BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN: The Complete Collection

by Love, Frankie

  I see Silas fishing at the dock, but I can’t bear to go over to him. I don’t know what to say. I feel tricked into being here.

  And maybe it’s not his fault, but it isn’t mine, either. I just need to get through the week, and get out of his woods. Sure, he was amazing to me in bed last night—and the night before—but that isn’t a marriage.

  I’m going to need a project to get through the week.

  Yesterday morning, after the courthouse, he mentioned wanting me to plant a garden. Wanting something to do, I walk around the perimeter of the cabin to a plot of land where a rototiller has already broken up the soil.

  In a small potting shed I find shovels, seeds, and gardening gloves. Not wanting to mess up his plans, I decide to start weeding, until he returns from the lake and can give me more instructions.

  A few hours later, I’ve weeded the majority of the area he’s marked out. I take a break, needing some water.

  Silas is in the cabin and he gives me a curt nod, clearly not interested in making amends anytime soon, either.

  “Can you tell me where you want things planted?” I ask him as I fill up a glass of water for myself. I don’t look at him. I can’t bear to.

  “Sure. I made a drawing of the garden, you can follow that.”

  “Okay. What are you doing this afternoon?”

  “You want to make small talk, Everly? Because I’m not really interested in that.”

  My emotions rise to the surface. I wish he would be more gentle with me, more gracious. This is a ridiculous learning curve, yet he seems annoyed that I’m less than thrilled to be so out of my element.

  “Then what are you interested in?” I ask.

  He looks me up and down, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking at all.

  “I’m only interested in you if you want to be my wife.”

  I cross my arms, frustrated that he isn’t giving me any wiggle room to figure out what I want.

  “Just show me the map for the garden, Silas,” I tell him, walking back outside.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Silas

  For the next five days all we do is cross paths. Everly gets up after I do, and while I’m at the lake, she works in the garden.

  Damn, though, every time I walk back to the house, I see her little ass in the air as she bends over, working the soil.

  I’d like to work her up and down. I’d rake my fingers all over her skin, and I’d show her how I motherfucking plow. Our one night together was not close to being enough.

  I know she wants me, too. In the middle of the night, I’ll wake, and her body will be grinding against my cock subconsciously. Her arms will fall over my chest while she dreams.

  And dammit, it takes everything within me not to pull down her panties and take her while she sleeps.

  What I really want, though, is to take her while she’s awake. I want to see her gorgeous eyes and her smile. I want to see her surprise, as I ravish her in a way she can’t even comprehend yet.

  I walk in from the lake, carrying my tackle box. I have a fish in my bucket.

  “I’m going to go fry this sucker up, Everly,” I tell her as I pass. She’s pressing seeds into the rich soil, and looks up at me, smiling. Haven’t seen that on her face all week. “What has you in a good mood?”

  “I know it’s quiet up here, but it’s also sort of magical, isn’t it?” she asks. “I keep hearing birds calling, and I saw a baby deer and her mama pass through that way.”

  I nod, not wanting to reveal the thrill that her small interest in Alaska gives me. Maybe I can convince her to stay longer than a few more days. Maybe I can still convince her to stay forever.

  “I have a guidebook in the cabin, if you want to use it, to identify the birds.”

  She stands, peeling off the gardening gloves. “You identify birds, Silas?”

  “Hey, it’s lonely up here.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You don’t have to live here, you know,” she says.

  Just as I’m about to say something more, a seaplane hovers above us. We watch as it makes its landing at my lake.

  “Who’s here?” she asks.

  “Probably Travis. My neighbor.”

  Setting down my fishing gear, I walk toward the dock with Everly. Once the plane has landed, Travis jumps out.

  “Thanks again for the ride, man,” Travis calls to the pilot. I recognize him as a guy who lives about twenty miles east of us.

  “You made it back,” I say, clapping him on the back in greeting.

  “Sure did, motherfucker,” Travis says, before raising his hands in mock apology. “Sorry, ma’am, this bastard never has any women out here. I forgot how to talk in the presence of a lady.”

  “In the presence of my wife,” I declare, not quite knowing why I insisted on saying that considering this wife wants to get back to Anchorage and call it off as soon as possible.

  “Silas told me you were coming, but damn, I had no idea you’d be so fine.” Travis lets out a low whistle. “He’s one lucky bastard. I’m Travis, and you are?” He sticks out his hand, and Everly shakes it.

  “I’m Everly,” she says quietly.

  “You have a good time in the big city?” I ask.

  “Damn straight. Plenty of fine women willing to spend time with me. I think they find the whole lumberjack thing appealing.”

  I laugh. Travis wears suspenders and a flannel shirt, a scruffy beard and a trucker cap. “That or they like guys who buy them drinks.”

  He smiles. “A free drink is fine by me.” Looking at Everly appraisingly. “You going to be able to hack it out here, honey? It gets mighty lonely come winter. That’s why I gotta sow all my oats now, in town, before the lake freezes and we’re stuck here for months.”

  I could punch Travis in the gut. The last thing I want is to give Everly more reasons why living here is a bad idea.

