BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN: The Complete Collection Read online

  “Well maybe you should. Go shoot a gun or catch a fish or something that will make you feel like a person.”

  “Really?” His eyes question me, but I also see a twinge of hope behind the question. He knows how badly he needs this.

  “Really. Let me try this.”

  “Thank you, Amelia.”

  “Oh, I know you’ll make it up to me.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He gives me a sidelong glance that would make my panties wet if I were wearing any.

  “Yeah. Tonight you can let me sleep in your room, all night.”

  “Wow, already planning your night here, huh? Sounds like you wanna stay awhile?”

  I swallow. I want to give this guy a break, but I can’t commit to forever with him and his daughter. “No promises, but tonight after Hope goes to bed, we have a date.”

  * * *

  Reed leaves me with instructions, and I realize I should probably dress myself and Hope. After wiping her up with a washcloth in her high chair, I pull her into my arms and head upstairs to the bedrooms.

  This is where things get tricky. I mean, she’s still filthy, and now I have banana and Cheerios stuck to me. I can’t set her down because I don’t want her to touch anything. Realizing that a shower—or even a teeth brushing—for myself is gonna have to wait, I take her into the bathroom to give her a bath. I watched Reed do this last night, so I get the concept. Minimum water, maximum speed, and—most importantly—eyes on the baby the whole time.

  But she doesn’t like it. In fact, saying she hates it might be most accurate.

  She isn’t just crying, she’s full-on wailing. Which is insane, because who doesn’t like a bath?

  Not a single woman, ever.

  “Hope, it’s okay,” I promise her, knowing the last thing she wants to do is listen to me. Come to think of it, she seemed to hate Lottie yesterday, too. Maybe she just wants her dad.

  Well, he isn’t here right now.

  The rest of the day goes equally fantastic. When I put her in a jumpy-chair thing attached to the door, so I can I fling on clothing, scrub my teeth, and comb my hair, I think Great, we found a solution, this must be what all the mothers do. That is, until she begins to red-face scream at me because apparently she hates this device.

  So.

  Naptime is a joke; the pacifier is a no-go, and the only thing she likes is me pacing up and down singing to her. That gets her to sleep briefly, but then she needs a diaper change and that wakes her up full-throttle. I get her into the swing, and scramble around the house tossing laundry in a basket, wiping her high chair down, and loading the dishwasher—only to abandon the project halfway through, because Hope decides the swing is the anti-Christ and attempts to exorcise herself out of it.

  It’s really just one long sob-fest, and at one point she and I are both lying on the couch exhausted from one another.

  “How does your daddy get anything done?” I ask, leaning back on the couch with her in my lap. We both have cheeks streaked with tears, both look like complete train wrecks.

  She looks at me with her little pouty mouth and says, clear as day: “Dada?”

  “You can talk?” I ask.

  She smiles, all toothy and cute.

  “Your daddy will be back soon,” I promise her. “And he was right, Hope, big time. You are a lot of work.”

  She giggles, clapping her hands.

  I can’t even respond with a smile, I lean my head back on the couch, wondering what the hell I’m doing with my life.

  Last night, in Reed’s arms, I felt like I’d died and gone to heaven. I’ve never had a man touch me that way, make me feel so gorgeous, so wanted. It was like he needed me as much as I needed him.

  And this morning, watching him with Hope, it wasn’t too difficult to imagine playing house here, for reals ... except that a day with Hope reminded me this isn’t some game. This is real.

  And I don’t see how I’m cut out for it. Hope’s been miserable all day. I’ve been miserable all day. The clock reads six p.m., but it feels like its midnight.

  Just then, Reed walks in the front door, his face softer than this morning.

  “Good evening, ladies,” he says, smiling like a little boy—well, smiling like a freaking hot man. He looks one hundred and eighty degrees different than he did yesterday when I met him.

  He was so firm and fierce, nothing warm or gentle. But after last night with me, and then today by himself, it’s like there’s a light about him. His smile reaches his eyes, and beyond. He looks happy, relaxed. He’s recharged.

