The Mountain Man’s North Star: A Modern Mail-Order Bride Romance

by Love, Frankie

  “So, did you make your call?” I ask, joining her on her couch, espresso cups in hand.

  “I did. I spoke with my daughter.”

  “Your daughter?” I frown. “Why?”

  “Well, Isabela has a special kind of business. A business that might help you.”

  “Okay?…”

  Fiametta continues. “She would be able to get you out of LA, out of your lease … but it would require a significant change to your lifestyle.”

  “How significant?” I ask, wondering what kind of job her daughter might offer me.

  “You’d have to move to Alaska.”

  “Alaska?” I laugh. “That’s so weird. I just saw an advertisement for Alaskan tourism, just ate a piece of Baked Alaska and …” I pause, thinking of my horoscope: The mountains are calling! I swallow. I use signs to make my choices—at least, I have tried to ever since things went sideways with Robby. “Fiametta, what kind of job would this be, exactly?”

  She pauses, finishes her espresso, then winks at me. “It wouldn’t be a job. You’d be a mail-order bride.”

  My eyes widen. “A what?”

  “My daughter owns a matchmaking service, and after I told her about you she said she was certain she already had the perfect man in mind.”

  “Marriage?” I exhale, thinking it sounds crazy …. I haven’t been with a man in years, let alone be someone’s wife.

  But then I remember the couple getting married at city hall, the golden wedding band I found on my way here.

  The Universe wouldn’t have given me all these signs unless there was a reason.

  In my heart I know this is the easiest decision of my life. But really, it’s hardly my choice at all. Fate has intervened and solved all my problems.

  “The groom agrees to pay off the brides debts or student loans, the travel, the—”

  I cut her off. “How soon can I go?”

  Chapter Two

  Sullivan

  It’s been six weeks since I’ve been laid.

  The longest stretch I’ve gone since I was eighteen years old.

  And damn, I’m ready for my bride to arrive.

  I’m lonely as fuck up here in the middle of nowhere. I hate the idea of leaving Grandad Sully’s place—I know this is where I belong right now. I just don’t want to be here by myself.

  And if this Isabela lady can find me a wife half as nice as Hannah, I’ll be a happy man.

  And I won’t be so damn horny all the time. God, my cock is a fucking raging rod every morning. To think that tomorrow when I wake up there will be a warm naked body next to mine, ready for me to start our day right, damn I know this is the right decision.

  A little selfish, maybe, but we all have our reasons for doing this. I’m not naïve enough to think this woman won’t have hers.

  I stand on my dock, waiting for the private seaplane I hired to arrive with my new bride. It’s a clear day, and that bodes well for her travel. And inside I’ve set the stage. I’m ready to get my wife naked and pull her in my arms.

  Well, not technically wife yet. The officiate is flying in with her.

  Like I’ve said, I don’t waste time. I get shit done. If I’m getting a mail-order bride, she will be my bride before I carry her over the threshold. Before I fucking fill her pussy up like she deserves, she is going to be my wife.

  Finally I see the plane nearing my property and I run a hand through my hair, knowing I’m a mountain man at heart. And not just because I’m wearing a flannel shirt, boots, and beard—but because this place is my family homestead, my land and my mountain. This land is a part of me, and as the plane lands, I know I’m proud of where I come from, the man I am today.

  I know my wife will like it too.

  When the plane lands, I walk toward it, ready to meet the woman who is going to be mine forever.

  Harrison didn’t think I had the balls to commit—well, fucking look at me now. Making promises without even knowing this woman’s name.

  The pilot disembarks, and then the officiate does too, stepping out of the way.

  I move closer, to help her out. And when I reach for her hand, it fucking takes my breath away. I look her over, my bride to be. She’s wearing a peasant style dress, long and flowy, and her hair is loose, already blowing in the wind. She has on moccasin boots, fringe swishing, and she has earrings that jingle when she moves.

  “Shit,” I say, not-so-quietly.

  “What is it?” she asks, her blue eyes sparkling.