  “Months?” Everly asks, eyes raised.

  “Hell, yeah, lonely as hell. But you can always come snowshoe over to my ma’s place, we’ll make you a rabbit stew, and we can drink my moonshine. Sound good?”

  Everly smiles tightly. “Nice to meet you, Travis. I’m going to head back to the garden and finish some things up.”

  She walks off the dock and Travis and I both watch her go. I exhale, feeling defeated.

  “She doesn’t want to stay,” I admit. “She says she wants me to take her back at the end of the week.”

  “Well, damn, Silas. You can’t lose that piece of ass that easily. She’s the hottest woman in Alaska.”

  “What do you suggest? Because I don’t want her here against her will, but all week she’s been quiet, working in that garden, or typing on her damn computer.”

  “Well, fuck, computers and gardens are not the reason we live out here in the backwoods. Show her the reason you love this place. Show her your mountain, motherfucker.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Everly

  One more day and then Silas will take me home.

  Well, not home … just back to where I came from. Because I don’t even know what home means anymore. There’s no one and nothing waiting for me.

  I get ready for the day, hoping that before I leave I can come to some sort of amends with Silas. All week, he and I have managed to avoid any real conversation, but if we’re going to get an annulment, I want him to know I’m not a complete bitch.

  Not that I don’t want him … I just want something different than the life he offers.

  I think.

  Even with this week under my belt, I’m not entirely sure leaving is the right decision. I have one more day to figure it out. And I need it.

  When I get to the lake, I see Silas casting a line into the water. He stands on his dock, a tackle box beside him, a thermos at his feet.

  His back is so wide and strong. I see the etching of his muscles even with a tee-shirt on. He wears a ball cap, and I look in the sky. The sun is bright, shining down on him. He looks so natural out here, so at ease.

&nbs
p; His arm flexes as he begins to reel his fishing rod at a fast clip, and he adjusts his footing as he pulls up. A fish flies out of the clear water, and he whistles unabashedly at his catch.

  I have no idea what kind of fish it is, but I do know it’s easily eighteen inches long and silvery, and whipping around furiously.

  Silas effortlessly uses a knife to slice off the head to kill it, then guts it swiftly. Then he tosses the mess into the lake and quickly rinses the fish out.

  He sees me then. He nods and turns back to the water, where he kneels and rinses his hands.

  “Good morning,” I say tentatively. I may be disappointed with the way this entire relationship has gone, but being cold now will only make everything worse. Besides, I did the silent treatment all week and it got me nothing except heartache and confusion.

  “Morning.”

  “You catch the same kind of fish every morning?”

  “Nope.” He stands, facing me.

  “I hope it’s all right that I made a second pot of coffee,” I say, raising my mug.

  His eyes narrow at me, but before I can really see him, he looks across the lake. “It’s your place as much as mine so long as you’re here.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. “Listen. Silas. I’m sor—”

  Before I can finish my thought, he raises his hands, telling me to stop. “I don’t want your apology. I want a wife who wants this, and if you’re not her, that’s your business. I’ll take you back today.”

  “Today?” I sputter, caught off guard. “I thought you said tomorrow … I didn’t think—”

  “It doesn’t matter what I said when I was pissed. I should have taken you back the day after we arrived. I heard you crying that first night and didn’t do a damn thing about it. I feel like an asshole keeping you here when you’re not interested.”

  He takes off his hat, then pulls off his tee-shirt and dries his hands with it. His pecs shine with sweat and sun—and, regrettably, I lick my lips.

  I watch him pull his belt from his pants, drop it on the dock. I squint, trying to read him. It’s impossible. He’s a man. A man’s man. A man who right this minute is my husband, and I thought I’d have another day to decide what I really wanted.

  But there’s no more wiggle room.

  Damn. He kicks off his shoes, unbuttons his jeans, steps out of them.

  He’s in his boxer briefs, right in front of me. What the heck is this man getting at?

  “Um … what are you doing Silas?” Part of me—okay, all of me—wants him to strip me of my clothes, too. To take me right here, right now, on this dock.

  To tell me I can’t leave, to say I’m not just his wife but his to do with what he likes. I want him to take that body of his and never let me out of his sight.

  Instead, his words empty the hopeful energy surging through me.

  “I’m going for a swim, Everly.”

  “Oh.”

  Remember to breathe. In and out. In and out.

  Silas grins, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. And he’s lucky to know himself so well. To know what he wants, and to have it, and to not doubt or second-guess. Silas raises his eyebrows, smirking.

  Then he takes off his briefs, and stands before me with his massive cock and solid body, and all I want to do is touch every inch of his skin and be held by those strong arms.

  He dives into the icy water without saying another word to me.

  I frown at what feels like rejection. But I can’t tell who’s rejecting who. I nearly cry. I’m such a hormonal mess.

  When he surfaces, I expect him to swim in the other direction. Instead, his bright eyes look right at me; he comes to the edge of the dock and lifts himself up by his elbows.