  “You have a good day?” I ask, covering a yawn. He takes Hope from my arms, and she immediately starts jumping in his arms, happier than she’s been all day. Which doesn’t take much, I suppose.

  “So good,” Reed says. “I caught a massive trout, gonna grill it for dinner. You hungry?”

  “I haven’t eaten all day.”

  Reed pauses, looks around the great room at the discarded laundry basket on the coffee table, the door of the dishwasher flung open, and a handful of near-empty baby bottles lying on the counter.

  “You doing okay, Amelia?” he asks, stepping toward me.

  “Oh, I’m totally fine.” I shrug, not wanting to admit defeat. I guess I want Reed to think I can handle this, even though I don’t even know if I want to be able to handle this.

  “You look like a mess, honey.” He looks at me and I know he sees spit-up on my tank top, my hair still in a beyond-messy bun, and my fingernail polish chipping.

  “It’s fine. I just didn’t know where to put Hope while I showered. What do you do?”

  “I put her in the Pack ’n Play in my bedroom, with a few toys.”

  “Oh.” I purse my lips. That makes sense. I didn’t go in Reed’s room, and the guest room didn’t have a Pack ’n Play. “What do you do when she needs a diaper change but is asleep?”

  He cracks a smile, setting Hope down on a blanket that’s laid out on the floor with a pile of toys and board books.

  “Sweetheart, you never ever change the diaper of a sleeping baby.”

  “Really?” I shudder. “That’s not very sanitary.”

  “Did she sleep for longer than twenty minutes all day?” he asks.

  “No.

  “Well, sleep is more important. Always.”

  “You know your stuff, Dad.”

  “Eh, I’m learning. Anyone can learn if they want to.”

  Want to. Those are the operative words here. The words that will make this or break it.

  The room has gotten really quiet, and we turn, seeing that Hope has rolled onto her tummy. The blanket is tucked under her, and she’s sound asleep.

  “Hey, Amelia,” Reed says quietly. “Go grab a shower. I’ll put Hope to bed and get dinner going.”

  “Is she gonna be up all night if she sleeps now?”

  “No, babies can go down early if they miss their naps.”

  “Right. Of course.” I stand, smiling awkwardly, and head upstairs to the shower, trying to hold myself together until the door is locked and the water is running over my bare shoulders.

  I’ve never in my life felt so torn. I’ve never been forced to look at what I want—what I really want—so hard. And maybe I should have done that before I signed up to be a mail order bride, but I already feel like a different person than I was two days ago.

  I’ve been this flighty person whose priorities were all effed up. I really thought a pair of heels and a push-up bra would be enough to give my life meaning—that if I had a man, then I would be happy.

  I feel so freaking stupid. The hot water runs over my face, and I want to disappear down the drain, too.

  I wish I never signed up for this as a way to prove that I was someone desirable. After the breakup with Derrick, all I could think was that I wasn’t enough, so I flung myself at the first choice that wouldn’t end in rejection. Being a mail order bride offered a guaranteed relationship.

  But maybe it doesn’t. Maybe this time I’ll be the one walking awa
y.

  Because even though Reed is undeniably sexy in a rugged, take-me-now sort of way, he’s also responsible and mature and grounded. Like a real adult. Things don’t scare him, don’t make him run. He’s a single dad, catches trout in his own freaking lake like a man, and somehow manages it all.

  I can’t even get a baby down for a nap.

  Stepping out of the shower, I can’t help but wonder why a man like that would want a woman like me.

  And then the worst realization washes over me: Reed never hinted at wanting me. No, he was clear about what he was looking for. A mother for Hope, not a wife for himself.

  Chapter Eleven

  Reed

  This morning when Amelia offered me a day off from my responsibilities, I jumped at the chance. It was fucking nice of her to do, too. But after stepping into my house, which looks like a war-zone after only eight hours, I wonder if that was a bad decision on my part.

  And, besides the messy house, Amelia looks as exhausted as Hope.

