The Mountain Man’s Wrong Mail-Order Bride (Mountain Man Sanctuary Season 2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

ELLIS

“Olive, baby, Daddy’s gotta go,” I murmur into my five-year-old gremlin’s thick mess of dark hair.

Her face scrunches as her eyes squeeze shut. I swallow my laugh, clearing my throat.

“Olive Primrose Michaels, I know you’re faking sleep. Up, baby girl,” I groan, lifting her out of bed.

Her whine is deep and long. Olive gives me her dead weight, dramatically allowing her limbs to hang loose. “Goodness, you’re getting as heavy as Ginger,” I fain struggle.

Immediately, her head magically regains support from her neck, and she whips her grumpy, offended glare my way.

I can’t fight my smile as we enter her bathroom across the hall. “Thought that’d do that trick.”

“Nuh-uh. Ginger’s bigger than me,” Olive pouts in my face, surprisingly wide awake all of a sudden.

“You’re right, baby girl. You’re perfect. Don’t let anyone ever make you think otherwise, you hear?” I set her down on her stool, which she insisted on painting again. This time, a bright purple with stars.

“You know the drill. Teeth, face, hair. I'll set your outfit on your bed.” I pat her bottom. “We gotta head out in thirty minutes, kiddo.”

My too-smart-for-her-age daughter narrows her big hazel eyes and, with a flair, swings her arm toward the bathroom window. “Daddy, come on. Sun, the sun is not up.”

“I know, kiddo. But remember, this is only temporary. In two days, someone will be here full-time, and you can sleep in for the rest of the summer. Consider this practice before you start school this fall.” I reach over and turn the sink on.

“Ten minutes, baby. Then get dressed so we can have breakfast.”

I leave my daughter to our routine since moving to Eden Ridge last year, while I set out her clothes and let Ginger, our golden retriever, out.

I’m grateful to Caleb and Harper Jackson for providing this cabin with the job.

I couldn’t have left Wild Peak fast enough.

Just wish Olive didn’t have to suffer the consequences of all the sudden change.

My girl’s resilient, but I know how this shit can creep up when one gets older.

I hate the idea that I’m inflicting more trauma with my choices.

I gotta be at L&F Guest Ranch by six. We drive down the mountain toward town, where Mrs. Harriet has been generous enough to sit for Olive until I get off at six tonight. Wrangler at a busy Guest Ranch means long hours.

That’s why you’re doing this, Ellis. It’s what’s best for Olive.

“Daddy,” Olive kicks her feet in her chair, staring out the window. “When is August four?”

I smile at her pronunciation of August.

“Two weeks, kiddo. Which means, how many days?” I ask, turning the corner toward Main Street. Her face scrunches in thought.

“How many days in one week?” I reframe the question.

She counts the days on her fingers, then puts them up for me to see.

“How many is that?” I grin at her from the rearview.

“Seven.”

“Nice job. So seven days plus another seven days equals?”

She takes a moment, counting her fingers twice to double-check. “Four…fourteen?”

“My genius. That’s right, baby girl. You turn six in fourteen days.”

Near town is an idyllic neighborhood of houses. I pull into the two-story bright yellow farmhouse at ten to six. I park, get Olive out of her seat, and hold her hand as we take the porch steps.

Mrs. Harriet, as every morning, is standing in her open doorway, in her long patterned dress, colorful house slippers, and thick black hair with streaks of gray locs, interwoven with bright colored pieces.

“Morning, Miss Olive,” she smiles. “And to you, Ellis, dear.”

“Morning, Mrs. Harriet. It’s too early,” my daughter states the obvious for my sake.

“Indeed, Miss Olive. But what have I said before?” Mrs. Harriet asks.

Sighing heavily, my daughter tilts her head. “Quiet feeds art, an art-ist brain.”

Mrs. Harriet laughs softly, stroking my daughter’s hair. “Close enough. Say, see you later, to Daddy and head inside. Arthur just arrived.”

“See you later, Daddy.” She tips her head all the way back and raises her arms.

My heart never ceases to squeeze painfully every time. I lift her in my arms, hold her tight, and kiss her hair.

“See you later, my beautiful girl.”

“I love you, Daddy. Come back, okay?”

Fuck. I squeeze her tighter. Over her shoulder, Mrs. Harriet’s sympathetic gaze almost breaks me.

“See you for dinner. What’s on the menu?” I ask routinely.

She pulls back and thinks. “Pasta.”

I nod. “Done. Love you. Be good for Mrs. Harriet. And eat all your lunch.”

“Right-o, Daddio,” she giggles.

I set her down, and she runs inside. “Still watching those sixties cartoons?” I chuckle before I embarrass my ass and cry in front of this older woman.

“Better than being glued to tablets playing questionable games with questionable kids around the world.”

“Fair,” I nod.

“Go, Ellis. All will be fine. You got the day off for Thursday?”

I glance over her shoulder, making sure Olive’s out of earshot. “Yeah. Caleb and Keith insisted I take Thursday through Sunday. Get us situated before I have to leave Olive alone with her.”

Personally, I preferred no one ever know about the arrangement I made, but realistically, I knew, in a town this small, questions from at the very least my boss, co-workers, and Mrs. Harriet would be unavoidable.

“Unconventional isn’t always a bad thing, Ellis.”

Coming from the most eccentric grandmother in Eden Ridge, not surprised to have her support. “Feels desperate,” I mumble my confession.

“You have your whole world in there,” she tips her head toward the house. “And life dealt you both a very difficult hand. No shame in how you choose to survive it until you’re both thriving again.”

“Appreciate you, Mrs. Harriet. Gotta head out.”