  “Mrs. Sutton. You may think you want to leave, but give me one day to show you what you’re walking away from.”

  “One day with you?”

  He nods, beads of water dripping down his nose. I kneel on the edge of the dock, setting down my mug and looking at those clear blue eyes, reflecting things inside of me I don’t even understand.

  “What are we doing first?” I ask.

  He grabs my hand, and swiftly pulls me in. Crashing into the lake head-first, I wonder how many times I’m going to fall for this man.

  The count is getting pretty damn high.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Silas

  We don’t last in the water very long because, damn, it’s fucking freezing. She shrieks, adorable when she’s drenched like a drowned rat, and when we run to the cabin, I’m a gentleman and let her in the warm shower first.

  But I’m going to watch her strip out of those soaked clothes.

  “It’s impossible to take off wet jeans,” she laughs, struggling, and I offer her my hand. She tugs her jeans off while using me for balance. And I unabashedly watch her as she tears off her clothes. God, those tits are perfect, her nipples so hard and tight from the freezing lake.

  She steps in the narrow shower, and I watch her from behind the clear curtain. I didn’t expect to give her another day here, but Travis gave me an idea.

  I couldn’t for the life of me imagine her leaving without one last time with her on my cock, without getting another taste of her pussy.

  I can’t let her go before I devour her body one more time.

  So when I came up from air after my dive, I proposed a final day here. Monique may not have explained what kind of man I am—where I live and how I live—and Everly may never have considered a life like this, but we are married.

  She’s my wife, goddammit, and I’m not going to let her walk away without a fight.

  * * *

  While she showers and changes, I fillet the fish I caught this morning and set it in the fridge for dinner. Since she’s taking her sweet time in the bathroom, I head to the shed and get a few planks of well-hewn wood, some nails, and a saw.

  When she comes out of the bathroom all fresh and clean, I feel my cock harden at the sight of her.

  “What are you doing?” she asks, looking at the supplies.

  “I’m building a shelf. You can make yourself useful and help.”

  “Okay.” She presses a finger to her mouth. “And how exactly should I help you?”

  “Here, hold the level; I’m going to mark the wall with a pencil where the shelf will go.”

  Working together, we mark the wall, and I set to bracing the shelf with simple wooden brackets. The shelving will run along the wall, above the row of hooks. It’s just dead space anyway.

  She holds the nails, and hands them to me one by one, watching intently as I measure and cut, then hammer the boards into place.

  I run my hand over my beard when I finish. Nothing fancy, but it will do the job.

  “What’s it for?” Everly asks.

  I shrug, looking down. “Your books.”

  “Really?” She shakes her head. “Silas … that wasn’t necessary.”

  “I know it wasn’t.”

  “But if I’m leaving….”

  “Are you?” I ask her the hard question she’s terrified to answer. She may say she’s not scared of anything, but we both know that’s a lie.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, until you decide, put your books on the shelf. This is your home, Everly, until you leave it. So you should act like it.”

  “Okay,” she says. Biting her lip, she reaches for one of her suitcases. Unzipping it, she begins pulling out stacks of novels, and hands them to me.

  I set them on the shelf and they don’t bow the shelf at all. I built this quickly, but it’s solid. And it needs to be. She brought these books all the way up here, they must mean something to her.

  She unloads the second suitcase and soon enough a hundred books line the shelf.

  “They all fit,” she says.

  I watch as she reorganizes them, making sure all the spines are out and up.

  “You always been a reader?” I ask. “I haven’t read a book since I graduated college.”

&
nbsp; Her eyebrows shoot up, as though she’s surprised, but I’m not sure at what part. The college or the lack of reading.

  “I guess we haven’t really talked much about ourselves,” she says, sitting down on the bed. “But yeah, I grew up reading. My mom and dad always bought me any book I wanted. And then in college I was an English Major.”

  “An English Major?” I shake my head. “Shit. Monique really fucked this up. You probably like culture and art museums and all that, huh? No wonder you’re hell-bent on hating it here.”

  “I don’t hate it here,” she says quickly.

  “Oh, yeah? Could’ve fooled me. You looked like you’d never seen something so disgusting as a house in the woods.”

  “It wasn’t the woods.” When I shoot her a disbelieving look, she adds, “Not only that. I was surprised, Silas. But more than the wilderness, it was this place. It’s the ultimate bachelor pad. Only no X-box. This doesn’t feel like a home.”

  “I never played video games.”

  “Did you grow up out here in the Denali forest?” she asks.

  “Nah.” I don’t like talking about myself and I try to change the subject by grabbing her hands, knowing there is more to do, to show her the good stuff about Alaska.

  “Where did you grow up then?”

  Knowing women like to ask questions until they get what they want, I acquiesce, getting to the point as quickly as possible. “I grew up in Anchorage. Went to college in Seattle. Came back here as fast as I could.”

  “But why the woods?”

  “For a girl who says she doesn’t know how to talk to men, you sure seem like you’ve got the question asking part down pat.”

  “You know,” she says. “We quit our game of Twenty Questions. Maybe we should finish it.”