The Mountain Man's Cure Read online

  The Mountain Man’s Cure

  A Modern Mail-Order Bride Romance

  Frankie Love

  Contents

  Copyright

  About

  Prologue

  1. Hannah

  2. Harrison

  3. Hannah

  4. Harrison

  5. Hannah

  6. Harrison

  7. Hannah

  8. Harrison

  9. Hannah

  10. Harrison

  11. Hannah

  12. Harrison

  13. Hannah

  Epilogue

  Preview

  Also by Frankie Love

  About the Author

  Copyright

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  Edited by

  Teresa Banschbach

  ICanEdit4U

  Copyright © 2018 by Frankie Love

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  About

  When Harrison orders a bride, he’s hoping Hannah can accept him—scars and all.

  But when a storm forces them to his cabin before exchanging vows there are no guarantees that she’ll stay put once she discovers who he really is.

  * * *

  Hannah didn’t come to Alaska on a whim—she’s resilient, strong, and willing to fight for her happily ever after. But when the storm grows more fierce, Harrison’s past is brought to light.

  * * *

  Is Hannah the cure this wounded warrior needs? Or will she leave before they get a chance to find out if love heals all wounds?

  * * *

  Dear Reader,

  This war hero is more than a mountain man—he’s a virgin! This angsty alpha is about to lose his v-card and gain a whole lot of experience!

  xo, frankie

  Prologue

  Harrison

  I run a hand over my beard as I look down at the wild mint growing beside my cabin. Pressing a green leaf between my thumb and forefinger, I think about the next chapter I'm working on for my survival guide -- medicinal herbs found in the Alaskan wild. Mint like this can help with pain and inflammation. This tiny green leaf can do so much.

  But I'm not naive enough to think it can help with the pain in my heart.

  Nothing can.

  Still, I hold onto this crazy hope that maybe, just maybe my mother was right. Maybe love can cure all ailments.

  It's why I ordered a bride.

  I pick a handful of the mint and walk toward my cabin, feeling that never-ending phantom pain in my prosthetic leg.

  As I push open the door to my cabin, my cell phone on the counter begins to ring. Setting down the mint, I answer it.

  "Harrison?" my twin brother, Sullivan, asks.

  "Who else would be answering?" I retort snarkily as I fill a jar with water and place the freshly picked stalks in it, then grab myself a beer from the fridge and go outside to my back porch. It's my favorite place on this entire stretch of land. Facing a rushing river, with big pine trees reaching to the sky, thickets of wild blackberry brambles where deer graze undisturbed--it's paradise.

  "You left a message? Something about Mom's wedding ring?"

  I clear my throat. "Uh, yeah. Just wanted to make sure you were okay with me using it. I know we never really discussed it. I have her things, though, and--"

  Sully cuts me off. "You’re asking someone to marry you?"

  I frown. "Do you care?"

  "You're my twin fucking brother, Harry. Of course, I care."

  "I know you have your own life in Anchorage. I just didn't think you'd really..."

  "What?" Irritation is laced through his single word.

  "You're not exactly sentimental, Sully."

  "And you are? The last thing you told me was that you were going off the grid for good. Now you call asking if it’s okay to give someone Mom's diamond ring? You see where I might be a little confused?"

  I rake a hand through my hair. "I know."

  "Who is she?" Sully asks.

  "Does it make a difference?"

  "God, Harry. Could you try and go easy on me? I know I'm not the war vet, but hell, I'm still your brother. You're my only family."

  "Look, nevermind," I say, picking up my beer and taking a swig. "I don't need to use Mom's ring."

  The call goes quiet and for a moment I think he might have hung up.

  Then he speaks. "You sure you're okay, man? I know things are hard sometimes, after everything you've been through. Maybe you should talk to someone?"

  I groan into my beer. "Sul, all I did for a year after I got home was talk to someone. I'm fine now. I'm doing what I want, where I want."

  "And you want to get engaged? Where did you even meet her? Don't you live in the middle of bum-fuck, Nowhereland?"

  I snort, trying to push down the truth. I know he'll judge me for it. Sullivan has never had a hard time dating women. Or, more correctly, sleeping with them.

  Me?

  Well. Let's just say I haven't had much experience. Make that any experience.

  And now with my war injury, I can't see myself getting on Tinder and looking for a hookup. Besides, there isn't a woman within fifty miles of this cabin.

  "Dude, Harrison, are you even listening?" he asks.

  "Sorry, what?" I was lost in my fucking insecurities.

  "I was asking who this girl is?"

  "Honestly? Uh, I don't know, man."

  He snorts. "You don't know?"

  "Yeah," I say, refusing to feel judged. "I ordered a bride."

  "You what?"

  "You heard me, Sul. I ordered a bride. She's coming next week. And I need to give her a ring."

  "That's so fucking weird," he says, laughing. "Do you even know what she looks like?"

  "I'm gonna hang up now," I tell him. I have no interest in Sullivan's condescension.

