times.

  He's right. Hannah didn't sign up for this. For a man like me.

  I walk to the kitchen and see that she's set some jars on the counter.

  On the lid, one is labeled Apply liberally on inflamed or irritated skin 2x per day. Another is labeled After washing cuts, apply to skin daily, then cover with a bandage.

  I think about the skin above my prosthetic, how it's constantly irritated, how I told Hannah that. Then I look at my swollen knuckles, the broken skin. She made these for me. On the side of the jar, there is a sticker: Healing Heart Salves and Ointments by Hannah.

  I remember her telling me she wanted to start an online business. It must have been these creams and such. I twist off the lid and breathe in the salve. It is lemon and grapefruit and my leg is already itching for it. Then I open the cream for my knuckles, and I smell tea tree oil and lavender and I set to washing my hands with warm water and soap, then I apply the cream.

  In the bathroom, I wrap my hand in gauze, feeling ashamed at my behavior the night before. But I also know that sometimes, with PTSD, something can trigger an emotional reaction you weren't expecting, and your response can be beyond normal behavior.

  I've never punched a wall in my life. Sure, for months after I came home, I'd wake in a sweat, dripping with memories and pain seizing me, but those things haven't happened for a year. But Hannah coming here was a huge deal on its own and combining that with the worst storm I've seen since I came home. Well, for lack of a better phrase, it truly was the perfect storm.

  The idea that Hannah is gone devastates me, and as much as I want to force Sully to tell me where she went, she deserves more than that. I can trust that my brother helped her get somewhere safe, with enough money to be taken care of until she is ready to talk to me again.

  If she ever is.

  Knowing that it will take Sully over an hour to get here, I pick up my cell phone again and look at my contacts.

  I can't solve all my problems, but I can work toward a solution.

  I may be a mountain man, and I may be a wounded warrior, but before that, I was in Special Ops. And you don't become a Green Beret unless you know how to use your fucking brain.

  I pull up the contact number for my therapist and place a much-needed phone call.

  I want Hannah in my life, but if I want to take care of her, I need to be sure I won't fail her again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hannah

  Sitting in the back of the private car, I'm a basket of nerves. It's been four weeks since I left Harrison's house and I don't know what to expect when I see him.

  I haven't called or texted or emailed. I've focused on becoming informed, on learning how to support a partner with PTSD, how to be there for him, through thick and thin. Sully told me Harrison is having daily video sessions with his therapist, and I'm hopeful that together we can forge a future.

  Now, I can only pray that when he told me he loved me it wasn't a false promise.

  Otherwise, today is going to go royally wrong.

  I pat the golden retriever on the seat next to me. "Good girl," I say. "You're being such a good girl, Sammy."

  "We're almost there, ma'am," the driver tells me, and I nod, breathing through my nerves. I may have thrown caution to the wind and come to Alaska as a modern mail-order bride, but I've never taken a leap of faith like this before.

  The man in the passenger seat looks over his shoulder and meets my eyes. "Harrison is going to get the shock of his life."

  "Hopefully a good one," I tell Judge Colter.

  I've been in contact every week with Sullivan, and he's the one who helped coordinate everything for today. I'm a little anxious to see what the house looks like when we arrive. Hopefully, it will all be in order.

  "Here we are," the driver tells me as the car pulls to a stop in front of Harrison's home. He gets my lugg
age and I grip the leash.

  "Sit," I say, smiling at the fact she obeys every command. "Good girl."

  The judge thanks the driver and then we walk to the door. I look at my watch. Sullivan and Harrison should be back from their errands in twenty minutes. Breathing a sigh of relief, I text Sully, letting him know we made it here.

  My phone pings right back. They are on their way.

  Giddy with hope, I use the security code Harrison gave me earlier and open the front door. I set my luggage down and walk through the familiar house, pushing open the patio doors.

  I smile as I take in the work of the florists Sullivan hired for us. They came and went while the guys were gone, and they did an amazing job.

  "Looks like a wedding," Judge Colter says and I smile up at him.

  "Good," I laugh. "That's the point."

  There is an arbor of wildflowers and on a table, under the porch overhang, there is a small wedding cake, topped with a bride and groom. I grin, having learned that Sullivan is a romantic at heart.

  Leading Sammy, I see that a simple bouquet is set out, and there is champagne on ice. The judge busies himself with getting out the marriage license and certificate, and I tell him I’m going to go freshen up.

  Rolling my suitcase up to the master bedroom seems presumptuous, but I don't care. I love Harrison and I am going to make sure he knows it.

  I won't leave without a fight. Swallowing the thought, I look around the bedroom. The holes in the wall have been patched up and he has hung a framed piece of art over it.

  There were painful moments here, but also beautiful ones. I know Harrison wasn't trying to scare me the night of the storm--but he did. He thought he was stable, but it was a lot of change, all at once. We need support to heal. Speaking of, I look down at Sammy. She's wagging her tail, looking around the bedroom with interest.

  "This is your new home, sweetie," I tell her. Then I pop into the bathroom and put on a white linen sundress, slide on a pair of white sandals, and brush my hair.

  Hearing a car pull up in the driveway, I grab Sammy's leash and walk outside, grabbing my bouquet, and telling the Judge to come stand under the arbor. Then I pop around the side of the house, Sammy at my side.