  I get Hope to bed, and then quickly get the fish on the grill, adding asparagus to the grill plate. I find a bottle of white wine and stick it in the freezer to chill for Amelia. I want her to know I really appreciate her giving me today.

  I motherfucking needed it.

  All day I sat on my boat, in the peace and quiet I haven’t had in months, and did nothing but doze off, set new fishing lines, drink beer, eat crappy food, and just not give a damn.

  I needed it.

  When Amelia walks out to the deck with her damp hair and fresh face, I want to scoop her in my arms and give her the night we planned this morning as a thank you. I want to taste her and hold her and take her all night long.

  She yawns as she takes the glass of wine I offer her, before taking a seat in a large, comfy outdoor chair. She rests her feet on the ottoman and sighs. “Holy crap, Reed, I don’t know how you do it.” She pulls a throw blanket over her legs and rests her head on the cushion behind her.

  “What part?” I ask, taking the fish off the grill and plating it alongside the asparagus.

  The lake shimmers in the late evening sun, and although the sun is still out there’s a slight chill in the air. But the view is unparalleled; majestic mountains tower above, and blue skies and fresh air surround us. All day when I was out on the water, I couldn’t help but think that if Amelia was willing to stay here with us, to be a mother for Hope, then I would be the luckiest man in the world.

  I’d have it all.

  When she doesn’t answer, I look back at Amelia. She’s sound asleep. Figures. A full day with a baby will do that to anyone.

  Not wanting to bother her, I eat quickly, then clean up the food and the grill. Then I scoop Amelia up in my arms just like I wanted to earlier. Only this time, instead of a night of fucking, I’ll thank her another way. I’ll thank her by letting her sleep.

  * * *

  “So the thing is,” Amelia says, while drinking her giant mug of coffee the next day, dressed and put together like a normal person now that she’s learned the miracle of the Pack ’n Play, “Hope needs some clothes. And some new toys. For example, she hates the jumpy-thing, and I looked in her drawers. She has next to nothing. At least nothing cute.”

  “And she needs to have cute clothes?” I ask, setting down my coffee. Amelia nods emphatically. This woman is planning something. “What else?” I spoon-feed Hope applesauce, which she promptly spits out and begins smearing on her high chair tray.

  “Well, her nursery is depressing. I mean, I know you’re doing it all on your own—but right now I’m here, and I think you need my help with this.”

  “She’s a baby. She doesn’t care what her room looks like.”

  Amelia puckers her lips. “Well, I do. It’s sad, Reed. You have gobs of money, yet your poor daughter is living out of boxes. You can do better.”

  “Are you saying I need to take you shopping?”

  “I was thinking Pottery Barn and Nordstrom’s.” She walks over and hands me a wet rag to wash Hope’s face.

  “We don’t have those here, honey,” I tell her, shaking my head.

  She scowls. “I know that. I meant online. I’m assuming you have a computer.”

  “Yeah, of course I do. And that’s great,” I tell her, picking Hope up and setting her on the floor to crawl. “This is the exact reason I want Hope to have a mother.”

  Amelia stiffens slightly. “Right. Well. Okay. I mean … but, like, online shopping doesn’t mean I’m staying.”

  “You have to stay long enough to set the room up.”

  Pouting, she puts her hands on her hips. “You think you can keep me here longer with the promise of decorating a baby’s nursery?”

  I look at her, smirking at this girl who’s so easy to read. I swear, the idea of an online shopping spree has gotten her panties soaked.

  “I think that’s exactly what I can do,” I tell her. “I have a feeling you and credit cards have a very deep connection.”

  She tosses a dishtowel at me. “Reed, I’m not as superficial as you think.”

  “You have fake nails in the Alaskan wilderness, honey.”

  “You have no clue about me.” She begins ripping the nails off one at a time. “These are stupid.”

  I wince. “Stop, you’ll hurt yourself.”

  “No I won’t. I don’t even care about these stupid nails. In fact, I only got them the day before I came here, because I thought guys liked this crap. Derrick’s new girlfriend was fake everything, and he was head over heels for her. Heck, I even got eyelash extensions.” She bugs out her eyes so I can examine her lashes.

