Ordered By The Mountain Man(3)

“What the hell,” Mason shouts, dropping his beer, staggering back as he loses his grip on his rod.

“Mason!” I yell. “That’s my fucking rod. My rod from Dad.”

I try to take it from him, but don’t get hold of it before it flies off the fucking boat.

About the same time, Mason starts heaving across my boat’s deck.

“Fuck me now,” Mason moans, clutching his gut. He’s a lightweight, always has been, and that combined with the rolling waves? He’s fucking screwed.

“You are so drunk,” I say, trying my damnedest to keep my cool. I know it’s just a fishing rod, and I have a hundred of them. But fuckin’ A. That was the rod Dad used when he taught me to fucking fish. It meant something.

And now it’s sunk, along with the largest trout I’ve seen all year. Dropping to the bottom of the goddamn lake.

Mason heaves again, falling to the deck, where he’s literally sitting in his own vomit.

My jaw tenses—and, fuck, I get that we’re family, but since our parents died this past year, all I’ve done is have his back. I had no fucking idea my parents had spent so much of their life saving his broke ass.

“You need to get yourself in bed, Mason.” I kick open the door so he can get below deck. “And dude, change your clothes.”

“Shit, bro, I’m sorry.” Mason wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he stands, moving toward the door. He’ll be completely useless in terms of helping me get this boat off the lake, hitched to my truck, and back to the lodge. “I didn’t mean to get sick.” With a smirk he adds, “I know it’s your big day.”

Dumping buckets of water across the floor, I shrug knowing he’s jealous, or maybe just a fucking asshole. But I refuse to let him get under my skin. He may have slept with my exes when we were younger, borrowed money that he never paid back, and flunked out of college—but shit, he’s my brother. My only family. It would take more than that for me to kick him to the fucking curb.

“It’s all good,” I tell him. “I’ll clean this shit up, get us packed, and then we can call it quits.”

Mason staggers down the steps below deck to sleep it off, and I focus on loading up our gear. So much for the fucking catch of the day.

Still, I’ll have my prize waiting for me when I get back to the lodge. And it’ll be better than a fucking fish fillet.



A few hours later, I’ve backed up near the ramp and my fishing boat is locked and loaded.

I hop into the cab to see that Mason’s sobering up by chugging Monster drinks and eating beef jerky. Lethal post-puke combination, but I’m not his parent.

“Guess I was fucking useless today,” Mason grunts.

I keep my eyes on the road, willing myself not to make some backhanded comment about how he’s been useless a hell of a lot longer than that.

I always keep those thoughts back, along with any sharp words or harsh comments. I’m not some fucking asshole; I’m known as the responsible, reasonable guy around these parts—because I put up with Mason’s shit, but also because I put up with a lot of other people’s shit, too.

That’s what happens when you own the premier hunting lodge in a five-hundred-mile radius in the back woods of Alaska. People come out here, lots of folks who have no clue what they’re doing, who need help with everything when we take them on their hunting and fishing trips.

I used to help my mom and dad run the joint, but after the accident this past winter Mason and I are doing it on our own.

Well, I’m doing it on my own.

Mason moved back out here a few months ago, and shit, he’s more work than help.

But that’s all about to change.

I drink still-hot coffee from my thermos as we roll down the Alaskan highway toward the lodge. It’s nearly five in the evening, and the sun is high in the sky, the same place it will hang until after midnight. That’s one thing my new wife is gonna need to get used to.

“You ready to meet her, Boone?” Mason asks, reclining his seat, eyes closed.

“Suppose so.”

“Fuck, bro, could you sound a little more enthusiastic? Hell, you’re gonna get laid tonight. You should be fucking stoked. I know I, for one, am pumped to have some new hottie around. You better be careful, or I’ll mark her as mine.”

I narrow my eyes, but keep them on the road. “That’s fucking bullshit, Mason. You won’t lay a hand, or even an eye, on her.” I shake my head, annoyed at him. “I’m getting this wife so someone can run the lodge, no other reason.”

“I know we’ve been over this, but you could’ve put out a want ad.”