  "It's just, Harrison, you're a fucking Green Beret. A Special Ops war hero. You don't need to buy a wife."

  Easy for him to say. He didn't lose his leg in Afghanistan. He didn't go through the pain of watching his friends die in a war zone. He didn't have to fucking piece together a life after losing so damn much.

  Not to mention, he's not a virgin.

  I am.

  I can't fucking go meet a girl and try to act normal. Nothing about me is normal, especially, not after the shit I've seen. I'm a changed man and there is no going back.

  "I want to do this, Sullivan," I tell him plainly. "I don't expect you to understand." We may be twins, but we're so goddamn different.

  "Can I at least come to the wedding?" he asks, still cracking up.

  "No."

  "Fuck, Harrison. You know, for a hero, you're a pretty big asshole."

  "Look, we're going to the courthouse after I pick her up. It's not gonna be a thing. It's all pretty straightforward."

  "You have any idea what you're getting into, brother? Women like weddings. White dresses. Flowers. Cake. The whole nine yards."

  I contemplate his words. Fuck. All that stuff hasn't been on my radar. I thought I was being prepared by finding her a ring.

  "You think?" I ask apprehensively. To be honest, I've mostly been worried about our wedding night. I'm a fucking twenty-seven-year-old virgin.

  "Yeah. Get some flowers for the wedding at the very least, and some sort of cake. Some
rose petals on the bed? Women like that shit, I'm telling you."

  "And the ring?"

  "You sure she's gonna stick around after she sees where you live?"

  I clench my jaw, looking around my cabin. It's small, but it's modern, and everything in it is less than a year old. "I hope so."

  "Go with your gut, then. It's never served you wrong before."

  I laugh wryly. "Let's hope you're right."

  "Worse case scenario, she's just a good lay."

  "Hey," I say sharply. "Don't talk about my bride like that."

  He laughs. "Damn, man, you haven't even met her and you’re already protective. Just make sure you don't scare her away; you aren't exactly an open book."

  "Don't worry," I tell him. "The agency did a screening. They are sending the right woman for me."

  "How much did she cost?" Sully asks.

  Now it's my turn to laugh. "Why? You considering using some of your trust fund to buy a wife?"

  He laughs. "Nah, I get plenty of pussy as it is. Don't need to settle down."

  I hang up with my brother, thinking we couldn't be more different.

  I just hope the woman running the agency, Isabella, found the right woman for me because Sullivan is right about one thing: I've never opened up with a woman before.

  And now, I'll have no choice.

  I may be a wounded warrior, but I'm also a mountain man.

  When it comes to commitment, I'm going all in.

  Let's hope this bride who's coming can handle me.

  Chapter One

  Hannah

  No. No. No.

  Tears fill my eyes and I just can't accept the reality that is setting in.

  I pick up my phone, punching in his name with my finger and putting it on speakerphone. When he doesn't pick up--shocker--I leave a message.

  "I already called the cops. I can't believe you, Max. You're a thief! You can't do this to me!" I start out screaming but by the end, I'm nothing but a pile of tears. "That was all my money," I tell him tearfully. "I needed it to start my business. You knew that. And I trusted you." Wiping the snot from my nose, I try to collect my thoughts but it's no use. I wear my heart on my sleeve. "I thought I mattered to you, Max. And you do this to me. I just..."

  I drop the phone, knowing it's pointless. He was supposed to invest the money and triple it. Instead, he took it and ran.

  Why did I trust a surfer dude who gets stoned every night?

  Because I was desperate. Hopeful. Living on a prayer.

  There's a knock on the door and I ask who it before opening the door.

  "It's Fiametta, bellisima."

  Grabbing a tissue, I try to wipe my eyes but it's no use. The moment I open the door and see Fiametta's outstretched arms, I fall apart all over again.

  "Ohh, sweet child, come here," she says patting my head. "You're okay. Come. Drink and eat and you'll feel better."

  Sniffling, I reach for my phone, but she bats my hand away. "The walls are thin, ma bella. I know why you are crying. No phone for you tonight."

  I follow her to her apartment, sinking onto the couch as she dotes on me like the grandmother I never had. After pouring me a glass of sweet port and offering a slice of her famous tiramisu, she tells me to take a bite before I spill the beans. So, for a minute I sit there, in her cozy apartment, savoring the creamy espresso and mascarpone as the flavors melt in my mouth.

  "Now," she says, patting the cushion between us. "Tell me everything."

  I start at the beginning, though she knows most of it. I've been renting the next-door apartment from her for six months, so she has heard me lament the men I've been dating in L.A. who never bring flowers, or take me on a proper date, or bother to ask me questions about myself. I'm living in a city filled with Peter Pans -- boys who never want to grow up.

  Not the kind of men I am interested in. I want a man who is strong and can take care of me and consider me an equal.

  Right now, though, I'd settle for a man who was honest.

  "So, what happened with Max?" she asks, moving toward the kitchen, her house slippers padding against the carpeted floor. She's in her eighties, but still has a glow about her. It's because she spent so many decades with a man who loved and cherished her--her husband Ricardo.

