Ordered By The Mountain Man(15)

I narrow my eyes at Mason, knowing he has a way with women—a way with getting them into his bed. He had no idea my bride was going to be so gorgeous, but he doesn’t get any claim on her. She’s mine.

I love the bastard, but he doesn’t exactly have a good track record. He tends to lead women to his bed and then cheat on them, or break their hearts. Hell, half the girls who are here as summer kayak guides have already been screwed by him—literally and figuratively.

“Hello, Mason.” Delta smiles, not blushing or giggling. She’s hot enough that I don’t imagine any man makes her sputter, the way so many other girls do around my brother.

I like that Delta is her own person. That she says it like it is. And, so what, she thinks taxidermy is barbaric—that’s a small part of my life. Marriage is about compromise.

The food is passed around the table, and I watch as Delta shakes her head at the twice-baked potatoes and the Caesar salad. She passes on the grilled salmon, cringes when rabbit goulash is offered. Trey comes around with a platter of freshly carved venison steaks, and I watch Delta grimace as if in literal pain when he offers her the best piece, a nice medium-rare slice.

“No, thanks,” she says, looking slightly yellow.

“Everything okay?” I ask, watching her across the table.

“I’m fine. Just. You know. Um.”

“What?” Mason asks, smiling. “What are you, a vegetarian or something?”

My brother and I listened to our father moan about vegetarians our entire childhood. Once, this woman came to stay at the hotel, and she refused to eat anything but these granola bars she’d packed, because the food was too “gamey.” We thought it was hilarious considering it was, in fact, all game.

Like, that is the entire fucking point of coming to this lodge.

“I’m actually vegan,” she says. “And normally I wouldn’t be embarrassed to admit that ... but I really feel like I’m in the minority here.” She looks at the six women, here as guides, who are all digging into their plates of food.

As they should. Trey is fucking amazing at his job; everything he prepares is four-star quality, and our employees get the perk of living with a chef and not some podunk line cook.

How is my wife-to-be a fucking vegan? Not that I fucking care, but she’s gonna need to get used to a new lifestyle, that’s for damn sure.

“Do you eat fish?” Trey asks.

“Nope. But I can eat any steamed veggies. Or fruit.” She looks around the table. “And these rolls,” she says, grabbing one from the basket. “I can eat the bread.”

“I used butter in those,” Trey informs her.

She sets it back down gingerly. “Oh. Well, honestly, I’m easy, and I can find something—any veggies, fruits, grains. I’ll be fine, Trey.”

Mason starts cracking up. “Here, have the salad at least, Delta.”

“Right, well … the dressing is a problem,” she clarifies. “It’s got Parmesan and anchovies.”

Mason pulls in his lips, laughing like a fucking ass.

I raise my eyebrows, realizing all the tables are watching her. Judging her. We live in Alaska. In the summer, we eat what’s in the freezer or what we catch in the lake. And hell, Trey brought out this cut of meat specifically to serve something special for Delta’s arrival.

“I’ll find you something in the kitchen, doll,” he tells her, before walking to the rest of the people waiting for the delicious venison.

I pick up my fork, not quite knowing what to say. I know I said hot sex was enough to make a marriage work … but, damn, it looks like we’re gonna have to double our efforts.





Chapter Eight





Delta





When we left our bedroom before dinner, I was already getting a little nervous about how this whole arrangement might go. Boone’s idea of me replacing his dead mother stressed me out, like, pretty hard core. And then I realized this lodge is actually a dead animal zoo, and my heart began racing. How can I possibly look at those beady-eyed gremlins every day?

And I don’t know what I was thinking regarding food. I suppose I was oblivious of the potential issue, because being a vegan in Portland isn’t even a big thing. Like, every person is either gluten-free or dairy-free or vegan. Everyone is something. We have vegan donut shops and vegan tacos trucks and vegan fried chicken.

But there are no substitutes in this Alaskan lodge.

Here, there’s meat, and more meat … and bloody meat and filleted meat and skewered meat.

Here, I’m sitting at a table watching Boone—who very recently devoured my body with his hands and his cock—consume a large chunk of bloody meat.