The Mountain Man’s Mail-Order Wife (Mountain Man Sanctuary Season Two)

Riley

Acold breeze slaps my face a second before rain splatters my forehead. A curse slips free before I can stop it. Luckily, I’m the only one on the sidewalk. Not that it matters. The wind and rain are already making too much noise for my voice to be audible.

Quickening my steps, I glance up at the dark gray sky and wish I’d thought to bring an umbrella. Although I can’t hold one up with both hands full of grocery bags.

I’d planned to be home before the weather closed in. And I would be if I hadn’t dilly-dallied in the chocolate aisle only to decide I couldn’t afford to waste money on something I don’t need. Now I can only hope I make it home before the worst of the storm hits.

I’m still two blocks from the house and each hurried step has the bag handles digging into my fingers, slowly numbing the tips. I wish I’d brought the garden cart. It would be so much easier—and faster—to lug this weight home if I was pulling it.

Better yet, I should have taken the car.

Except the car needs gas, and the account I use to fill the tank and buy groceries was closed weeks ago. The only reason I can afford to buy food so I can eat this next week is because I had a few dollars socked away.

I try not to let the worry of dipping into my savings take hold. Instead, I concentrate on moving as quickly as I can down the sidewalk through the wind and rain without dropping the bags.

By the time I reach the house next to Aunt Bethany’s, I’m drenched.

The thin layers I’m wearing are no barrier to the rain pouring from the sky.

Water plasters my hair to my head, drips down my face, and blurs my vision.

It runs down my arms and pools in my palms, threatening my grip on the grocery bags.

The last thing I need is to drop food all over the ground.

“Only a few more steps.” Head down in an attempt to keep the worst of the rain out of my eyes, I keep moving. “Only a few more steps.”

Forging on, I make it to Aunt Bethany’s front gate only to stumble to a stop. Staring at the closed gate then my hands full of grocery bags I sigh.

“Why didn’t I just leave it open? It’s not like Aunt Bethany can get mad at me now.”

Juggling the bags from one hand to the other, I fumble with the latch on the gate, mad at the rain.

Mad at Aunt Bethany.

Mad at myself.

When the latch finally clicks open, I shove the gate with my foot only to have my ears assaulted by screeching metal.

Since Aunt Bethany died, I haven’t done any of my daily chores.

I’ve had other things to worry about. Like how I’m going to take care of myself now that I don’t have access to money.

Not even my pittance of an allowance has dropped into my account in weeks.

“Where the hell have you been?” The raspy smoke-ravaged voice, not unlike the screech of rusty metal hinges, assaults my ears, snapping me from my thoughts and my gaze up.

Standing under the cover of the porch, hands on hips, glare on his jowly face, is Warren.

Aunt Bethany’s only son.

He’s never been nice, and since his mother died, he’s only gotten meaner.

I don’t answer to him, I never have, but I can’t stop the compulsion to explain myself anyway. “Shopping for food. We’re out of groceries.”

“And who paid for those?” His tone is accusing, his scowl thunderous, making my hands clench the bag handles tighter. “You better not be using my mother’s money!”

The last is yelled and I’m pretty sure it isn’t rain flying from his lips in my direction. In spite of my resolve not to cower to anyone anymore I hunch in on myself. “I didn’t.”

“What? Speak up, you stupid girl.”

I flinch. It’s not the first time he’s called me a name, and I hate myself for letting him make me feel small. Again.

I’m not stupid. Just because I wasn’t able to go to college doesn’t mean I’m not smart. Walking closer, I raise my voice over the now howling wind and pounding rain. “I didn’t use Aunt Bethany’s money.”

He huffs, his arms crossing on top of his protruding stomach. “Just as well. Now hurry up. I don’t have all day to cart your scrawny ass around.”

I try not to, but I find myself rushing the rest of the way up the path to the house.

“Where do we need to go?” I ask as I top the steps and duck under the cover of the porch roof.

The urge to shake the water from my face and hair is something I can’t give in to.

Not without spraying Warren, and he seems madder than a wet hen already.

“I’m not going anywhere. You are.”

“Where am I going?”

“To your new home.”

I’m so confused by his words I don’t say anything for a few seconds, and once my brain catches up, I’m even more confused. “New home?” I shake my head slightly. “This is my home.”

“It is not.” His ruddy face glowers down at me, but there’s a spark of glee in his mean eyes. “This is my mother’s house which means it’s now mine.”

Oh!

I look at the door behind Warren. At the groceries I’m carrying. The porch where I spent so much of my life. It’s then I see the bags.

Trash bags. Several of them.

The ones I use to collect leaves from the yard in the fall. Except I haven’t raked leaves in weeks. Not since the last ones slipped from their branches.

“Don’t look so worried. I found you a job,” he says smugly. “One you’re well suited for.”

Suited for? I’ve never had a job, never worked.

“You’ll do exactly what you’ve always done. The only thing you’re good for,” he adds with a sneer. “Cleaning up after someone else.”

“Oh.” Bile rises in my throat. The idea of doing what I did for my aunt for as long as I can remember makes sick. I swallow the urge down along with the ‘no’ perched on the tip my tongue.

I don’t want to take care of someone else again. I want to find a job like a normal twenty-year-old. I want to see about doing some college classes. I want to—

“Take those groceries inside and unpack them. When you’re done, I’ll drive you to your new home.”

“They’re mine. I paid for them,” I say with a small amount of anger. “I’ll take them with me.”

“You will not take my mother’s—”

“I paid for them. Not her.” I already told him that. Besides, he should know without me saying a word because the minute his mother died, he shut down all her accounts and took the money she kept on hand out of the jewelry box in her room. He cleaned out the jewelry, too.

“Well.” He puffs his chest out like it has a chance of sticking out further than his belly, “Let’s hope your new employer doesn’t mind backtalk.”

I open my mouth to speak but he keeps going.

“Bring the bags to the car.” He waves at the trash bags on the porch. “Those too.”

It’s then I finally get a clue. All my things are in those bags. All my belongings stuffed into plastic bags like everything I own is trash. Like I’m trash. Not that I have a suitcase or anything else to move them in, but boxes would have been nice…I sigh.

I shouldn’t expect anything different. I know what Warren is like. He was horrible to his mother, to me, and I’m pretty sure he was just as horrible to his wife and children. Probably why he’s divorced and rarely sees his kids.

I’ve never judged him or been nasty in return, even when I wanted to slap him for the way he talked to his mother.

Aunt Bethany might not have been the most affectionate or welcoming woman, but she wasn’t mean or nasty the way Warren is.

And she was his mother—shouldn’t that have warranted his respect if not love?

“Get a move on.” He shoves my shoulder, making me stumble forward. “I already told you I don’t have all day to drive you around.”

I want to tell him where he can stick his ride. Except I don’t even know where I’m going. And I’m afraid to ask.

I have no option than to do what I’m told right now. But I’ll use however long it takes to get to my new home to strengthen my resolve—make a plan.

I might not have a choice now, especially seeing how I just put a big dent in my meager savings, but I will have one.

Soon.

I’ll make sure of it.