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

by Frankie Love

  Hours pass, and I am lost in a fog, completely absorbed in preparing the video. It takes a while since I'm still learning, but by the time I press upload, I give a massive sigh of relief.

  It's been so long since all my needs were met without excess worry and a knot in my shoulders.

  My stomach is rolling with hunger, but I want to show River what I made. In fact, he doesn't even know yet that I'm a yoga teacher. Or at least a yoga teacher wannabe. I bite the side of my lip, thinking he might just love learning this about me.

  Every man who has ever heard I practice yoga gets a grin on his face and glint in his eyes. I pull off my sweaty yoga clothes and jump in the shower quickly. Then I pull out a lacy bra and panty set, pull on a silky robe, and tousle my damp hair.

  I may have been a virgin on my wedding night, but right now I am filled with an adrenaline rush and I want to show my husband another side of me.

  Nervous energy runs over me as I grab the laptop and head downstairs. Before I even go rustle up food in the kitchen, I knock on the door to River's study, my bottom practically hanging out of the short robe.

  "River?" I call out, adjusting my breasts so they are more tempting. I want my husband to feel as good as I do right now. "Can I come in?"

  No answer. Pushing back my shoulders, I decide to turn the doorknob, calling his name again.

  I enter his study, but it doesn't look like I will get an afternoon treat, even though my body is wide awake. Because my husband is fast asleep in front of a computer.

  I stand there contemplating waking him up when his eyes blink open.

  "Rose?" he asks gruffly.

  I nod, the laptop under my arm and a smile playing on my lips.

  "You look gorgeous," he says, taking me in, looking me over from head to toe.

  Just when I think he is going to ravish me or pull me against him, he jerks upright and adjusts the computer screen.

  "River?" I ask, wanting his attention.

  He looks up at me again, then furrows his brows. "Sorry, Rose, but I have to focus. I just had a spark of inspiration."

  I stand there a second longer, feeling deflated.

  Then he is back at his keyboard and I turn from him for the second time today.

  Fine, if he doesn't want to spend time with me, then I guess I will spend more time with myself.

  I'm not going to let a bone-head man ruin my day. Or my life. I am in the most beautiful place in the world and I am going to use this time to my advantage.

  I wanted to make my YouTube channel, Stop and Smell the Roses, successful, and now is the time.

  As I sit down at the kitchen table, opening my laptop, I gasp. My video has already had one hundred and twelve views. And a dozen comments. A few of them are from the creeper who always comments, and I just hide those, focusing instead on the positive affirmations.

  Smiling, I scroll through them, my heart opening as I realize my dream is literally coming true before my very eyes. My new husband may not appreciate me, but that doesn't mean I can't start appreciating myself.

  Chapter Nine

  River

  For the next week, I'm lost in my writing cave. I shower a few times, but I'm in my study around the clock. I sleep in my chair when my eyes can no longer manage to stay open and I rifle through the cabinets, grabbing granola bars and cereal at random hours of the day and night.

  For a few days, Rose knocks on my door now and then, asking if I want to join her for dinner, or if I'm coming to bed, or if I want company. After I politely refuse time and time again, she stops trying.

  Every time she comes to the door, I try to explain why I can't stop -- but then I take a good look at my wife and am inspired to the point of frenzy. I can't stand there talking to her; I have to write.

  The story pours from my fingertips and after a week there is a finished draft. Three hundred and fifty pages. It isn't like any story I've written before.

  This is more than an action adventure. It has love laced through the characters’ motivations, and I know that it's the best damn thing I've ever written.

  I send the draft to Kenneth. He's gonna be fucking floored, and I smile, just picturing his surprise when he opens his inbox. When we spoke a week ago, I had no story ideas; I had just told him I was headed to get my wife.

  So much can change in a week.

  I roll my neck, standing from my desk, my body tense as fuck and every joint in my body is tight. I need a massage and then, with a grin, I think about what I already have: a wife.

  Looking out the large window in my office, I see Rose on the dock.

  Narrowing my eyes, I try to figure out what she's doing. She has on tiny skin-tight shorts and a sports bra. Her hair in a high bun, revealing her beautiful neck and collarbone. Her belly is exposed, taut and tan, and my cock gets hard as I watch her lift her right leg behind her back, extending it to the sky, her ample chest pushed forward--her gorgeous tits on goddamn display.

  She knows what she is doing. The poses she positions herself into are seamless and practiced, graceful and inspiring. She's really fucking good, I realize, as she continues to move her body from one yoga position to the next, a serene smile on her face the entire time. It's obvious she a professional, but as I continue to watch, mesmerized, I realize she isn't just exercising. She's talking to someone. or rather something.

  There's a video camera perched on a tripod and I realize she is taping herself doing her hot-as-fuck routine.

  Scowling, I leave the study, needing to understand just what my wife is doing. As I move through the house, out the back doors, I realize I don't actually know all that much about Rose, besides the fact she gets my cock hard as hell and inspires me in a way no other woman has ever been able to do.

  After meeting her, I wrote a fucking book in a solitary week. If that doesn't tell you something, I don't know what would.