  "He told me his cousin could triple my money. Turns out it was a pyramid scheme." I shake my head, feeling so naive, so played. So dumb, plain and simple.

  "Oh, sweet one, it's okay. Money comes, and money goes." She adds another slice of tiramisu to my plate. Because like I really need another 500 calories. Well, actually, I do. Truth is, I can hardly afford groceries at this point. Max wiped me clean.

  I chuckle. "Money comes and goes? I don't know what world you live in, but in mine, there is no coming. I gave him all of my savings. Every penny from the farmer's markets over the past four months. Everything I had. Now I'll never open an online shop. I can't afford to make the inventory."

  I'm exhausted, thinking about my situation. It's depressing at best, leaving me homeless at worst.

  "What am I going to do, Fiametta?" I run a hand through my thick hair. "My mom is back East and she has never once returned my calls since I moved away. No surprise, she never cared about me anyway."

  Fiametta clucks her tongue, not wanting to believe it.

  "I know it's hard for you to accept; you are a good mom who loves her daughter, but my mother? She was absent, always. I don't have a backup plan. I have... nothing. I just wish I'd been as lucky as you. To meet a man when I was young who swept me off my feet, leading to a long, lasting marriage."

  "Is that what you, want, Hannah?" Fiametta asks. "A husband?"

  I sigh, picking up my small glass of port. "I want security. I want to be able to make my organic beauty products without worrying about keeping a roof over my head. I want someone to take care of me. And maybe that's stupid, but right now every man I meet through a dating app or on the street is a certified asshole. Or a thief without a conscience. I'm tired of vetting men on my own. I have awful instincts."

  "No, not awful," Fiametta says with a warm smile on her lips. "You just trust very easily. It's not a bad thing."

  I groan. "Unless it leads to being robbed. You know the police won't even go after him? They suggested I hire a lawyer. Right, because I have money for a lawyer."

  Fiametta taps her finger on her chin. "You know, Ricardo didn't sweep me off my feet."

  I twist my lips. "What do you mean? I've seen the family photos of you both smiling through the years," I say, pointing to the framed photographs on the wall hanging next to her porcelain plates.

  "It's true," she says with a smile. "Lots of happy memories, but we had an arranged marriage. Never met until our wedding day. He lived in a different village in Italy, and our parents planned it for us."

  I widen my eyes. "That's so romantic."

  She laughs. "You think? Oh, I was so mad at my parents. Forcing me to be with a man I didn't know. But then..."

  "Then you saw him and fell madly in love as you stood at the altar?" I ask, wanting to believe in a dream come true.

  The corners of Fiametta's eyes crinkle as she laughs. "Oh, bellisima, no. I met him and thought he was a... jerk. An arrogant playboy. I wasn't interested."

  "Then what?" I ask, setting down the glass of port and leaning in to hear her story.

  "Then slowly but surely, the two of us found common ground. He loved my cooking. I loved his sense of humor. We were suited for one another, after all."

  "I wish I had parents who could set me up like that." I snort. "Meanwhile here I am, swiping left all day looking for a match."

  Fiametta's eyes sparkle. "But you can, child, have a matchmaker."

  "What do you mean?"

  Fiametta lifts her hands in the air, and I know she's holding something back.

  "Tell me," I ask.

  "My daughter is the matchmaker in my family now. She sets up lots of women and men."

  I fall back on the couch. "Gah, no offens
e, but I'm done with dating services. I don't have the money anyways."

  Fiametta frowns. "No, Isabela doesn't have a dating service. It's a mail-order bride agency."

  "A what?"

  "She sends brides to millionaires, all over the country. But she specializes in rural areas."

  "So, like, she could find me a husband, no hidden fees?"

  Fiametta rubs her hands together. "Should we call her?"

  I bite my bottom lip, weighing my non-existent options. "Yeah, let me go get my phone."

  Chapter Two

  Harrison

  The wind storm is fierce, and it isn't making me feel very optimistic. Maybe I'm just nervous. I've been through hell and back, after three tours in Afghanistan, but I'm a basket of nerves over a girl. Well, over a wife.

  The mail-order bride is coming today.

  My buddies would be busting my balls right now if I had any buddies left. Refusing to let myself get spun up in the past today, I roll up my shirtsleeves and look around my bedroom. I have a platform bed that I made myself, and I bought fresh sheets and pillows-- Sullivan's comments got in my head.

  I made the trek into town yesterday and got stocked up on essentials, and a few extras as well. I have no idea what she's gonna like, but all women like chocolate and champagne. At least I think so. Got a cake at the bakery, though not sure how good it will be with day-old frosting.

  I even took my twin brother's advice and got red roses. Now, I ripped off the petals, and strew them around the bed, making a trail to the doorway. I feel my cheeks flush. Maybe I'm overdoing things. Then I look at the clock and realize it's too late to mess with it any more. It's time to go get my bride.