She squeezes my forearm. “See you tonight.”

I tip my hat and head to work. By ten to noon, I’ve been lost in the day’s tasks. This morning’s trail ride just got back with Carly. I untack the horses with August and Lee, water the horses, and leave them free-roaming in the paddock before everyone heads to the eatery for lunch.

Summer in the PNW is hot as fuck. Normally, I’d find a secluded spot in the field to eat alone, but not this week.

Caleb and Harper have really built something impressive here.

The eatery, as Harper insists we all call it, is a large bougie food hall with tons of gourmet options, comfortable seating for both community tables and tables for two that line the floor-to-ceiling windows. The woodwork is detailed and damn fine.

And the reason I’m here. I exhale, letting the cool aircon blast relief from the punishing July sun that doesn’t have a cloud in sight blocking its devil rays.

“Ellis,” Keith, Barn manager and my boss, saddles up next to me to fill his plate with Korean BBQ chicken. “Wifey arrive yet?”

“Fucker,” I grumble.

“You’re fired,” he jokes again. Our ongoing rapport since I started last year.

I arrived grumpy, wounded, angry, and barely spoke unless necessary. Keith made me comfortable, but in the last few months has become more than just my boss. He’s a friend.

“You know damn well when she arrives.” He gave me the days off for that reason.

“What’s her name again?”

I sigh, having blocked out my impending idiocy. “I was having a good morning,” I grunt, taking my plate toward the back windows to have a quiet lunch alone.

No such luck.

Keith settles his big ass across from me and takes a huge bite of his chicken.

“Come on,” he waves his chicken. “Gotta get you prepared for when she arrives. Everyone in this mountain town will suddenly have nothing better to do than inquire about the grumpy-ass, recluse wrangler with the cute daughter and his new bride.”

“I fucking hate you,” I groan, biting into my slaw salad. “Anna make this?” I ask.

“Luke Davis’ girl? Yeah. Stop deflecting.”

Might as well satisfy him so he’ll shut up and let me eat. “Raven Clarke. Twenty-eight. Widowed. Caretaker for her family farm. No children.”

Keith nods. “Geez. Like reading off a menu, huh?”

“Brennan,” I bite, losing patience.

“You’re fired.” Keith tips his head at Lee from across the hall. “You leading the afternoon trail ride?”

“TJ and Kenna are with me that shift,” I confirm, grateful to move on from the topic.

“Did they send a picture?” He, in fact, does not move on from the topic.

My throat growls impatiently.

“Ellis, come on, man. She arrives the day after tomorrow. How much longer are you going to avoid it?”

“I’m not avoiding.” I stab my chicken with the fork. Keith’s brows rise watching. “I’m compartmentalizing.”

“Oh. Big word, cowboy. I still claim your daughter’s smartness is from her mother,” he laughs, but the sting still pierces deep and fresh. “Fuck. I’m an idiot. Sorry, man.”

“It’s fine,” I grunt, staring at my plate, needing to get the fuck out of there so I can breathe.

“It’s not. That was insensitive.”

“It wasn’t,” I insist. “You’re right. Olive definitely got her brains from Gillian. Almost five years should be a long time—”

“Grief doesn’t have timelines. That shit jumps up at ya whenever it wants. I’m busting your balls, Ellis, but know that I support this. Hell, we all do. The ones that know, of course. You’re doing right by your little girl.”

My throat closes. I realize how much I need to hear that again. “Thanks, man.”

Keith gets up, having finished his lunch, and pats my back before squeezing my shoulder. “This Saturday. Angela and I will BBQ at our place. Invite the guys and some of their women. We’ll welcome her in, vouch that she isn’t a psycho, and help Olive feel comfortable too.”

“The agency does thorough background checks and interviews. I wouldn’t fuck with my daughter’s safety otherwise.”

“It was a joke, Michaels. Now get your ass back to the horses. You’ve socialized with humans enough.”

“Fucker,” I grunt without heat.

“You’re fired.” He smiles big around that bush of a beard.

Shaking my head, I exhale the rock lodged against my ribs.

Walking back to the stables, I make a list of last-minute to-dos before she arrives.

Yes, they sent a picture. She’s a conventionally attractive woman, but I’m grateful not to feel an ounce of attraction.

That’s not what this is about. I already loved one woman for this lifetime, and life snatched her away.

Not just from me but the most precious, precocious little girl who doesn’t understand how her mother was here one minute, went to sleep, and didn’t wake up.

We never say goodbye when parting now. Only, see you later.

She needs that assurance. One time, when she was almost four, she had a breakdown, refusing to let me leave her for work.

I was just starting to sleep better at night until that day.

I didn’t know until then how much losing her mother affected her.

Still doesn’t feel good. Being a thirty-six-year-old man, seeking out a mail-order bride.

Feels like some sick shit old men do. Hence, I insisted she be older and widowed.

A woman who could understand my need to do something like this.

Practical. No love connection expected. Just two lost souls helping each other out.

After all, it’s my fault we left the only support system we had in Wild Peak. Four years without her were already unbearable. Every place in town haunted me with memories.

I hide out in one of the empty stalls and lean back against the soft give of the worn wood. I scroll through my emails on my phone until I land back on Deke’s.

Ever After Mountain Match.

I scoff. I swore he was messing with me. My oldest friend. The best man at my wedding. The one person who knew how I broke when Gillian wouldn’t wake up. He asked me to trust him.

I tap the back of my head against the wooden stall three times. Less than forty-eight hours from now, I’ll be saying I do at a courthouse and moving in a stranger to our home.

Fuck my life.