  She's sitting in a cross-legged position by the time I get outside, her palms pressed together, against her chest, pointed to the sky. Her eyes are closed and she's taking long, deep breaths as if she has no worries in the goddamn world.

  "Just what in the hell are you doing?" I holler as I near her and her pretty pink yoga mat spread out on the long dock.

  Her eyes pop open in surprise. "River?" she asks as if she's never seen me before. "What... I mean... why... you... what are you doing here?" she asks, scrambling to her feet.

  "What am I doing here? It's my fucking house."

  "I know that but you... I mean, it's not like you really care what I'm doing."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" I ask incredulously. "Of course, I care. You're my wife."

  She snorts, shaking her head, and leaning over to the camera and switching it off. "You just ruined my video."

  "Your what?"

  "My video." She closes her eyes, lifting her shoulders high, then letting them fall as she lets out a long breath. "I'm a yoga instructor. But you don't know that because you aren't actually interested in me."

  Now it's my turn to snort. "Not interested? Rose, I'm fucking obsessed with you."

  She scoffs. "This is what you call obsessed? I'd call it absolute disregard. I'd call it what-the-actual-hell am I doing here as your wife?"

  I take a step closer to her. "Then why are you still here?"

  She waves her hand around the lake. "Um, this is basically paradise, River. And if you don't want to be my friend, fine. I'm okay with this arrangement."

  "You think I hate you?"

  "Not hate," she says, twisting her lips. "You aren't mean to me, or rude, or cruel. But you aren't nice. You're indifferent." She shakes her head, dipping her chin, and then she raises her eyes to mine. They look so pure and sweet, but also, it's as if she's lost. "Maybe I'm not the kind of woman you were hoping for. And I understand -- we'd never met before we exchanged our vows. And an arranged marriage is probably a crazy idea in the twenty-first century."

  I press my hands to her shoulders. "You are the exact woman I was looking for."
/>   Tears pool in her eyes and she shakes her head ever so slightly. "Funny way of showing it." She blinks back her tears. "I wanted a life that was simple and quiet and far from a city. Your home is exquisite, your property perfection. But be straight with me, River."

  "I am. You're truly everything I want." I think about the passages in the novel I just wrote, the ways I described the woman the main character was seeking vengeance for. She was as pure a beauty as my bride. He had something to fight for because of her.

  "Then why have you ignored me all week? Never tried to get to know me?" She takes a step back from me, and I let my hands fall back to my sides, not wanting to scare her away. She presses her fingertips to her temples. "Not even sleeping in our bed?"

  I drop my head, feeling like a fucking maniac. I was so consumed by my creative passion, that I lost sight that my muse was also my wife. That she needed me.

  I rake my hands through my hair. "I may be a writer, but I've never been good at speaking from my heart, Rose."

  "Try, please. Because you come down here, yelling at me as if I'm your possession, but you've ignored me all week."

  I swallow, shame coursing through my veins. I detailed my devotion to Rose in a book, but never cared to show her how I felt.

  "Let me prove to you I care," I tell her. "Let me try again."

  "You really want to know me?" she asks in a whisper, as if not believing it.

  "Dammit," I growl, knowing I've let her down. "I was so caught up in my work that I never even considered how you must feel. I have no fucking business being anyone's husband."

  She gives me a soft smile, the kind that inspired me to lock myself up in a room for a week. "Too late, River Ryder. Because I'm already your wife."

  Chapter Ten

  Rose

  I want to be furious at him. Livid. He ran down here to the dock, screaming his head off at me, telling me to stop what I'm doing. And for a moment, I was pretty peeved.

  But then the Alaskan sun shines down against his impressive body; its light shines on him, sending a tingle down my spine, and the anger melts away.

  Yes, he is an idiot, and clearly has no idea how to treat a woman, let alone a wife, but... when he looks at me I forget that.

  I know that sounds shallow, but River is so ruggedly handsome that it makes it difficult to ignore. Then he looks into my eyes, looking both wounded and confused, I know there is more to his story.

  However, I won't give in to him too easily. He wants to ignore me for a week and then spout off nonsense about me being the dream girl for him? Yeah, right. I may have been a virgin before I came to Alaska but that doesn't mean I am an idiot.

  If I'm his dream girl, then why has he been ignoring me? He's literally let me sleep alone in our marital bed since our wedding night. I know that isn't normal.

  For a few days, I was mad about it, too. Frustrated at the situation I found myself in. Alone in the middle of nowhere, with a man who'd rather stay in his study then sleep with me a second time.

  But then I sat outside on the patio, and looked up at the sky, and realized I'd somehow landed in my dream life. Bright white clouds and blue skies and crystal-clear water. Here there is no smog and no honking horns and no noisy neighbors.

  I've found heaven on Earth. So sure, the cost of that means I live with a man who ignores me for days at a time, but that's not exactly a cause for concern.

  I realized there was no getting through to him--my attempts at inviting him to share a meal with me or asking him to bed were fruitless--so I continued to set up my video camera outside, recording videos and posting them on YouTube and, honestly, it's been the most inspiring and invigorating week of my life.

  I don't need River's affirmation to feel good about myself, and I don't even need the praise from the commenters that my videos are receiving. I feel good about myself just as I am, and I'm finally figuring out that is enough.