  “You’re fucking gorgeous,” I say, wrapping my hand in hers and helping her down.

  “Thanks,” she says breathlessly. “I didn’t know what to wear when meeting my … husband.”

  “It’s perfect,” I tell her. She seems nervous —and I get it. This is a strange situation. But it’s one we both asked for. Her nose is so cute, slightly upturned, and she has rose colored lips. She isn’t my usual type at all—I’ve never gone for a girl with this hippy-vibe, but I like it. Well, I like her. At least, I like the way she looks.

  “I’m Sophie Sander. Well, I mean, I guess it’s changing now.”

  “I’m Sullivan McClain.” I lead her to where the officiate stands at the front of the dock. There’s a seating area there and we join them. He’s pulling a manila folder from his messenger bag and asks if we’re ready.

  “Oh, like, now?” Sophie asks. “Like right now?”

  I nod. “Right now.” I don’t ask if it’s okay; if she wants to back out—she’s a grown ass woman. If she doesn’t want to be here, she doesn’t have to be.

  Then I pause, remembering this isn’t exactly a goddamn business transaction—this is a marriage. I should act like the fucking gentleman I’m not.

  But before I can ask if she really wants this, she speaks up.

  “Good,” she says. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”

  I grin, running a hand over my beard. “You always this agreeable?”

  She shakes her head. “Only when I’m certain.”

  “And right now, with a man you’ve never met, you are absolutely sure?”

  She licks her lips, her pink tongue giving my cock a reason to ache. She looks me up and down and it makes me pull back my shoulders, wanting her to see the whole package. Well, not all of it. She’ll see all of it soon enough.

  “I’m sure,” she tells me.

  I love it, a woman who knows what she wants.

  “One thing,” I tell her. “You’ve got to be honest with me. I take that seriously. I don’t want secrets, I can’t have you hiding things from me. We need to be one hundred percent open, otherwise this is going to be a cluster fuck.”

  She pulls in her bottom lip and I see a flash of worry in her eyes. This must be all so overwhelming.

  But then she nods, resting her hand on mine. “I’ll be honest.”

  I smile. This woman is like a goddamn gold mine. Beautiful, open-minded, and when she touches me, hell, I know this is going to be a good night.

  “Shall we begin?” the officiate asks, and the pilot steps in as our witness.

  The vows are basic, and we repeat them, every last one. We face one another, making lifelong promises, and I wonder if she might falter, might back down. She really knows nothing about me whatsoever.

  And I know nothing about her.

  I smile, Harrison didn’t think I could commit— well fucking look at me now.

  “I do,” I say.

  I do,” Sophie repeats.

  Then I pull out the ring I purchased. Her breath catches and her eyes go wide. Even the guy marrying us seems shocked. It’s a five-carat diamond solitaire on a gold band.

  “This okay?” I ask, knowing it is. I slip it on her finger, and it fits perfectly. I bought myself a ring too, and tell her so, reaching for it in my pocket, but she shakes her head.

  “No,” she says stopping me. “I have one.” She reaches into the pocket on her dress and pulls out a simple gold band. “I hope it fits,” she says. “I kinda found it on the sidewalk.”<
br />
  I frown, not understanding, but before I can answer she is sighing with relief and her face breaks out into a wide smile.

  “It’s perfect,” she says. “I knew it would be. All of this. This ceremony. This mountain. You.”

  I think I misread her when she stepped off the plane. It wasn’t nerves, it was excitement. Sophie is all in.

  The officiate clears his throat. “With great pleasure, I pronounce you as husband and wife. Sullivan, you may kiss your bride.”

  I pull her to me, my hand on her waist, so fucking hot for her I’d fuck her right on this patch of grass if it weren’t for these two guys watching.

  She leans into the kiss, her mouth parting ever so slightly, and the smallest of whimpers escapes her lips.

  Good, my wife knows how to kiss.

  Now it’s my turn to show her what I’m good at.

