Mountain Daddy's Mail-Order Bride

1. Silas

one

Silas

The mountain speaks to me in ways people never could. I understand its moods, its dangers, its quiet beauty. But lately, the silence in my cabin has grown heavier than the winter snows.

I run my hand across the rough-hewn table I built, wondering what it would be like to hear another voice echo off these walls. Forty years on this earth, and I've never felt quite so alone as I do now that I've finally settled back on Darkmore Mountain.

"Damn it, Silas," I mutter to myself, refilling my coffee cup. "Was this the grand plan? Fly around the world for twenty years and retire to talk to yourself?"

After setting down my commercial pilot's wings, I thought the mountain would be enough. I've always been a man of few words, comfortable in my own company. But there's a difference between choosing solitude and feeling its weight press against your chest each night.

Outside, a light snow begins to fall. I move to the window, watching the flakes dance in the fading light. My cabin is sturdy, well-built—everything in its place. I've created a sanctuary here, but I realize now I've built it for two.

There's a corner of my bedroom where I've placed a rocking chair. Sometimes I sit there, imagining someone smaller curled up in my lap, someone I could protect and care for. The thought warms something deep inside me that I've kept hidden for years.

My fingers trace the edge of my laptop as I open it. The browser is still open to the Rocky Mountain Matches website—a mail-order bride service I found three whiskeys into a particularly lonely night last week. I haven't closed the tab since.

"This is ridiculous," I say, but I don't shut the computer.

I want a woman who’s looking for something specific: stability, protection, guidance.

The kind of relationship where traditional roles are embraced but deepened.

Where a man isn't just a husband but a caretaker—a Daddy to a woman who wants to feel cherished and sheltered in ways that go beyond conventional relationships.

I want to be someone's safety, their rock, their guiding hand. I want to cherish someone, to watch her eyes light up when I praise her, to hold her when she needs comfort, to guide her gently when she strays.

I want to be someone's Daddy, in all the ways that matter.

The thought should embarrass me, but up here on the mountain, there's no one to judge what lives in my heart. The town below knows me as Silas Reid, the former pilot who keeps to himself. They don't see the tenderness that aches for expression, the protective instinct that has no outlet.

I create a profile, typing carefully, weighing each word.

I describe my home, my life on the mountain, and the security I can provide.

I mention wanting a traditional relationship "with elements of caregiving and guidance," dancing around the terminology while making my intentions clear enough for those who understand.

Under "Seeking," I write: A woman who values protection and structure, who finds strength in surrender and joy in being cherished. Someone who needs a firm hand as much as a gentle touch.

My finger hovers over the submit button. Once I do this, there's no turning back. I'll be putting this need—this part of myself I've never shared—out into the world.

I press submit.

Days pass. I check my messages obsessively, then force myself to stay away from the computer for hours, pretending I'm not counting the minutes. A few responses come in, but none that spark anything real.

Until her message arrives.

Elsie. 21 years old. Her profile picture shows blonde hair and blue eyes that seem to look right through the screen. She's petite, delicate in a way that stirs every protective instinct I possess.

I'm looking for stability and structure, she writes. Someone who can be my shelter from the storm. I need guidance, boundaries, and a strong hand to help me feel secure. I want to be someone's little girl, to be treasured and protected in a way I've never experienced before.

My breath catches. The directness of her words, the clear understanding of what she's seeking mirrors what I've kept locked inside for so long.

I compose a careful response, more words than I've strung together in months. I explain my life here, my expectations, and what I can offer her. I'm honest about what I want. What I need.

I've always wanted to be someone's protector, I write. To create a safe space where you could be entirely yourself, where being vulnerable isn't weakness but strength. I want to be your guidance, your comfort, and yours in all ways that matter.

The word looks stark on the screen, but I don't delete it. If this is going to work, we need clarity from the beginning.

As I prepare for bed that night, I find myself pausing at the rocking chair, running my hand along its arm. For the first time, I allow myself to fully imagine Elsie there, her small form curled against my chest, trusting me.

"Please answer," I whisper to the empty room.