  I used to get so down about where I was in life like I should have accomplished more by now. I'd look around L.A. and feel like everyone had already figured themselves out. I felt like a loser, a nobody.

  But I'm realizing that was just a story I was telling myself. That I can change my own narrative. My self-worth doesn't hinge on whether or not River Ryder joins me in bed at night.

  Still, the more views my videos have, the more subscribers I garner, the better my chance to actually make a career of this. So, the growing fanbase is monumental. Especially since after just one week, I am surpassing my six-month goal.

  The setting here at River's home is everything. The people who watch my videos certainly feel that way.

  "The lake is so beautiful, I feel calmer just turning this video on!"

  "Is it as beautiful as it looks?"

  "Tell me you're in front of a green screen! :-). There's no way Alaska is that beautiful!"

  "You're in paradise!"

  Of course, there is still the one commenter who always manages to comment the moment my video is uploaded -- the one who seems to constantly mention how much he enjoys the view -- and it's all clearly laced in innuendo. I delete those, not wanting to draw any wrong ideas.

  Overall, I'm in a really good place in my life and I don't need River's devotion to make me happy, but he’s insisting that he has something to prove. That I am his dream girl. I won't fight him on this, not after everything he has done to give me this opportunity in the first place.

  He takes my hand in his and grabs my video camera and tripod and shoves it under his arm. Then he leads me up the stairs to his house. I mean, our house.

  "Let me show you," he says again. "Let me prove that you matter to me."

  "There's nothing you could show me that's going to prove that you like me after you ignored me for a week. It's not how relationships work. Can we just leave well enough alone?" I ask as he sets my camera on the kitchen table and leads me through the hallway to the study. "We can keep living like this," I assure him. "I'm your wife, but that doesn't mean we have to be lovers."

  "You don't understand, Rose. I do want that."

  "Then you're right, I don't understand. At all. Why you wanted a wife at all, is something I'm still trying to figure out."

  "I didn't need a wife," he tells me. "I needed you."

  I close my eyes and cross my arms over my body. He needs me? Yeah right.

  We're in his study and he's pulling out his office chair and telling me to sit directly in front of his computer screen. "Just read this. Please, Rose, please?"

  Maybe it's the way his strong capable hands grip the back of the chair in such a desperate way. Maybe it's the way his eyes search mine, begging me to listen. Maybe it's the way my body feels when I am held under his gaze.

  And as much as I tell myself that I can make do with this not-exactly-warm-and-friendly marriage, the truth is, I want more. I could tell myself that this waterfront mansion is enough, but then I look at him and know that isn't entirely true.

  I want to be with him, heart, and soul.

  And maybe that's greedy. This should be plenty. It's certainly more than most people get, but maybe... Maybe there's more for us both.

  I sit down, exhaling, feeling exposed, wishing I was wearing more than a sports bra and bike shorts, but I center myself and take a deep breath and look at the computer screen.

  "What is this?" I ask, realizing there is a document pulled up.

  "It's the manuscript."

  My eyes run over the computer screen -- the document says it's 359 pages and it's saved as My Rose.

  "What is this?" I ask, feeling a flutter of confusion in my belly. I look up at him, trying to understand this man I married.

  "It's the book I wrote. This week." He moves away from the desk and begins pacing the office. His hands run through his hair, over his beard, and I see that he's trembling. Terrified. Nervous. "Just read it, I can't bear to wait anymore. I need you... I need you to tell me what you think."

  "You want my opinion on your book?" I bite my bottom lip. "I'm not qu
alified. I'm a yoga instructor, not a critic."

  River shakes his head, pleading with me. "No, I want your opinion. I need to hear... I need you, Rose."

  "Okay, okay," I say lifting my hands. "Let me read."

  He begins pacing the room, this time with less intensity. I settle into the chair and begin reading the passage he has pulled up for me.

  The words are exquisite. His simplistic style gets to the heart of things immediately. No pomp and circumstance, yet somehow, he describes the feelings between a man and woman -- between desperate desire and absolute determination -- flawlessly.

  I see, as I begin to read, page after page, that this story is more than make-believe; the emotion here. It's real.

  I swallow hard when I realize the emotion really is formed from something. Something River and I shared our first night together.

  "Is this about us?"

  River stops and turns to look at me. "Does that scare you?"

  "That you wrote a book for me?" I ask, pushing the chair back from the desk.

  He nods, stepping closer. He kneels before me, his hands taking mine. "I haven't been able to write in years, Rose. I told you that."

  "And then..." I lick my lips, as I try to understand. He is hot and cold, and I want steady, safe, stable.

  "But then I met you, Rose, and I was inspired."

  My eyes flicker back to pages on the screen, the words dramatic and romantic.. She reached inside me as if she saw more than blood and bones. I was a killer, a man on the run, but she saw a heart worth loving.

  My own heart swells with emotion as I read the passage. "I don't want to be a gimmick," I tell him. "Have you done this before? Chosen a woman to inspire you only to let her go once you got what you needed?"

  His eyes turn dark and he draws my face to him, his palm cups my cheek and his words are strong and echoing my hope.