  Chapter Three

  Sophie

  I’ve been kissed before, sure — but nothing like that. Like this. Oh god. I wasn’t nervous at all leading up to today—to this moment. I choose to believe the Universe brought me here, but now? Now the sexiest man I’ve ever seen is kissing me like … like I am his.

  And I am.

  I’ve had my feet on Alaskan soil for less than ten minutes and already I’m a wife. Sullivan’s wife. When he pulls back I look into his milk chocolate eyes, melting into them. He’s wearing a flannel shirt and dark denim jeans, and yet I can see so many muscles everywhere. His biceps, his thighs, his chest.

  “You okay?” he asks, his strong hand on the small of my back.

  My eyelashes flutter. “I’m fine. I …”

  “What?”

  “You really … fit the part.” I look around me, overwhelmed by the beauty of this place. The tall snow-capped mountains, the dark blue ocean spreading out before us, this isolated cove in the middle of nowhere that is, apparently, my new home. Sullivan looks like he belongs on this plot of land.

  I just hope I look like I belong too. Especially since I already lied to my husband. I didn’t tell the agency about the loan shark, I was too embarrassed … and now I am keeping that from Sullivan too.

  But we just got married, there will be plenty of time to tell him the truth.

  “We need you to sign the marriage license,” the officiate says. I never even caught his name. I’d been so wrapped up in the moment— in the insanity of it all. The license is on a clipboard and we all sign our names, and date it.

  It’s done.

  “I’ll file this with the courthouse as soon as I land in Sitka. And make sure you update your personal information, Sophie,” he says, addressing me. “If you are changing your name.”

  Changing my name. I will be Sophie McClain now.

  “Oh, she’s changing her name alright,” Sully says. “We’ll get right on that.”

  Moments later, the pilot is back in the cockpit, flying away with the marriage certificate, and I turn to look at Sullivan.

  We’re here, all alone.

  “Want to see your new place?” he asks, grabbing my luggage. I lugged those suitcases through the airport, sweating and cursing the whole time, but Sully just tosses one over his shoulder, lifts the other two with his hands, and sets off, me trailing behind him, holding a tote bag on one arm and a purse on the other.

  “It’s just up this hill,” he tells me, pointing ahead. “Past this bluff.”

  I don’t see the house, and have no idea what to expect. But when we crest the hill I stop, gasping.

  “This is your house?”

  “Yeah, you like it?”

  I blink, not quite believing the gorgeous sight in front of me. It’s more a lodge than a home. A gorgeous, wood planked structure with three floors of windows, all facing the ocean.

  “It looks like a hotel,” I say, walking to keep up.

  “I recently inherited it. It was my grandfather Sully’s place.”

  “You have the same name.”

  “Yeah,” he says. “He was the best man I’ve ever known.”

  “Wow, what an honor then, to live here now.”

  He opens a back door, and we enter a kitchen. Which is a ridiculous word to call this space. It’s massive. There’s a huge island larger than most dining room tables anchoring it, and an open floor plan has me looking past the range and toward a brightly burning fire. The fireplace is surrounded by an impressive river rock wall.

  I met Isabela at the agency briefly after Fiametta explained her daughter’s mail-order bride business. I went online and took the personality quiz that she requested. I went to a clinic and did the required blood work, brought in my birth certificate and a copy of my driver’s license. She told me that her services guaranteed matches and that I was the ideal candidate for a bachelor who had recently contacted her about securing a bride.

  I knew nothing about Sullivan before coming. I was told that this is part of the magic. A throwback to how many cultures operated from the beginning of time until a few hundred years ago. And I embraced, wholeheartedly, her rationale for keeping secret the information of who, exactly, I’d be marrying. After all, I was at the end of my rope in LA when all signs pointed to marriage with a man in Alaska.

  This man.

  But now, as I stand here, I feel like I’m missing some parts to the puzzle. Why did this man need to buy a bride?

  And yes, I was bought.

  Though, I was much too scared to admit the truth of my debts. I’d given Isabela my credit card statement, my overdue electric bill, my unpaid rent notice. Those debts were cleared the moment I left LA.