  “Well, they look real,” I admit. “I don’t know who fed you this information on what guys like, but I’m not that sort of man.”

  “What was Hope’s mom like?”

  “Kara?” I pull back, not wanting to go there. “She was ... lonely. Sad. Looking for love in all the wrong places.”

  “But you liked her, at some level?”

  I shrug. “She had a hard childhood, just like me, and that made me want to take care of her. But she didn’t want me to save her. She didn’t want anyone to.”

  “I’m sorry, Reed. That got heavy, fast.”

  “It’s fine. I actually like that you just kind of put it all out there. Not hiding behind anything.” Looking at her fingernails on the counter, I laugh. “I mean, not anymore.”

  “I’m really not a superficial girl,” she says, walking closer to me.

  “But you still want my card number, right?” I wrap an arm around her waist, liking how easy it is to pull her toward me. How natural this feels, even though she hasn’t committed to me.

  I mean, committed to Hope.

  I pull my arms back, kiss her cheek. This is about Hope. Not me.

  “I want the card number to buy things for Hope,” she clarifies. “Not myself.”

  I nod and walk to my office to grab my laptop, grateful that we’re on the same page. Everything about this arrangement is about Hope.

  Not about me.

  And certainly not about Amelia and me.

  At least that is what I keep telling myself.

  Chapter Twelve

  Amelia

  The nursery is looking amazing. I mean, beyond amazing. I may have a fine arts degree, and a serious knack for coordinating colors to make a nursery magazine-worthy. Just saying.

  And Reed has been a really good sport. All week he’s painted and hung curtains, and as boxes have arrived he’s willingly put screws in the new dresser, hung bookshelves, and replaced the dorky light fixture with a pink-and-white chandelier, all without too much eye-rolling.

  We’ve been working on this project in the afternoons during Hope’s nap. In the mornings, Reed has been going off and playing in the woods or on the lake. I’ve been staying back with Hope, trying to figure out if I can get into a groove here ... and debating if I even want to find a groove.

  Hope is exhausting, and one week into this gig I can’t help but wonder what Monique wa
s thinking to send me out here to Reed. I wanted to be a mail order bride so I could be loved without the sting of rejection. But I’m finding that caring for Hope is one long rope of failure. I’ll tell you what, a baby doesn’t owe anything to anyone—she has no loyalty to me, and she doesn’t need to.

  She cries when she needs something, or if she’s tired, or hungry, or bored. But of course it isn’t all tears and tantrums. Is she adorable when she coos and sucks on her toes? Absolutely.

  But she isn’t doing those cute things for me. She’s doing them for herself. And that makes me reevaluate basically everything.

  Is caring for her worth the sacrifice of moving here? Because, as far as I can tell, Reed just needs to realize that being a parent isn’t a part-time gig.

  But every time I get thinking that way, I see him fall asleep on the couch with Hope in his arms, or I see him pick her up from the high chair and give her a bath without complaint. I see him step up and be a father who puts his daughter first.

  And isn’t that what he’s trying to do by bringing me here? His logic may be flawed—getting a mother for Hope at the sacrifice of finding true love himself might backfire—but I can see through his hazy exhaustion.

  He’s trying.

  As hard as the week has been, right now I’m in a good place. The nursery is about finished, Reed is being flirty and helpful, and Hope is asleep. Basically, all the things.

  “You’re so handy,” I tell him as he bolts in the organizing system I purchased for Hope’s closet.

  “I’d like to get a lot more handy.” He turns toward me, raising his eyebrows and I feel my heart jump a few beats. He’s so damn sexy.

  “You’re so bad,” I tell him, swatting his back as I hand him the final bolt for the wire racks he’s hung.

  “Not near as bad as I’d like to be.” He has a mischievous look in his eye, a look I’ve gotten to know over the last week.

  We may be tiptoeing around the elephant in the room—which is, will I stay or will I go—but that hasn’t stopped us from having sex every night after we get Hope to bed.