Ordered By The Mountain Man(25)
“What? I’ve known you for one day, so excuse me if I don’t understand exactly what riles you up quite yet.”
“Honestly, Boone, I don’t think you’re gonna get the chance to learn.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that if you don’t understand why I’m angry, we’re totally incompatible. I don’t know what Monique was smoking, thinking we’d be a good match, because we aren’t. We’re just way too different.”
It pisses me off the way she goes to extremes so damn fast, and it makes me extreme, too.
“Is this because Skylar’s gonna make a good Christmas dinner?”
“What?” She scowls, looking up at me sharply. “You’re going to—”
“Eat her? Yeah. Damn, Delta, what do you think we do with pigs on a fucking farm?”
“I don’t know.” She shakes her head, her lips in a frown. “But see, this is the very reason this won’t work. “
“Because you don’t eat meat? Shit, go fry yourself a slice of motherfucking tofu, find some micro greens in the garden and make a shitty kale smoothie—but don’t tell me you don’t want this marriage because of a fucking slab of bacon. You owe me more honesty than that.”
“You are so wrong,” she says, standing.
I follow her lead, wiping my hands on my pants as we face one another down.
“I don’t owe you anything,” she says, “after what you said in the dining hall.”
I pull back. “What? Because I said you were mine? That was the entire fucking plan. You came here for one reason, and one reason alone.”
“I came here to be a wife, not your property. There’s a big difference.”
I smirk, not buying her attitude. This girl loved riding my cock this morning, and I don’t even for a second believe she’s gonna be able to walk away from me for good, unless there’s something more she isn’t saying.
“I see,” I say, stepping toward her, closing the gap between us. “So you’re leaving because you only want to be ordered around the bedroom? Not ordered around my house?”
“Partly.” She crosses her arms, as if refusing my advance, even though I can see the desire in those eyes of hers, see the heaving of her chest, the hardening nipples under her soft cotton tank.
“So why else are you leaving?”
“I’m leaving, Boone, because I’m not ready to commit to being your wife.”
“Well, that’s not gonna be a problem today.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, looking up at me, confused.
“Pastor Vince called before I came to the barn. He got stuck in Anchorage with some family emergency. Won’t make it out for another week. No one is getting married today.” My eyes narrow, trying to read her, but what I really want to do is just fucking take her. I want to lay her on a pile of sweet yellow hay and fill her with my seed and tell her she’s mine. Not just when we fuck, but in everything we do.
“So what does that mean?” she asks.
“It means you aren’t being asked to make any vows yet.” I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her to me. “You may not want to get married today—and that’s your loss, girl—but it also means I have a week to convince you to stay.”
I take her hand and lead her outside the barn, lacing my fingers through hers. I want her to see my place, understand why this is my home and my land and the place I want to stay forever, raise our kids and make a life.
“See the garden here? We have interns come in the summer, they help with the planting and harvesting.”
“Like college kids?” she asks, walking with me over the grassy field where vegetables are already growing abundantly: rows of green beans and carrots, lettuces and chards.
“Yeah, free lodging. They just gotta put in hours outside each week. You met the kayak guides last night,” I tell her, pointing toward the lake where some of the girls are organizing gear on the shore. “They stay as guides in exchange for room and board, and a small stipend. The truth is, it’s easy to get people out here. It’s a once in a lifetime experience for a lot of people.”
“That’s awesome. I would have loved to work at a place like this in the summer, while I was in school.”
“Yeah?” I cock an eye at her, still trying to figure her out. “So it would have been a good enough adventure a year ago, but not now?”
“I don’t know,” she says. She and I lean against a fenced cow pasture. “I like to travel, and there are a lot of places I still want to see.”