  I hadn’t told her about Robby though. The loan shark. I was too scared to admit I’d had any dealings with such a shady crook. I was scared she wouldn’t accept me into her program; wouldn’t whisk me away to a life far from Los Angeles.

  Sullivan is watching as I take in the luxurious surroundings. I feel like a cheap date in this thrift store dress. I had been given a stipend of $500 to purchase necessary clothing for the trek north. There had been an emphasis on bras and panties for my new husband, and Isabela’s secretary had mentioned that perhaps I could use it for a haircut. But I couldn’t spend the money that way.

  Instead, I left Robby a note, the five hundred dollars, and left town.

  Now, I wish I’d taken at least a few twenties and treated myself to a new outfit.

  “What are you thinking?” Sullivan finally asks.

  “I’m thinking this is strange.”

  “And?”

  “I’m a little confused. Why would a man as handsome, as rich, as sexy as you want a mail-order bride?”

  His eyebrows raise as he takes my question in, and I wonder if I said the wrong thing. Of course I did—I’m standing in his home, questioning him.

  “Does it matter? You’re here now, wife.”

  I press a hand to my collarbone, trying to steady myself. This is really my new life.

  “I suppose I am.”

  “And you said before the vows that you wanted to be here, correct?”

  I nod. “I do.”

  He steps toward me. “And you’re not nervous, are you?”

  I shake my head. It’s true, I’m not nervous, I’m just trying to read the situation correctly. This drop dead handsome man wants me.

  Why exactly?

  “Then let’s have some fun, celebrate. We just got married, didn’t we?”

  I bite my bottom lip as he looks down at me. How did this become my life? “We did.”

  He gives me a smile that is oozing with confidence. “And that was one hell of a kiss, wasn’t it?” He runs his hand over my arm, letting it rest on my waist.

  I pull in a tight breath filled with excitement, wanting him closer. I nod. “It was.”

  He uses a finger to lift my chin, our eyes meeting. My knees seeming to buckle. God. I was expecting to sleep with my husband … I just wasn’t expecting my husband to be a man like Sullivan.

  “And that kiss was with those two guys watching,” he says. “I wonder wh
at a kiss would be like if it was just you and me, no one else? Just a husband and wife.”

  “I wonder.”

  He leans down, his hot breath on my ear. “Let’s go find out.”

  Then he picks me up, telling me it’s time to carry his bride over the threshold of our bedroom.

  Chapter Four

  Sullivan

  I’ve carried plenty of women to bed—but never under circumstances such as this. She feels so light in my arms and she has a sweet smile across her lips as if she’s relaxed. Which I find pretty fucking hard to believe, all things considered. A stranger is carrying her into the master bedroom of a house she has never been before, for Christ’s sake.

  Hell, even I have my doubts about this moment. But Sophie?

  She’s all in.

  “Are we just going to get right to it, then?” she asks as I set her down. She has a hand pressed to my chest and I love the way it feels against me.

  I’m not a man who hesitates, and I don’t plan on turning into one anytime soon. I want to consummate this marriage. And not just to prove to my brother that I have what it takes to be a married man. I want to make Sophie happy.

  “That’s my plan,” I say, wrapping an arm around her slender waist.

  “Good. Because this all feels so meant to be.”

  Her dark hair falls over her shoulders and I brush it aside. My cock grows hard as I let her silky locks slide through my fingers. “It’s been a long time,” I tell her.

  “How long?” she asks.

  I run a hand over my beard. “Long enough to need this, now.”

  “Then let’s take care of that.”

  Understanding what I need, she steps back. She slips off her shoes and turns, lifting her dress over her head.

  “You really aren’t shy, are you?”

  She looks over her shoulder. “Do I have reason to be?”

  I smirk, looking at her body as she drops the dress to the floor. Her round ass needs a good squeeze, and the curve of her hips causes me to pull off my shirt and slide my belt out of the loops, dropping it.