The Mountain Man's Muse (A Modern Mail-Order Bride Romance Book 1)

by Frankie Love

  Knowing this man is a loose cannon, I decide to stop shouting for her now that I've gotten a view of this man. He is pulling her toward the left side of the property, where I'm guessing he has a getaway car. Like hell is this man taking my wife.

  I haven't spent this long writing action novels without learning a thing or two about apprehending the bad guy. Taking note of my surroundings, I move quietly through the woods, taking the far path to the main road, knowing I'll be able to run faster there without being seen.

  I race through the woods, having nothing for protection but the bottle of champagne still in my hand. I see his car in the distance and catch sight of him holding Rose hostage by the hands. She is kicking and screaming, her bathrobe open and her body exposed, and it sends a raucous hate through me. I will make this man pay for putting my bride through hell.

  Charging toward him I come from the opposite direction, where he wasn't expecting, and I crack the bottle over his head. Blood gushes from his skull as champagne coats his face.

  Rose screams in horror, but she's smart, and as the stalker is reaching in his pocket for what I assume is a gun, she grabs a log and lobs it at him, hitting him in the back, and forcing him to fall forward. I grab his hands, pressing my bare foot into his back, and take his gun from him. Now I have the upper hand.

  "Motherfucker," he screams. "Get off of me!"

  "Reach in his pocket, Rose, get his phone," I instruct my wife. Tears streak her face, and she's shaking because she’s so damn scared, but my words register. She pulls out the man's phone and calls 911 as he struggles on the ground, trying to get his hands from my grip.

  Rose explains the emergency and as she tells the operator where we are, I refuse to loosen my hold on this fucker. Every time he tries to move, I dig my heel into his back, pushing my weight against him, not for a second giving him any ground. The gun is pointed straight at his back.

  "They're on their way," Rose says, her voice trembling.

  "Good,” I tell her, as she begins to inhale and exhale, taking her practiced breaths. I may have a man held at gunpoint, but I follow her lead. Both of us calming down despite the fact a man had just kidnapped her in broad daylight from our home.

  "You were right," she whispers, her shoulders falling as she steadies herself. "I'm such a fool."

  "No," I tell her, refusing to let her talk to herself that way. "You are taking a chance, doing your best. You are the victim, This man is the only one to blame. This fucker who tried to take advantage of your beauty, your grace. Do not for a second tell yourself you did anything wrong."

  "But if I hadn't made the videos. If I'd protected myself I--"

  I cut her off. "Rose, listen. This fucker will pay for what he did, and we are going to get through this, stronger than ever."

  She nods, wiping her eyes as sirens blare in the distance, nearing our location, reminding us that this stalker can't hurt her anymore.

  "We wasted the champagne," she says, a tiny smile on her lips.

  I give my muse a grin, the gun still pointed at our target. "Sure, but this, what just happened here, gives me another idea for a novel."

  The police vehicles come to a stop, and officers jump from their cars.

  "But this time you can't write it holed up on your study, ignoring me," she tells me.

  "Deal. And next time you make a yoga video, you need to practice those stretches with me first."

  She laughs. "If any other man said that to me, I would roll my eyes."

  An officer takes the gun from my hand, and they handcuff the stalker. My eyes, though, are locked on my wife.

  "But you won't roll your eyes at this man?" I ask, pulling her into my arms, desperate for her to know she is safe with me.

  She shakes her head. "No, because you aren't just any man, you are my husband."

  "And you, Rose, are more than my muse, you are my wife."

  Epilogue

  Rose

  One year later...

  I head outside to the rose garden, which is just off the back patio, and facing the lake, where I see River opening a large box just dropped off by FedEx. With my laptop in hand, I am excited to show River what I've just uploaded.

  "What is it?" I ask, setting my computer on the table and running my hand over my husband's back. I breathe him in, his woodsy smell as intoxicating as ever. The sun is out and shines across our lake. My ring finger catches the sun and my beautiful four-carat diamond ring sparkles. It was an early anniversary gift, and while it is pretty spectacular, it doesn't hold a candle to my gift to him.

  "It's the proof copy of the Her Thorn, His Rose." River pulls a book from the box and we admire the glossy cover together. It is simple, a single white rose on the cover, thorns on the stem. "Open it," he tells me.

  I take the book from his hands and open the hardback binding, pride rising through me. My husband, the novelist. The book has already been optioned for film, and he is working on the screenplay right now. He recently finished another novel, My Bride's Rescue, and while I know some components are based on our real life, the heroine in that book had a much scarier path before reaching her happily ever after.

  In my love story, my hero was by my side, saving the day.

  After the police took my stalker away, a year ago, I let River carry me home. In his arms, I told him that I loved him. That just because our start was rocky doesn't mean our ending won't be beautiful.

  I flip past the copyright page and run my hand over the dedication: For Rose, who is more than my muse. She is my everything.

  Tears prick my eyes and I smile, knowing I've been an emotional sap for days.

  "You like it?" River asks, hooking his thumb under my chin, looking into my eyes. My heart swells the same way it did the day we met, the day he was nothing but a rough and tumble mountain man, needing to be tamed by a woman like me.

  The matchmaker's accuracy remains 100%. I called Fiametta after that terrifying event with the stalker. After thanking her for the suggestion that I take this leap of faith, we've continued our friendship. She told me the last few tenants in my old apartment have also made the bold choice to call her daughter, thanks to her sage advice.

  "I love it," I tell him, kissing my husband on the lips, letting the moment deepen, allowing my body to relax against his until he has me in on the table, my little dress pushed over my hips, my panties tossed aside.

  "Mmmm, look how wet you are, Muse," he groans as I unbuckle his pants, push the jeans down and take his thick cock in my hand.

  "And look how ready you are," I murmur, thrilling at the weight of his length, knowing his cock can make me purr and pant--and make me come ridiculously fast. The moment he pumps his thickness inside me, my tight little pussy begins to weep for him. And him alone.

  "I love you, River," I moan as he tosses my legs over his shoulders.

  "You're so damn bendy, wife," he tells me with a grin.

  "For you, yes, you alone," I tell him with a smile. He enters me, and my pussy opens for him, relishing the moment when he thrusts against me nice and hard, the way we both like. He pulls down the strapless dress I wear, my tits bouncing as he begins to take me. I love how much he enjoys my breasts, he loves to come all over them, loves to fuck them while looking deep in my eyes, and I love to lick his come as it releases in ribbons against my skin.

  One year later and our devotion has reached a new level. I love how he's obsessed with me -- and not just my body, my heart, mind, and soul. It may have been lust at first sight for him, but now both of us are nothing but head over heels in love. And right now, I'm literally head over heels as he pushes my ankles over my head, finishing us both off in one fell swoop.

  "Oh, River," I scream, savoring our privacy as I moan out my lover's name.

  When the orgasm washes over me, I take a long, deep breath, as he takes my hand and helps me to stand.

  "I have a gift for you too," I tell him, reaching for my laptop. I adjust my dress, my wet pussy still aching for more, and I know I wi
ll get what I want just as soon as he watches this video.

  "What is it?" he asks as I load my latest video in my editing software.

  "A surprise," I say, looking over my shoulder and giving him a slow smile. His hands are on my ass, and I love the way he can't seem to get enough of me.

  I press play and tell him to watch. After everything that happened, we have increased our security and privacy settings and River hired the best in the business to help me create a brand and logo, a website, and even a team of two videographers to edit my videos.

  This one, though, was just recorded and hasn't been through the fancy editing stages just yet. It is raw content that he needs to view before anyone else.

  After my intro music, I sit cross-legged, with my palms together, over my heart.

  "I wanted to tell you about an exciting new series I am starting this week! It's Yoga for Mamas to Be! Join me in my pregnancy journey as I --"

  River pauses the video and turns me to face him. "Rose? You're pregnant?"

  I lick my lips, and then lift my chin, looking into my husband’s eyes.

  "Yes. We are," I say, the smile breaking over my face I see the light in his brown eyes.

  He wraps me in his arms. "Oh, Rose, you're glowing," he tells me. "Just glowing."

  "Makes sense, considering I'm your muse." I take his hand and press it to my belly. "And now you'll have even more inspiration."

  He kisses me softly. "Now I'll have more than I ever dreamed."

  Preview

  Claimed By The Mountain Man

  PROLOGUE

  EVERLY

  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 the 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.