The Fake Bride Loophole - A Mountain Man Romance Read online

  She hesitates, but I hold my ground. Eventually, she accepts her fate and climbs on my back while I hook my arms around her thighs, and she locks hers under my chin. Her warmth quickly seeps through my clothes and right into my back. Her cheek brushes mine.

  “Thank you,” she whispers, a hint of defeat deepening her voice.

  It sends electric shivers down my spine.

  And as I work the rest of my way up the path with Michelle telling me about some of her most memorable clients, I realize that there’s a lot of the world that I haven’t seen yet.

  A timid curiosity buds somewhere in the back of my head, the idea of exploring now seeding and slowly growing. Soon enough, I will get an urge to get in my truck and cross a couple of states. Maybe I’ll even get on a plane and visit another country. It would be foolish of me not to.

  Or maybe, when this is over, I’ll start with a visit to Minneapolis. I know a defense attorney there, after all. And she’s strapped to my back, warm as she talks and giggles and holds on tight… as if I’m her mountain.

  Chapter 12

  Michelle

  It’s been two days since I married the handsome mountain man. Yeah, the sound of that statement still boggles the mind, but I see it as my most noble mission yet.

  In my line of work, I’m often convinced that my court-appointed clients are guilty of the crimes for which they stand accused. Nevertheless, it’s my duty to represent them and to make sure they get an honest defense. Everyone deserves a chance to prove they’re innocent or at least to show that the prosecution cannot prove, beyond the shadow of a reasonable doubt, that they’re guilty.

  With Daley Fontaine, however, I already know the truth.

  He’s a good man. A drop-dead, gorgeously handsome man who was made to make hearts like mine pump extra fast. A courageous hunter who has chosen a solitary life in these woods and in the company of animals, mainly because people generally suck. Most importantly, this is his land they’re trying to kick him off, and people like Simeon Cline have gotten away with worse for far too long. Nobody sticks up for the little guy anymore—not that Daley is in any way “little,” but my statement stands.

  “Don’t move,” he whispers as I crouch behind a tree.

  We’re about a mile east of his cabin, where he usually likes to spend his time catching wild hares. He’s that kind of guy. If I saw him in a movie, I’d shake my head and settle into the arms of a city boy. But I’ve been sharing a place with him since he first brought me over from the woods, and I have to admit… this formula he has here… it works. It makes sense. He takes from nature, but he gives back, too. He’s been replanting this mountainside since he was a kid. One pine sapling a week, and now a young forest helps restore the local habitats for so many animals.

  “I’m not moving,” I hiss, though definitely uncomfortable and likely to fall over. My ankle is getting better, but not that good and not that fast.

  Yet I keep crouching and watching as a brownish hare darts between the trees. That’s dinner, or so Daley says. I trust him, but I have yet to reach the point where I’m down with hunting my food. It works for Daley. I’m not sure about myself. Then again, that venison stew… so yummy.

  “How about we try a vegetarian option tonight?” I wonder aloud.

  The hare stills in the fading grass, ears pricked up and marble eyes scanning everything.

  I hold my breath while Daley shoots me a half-smirk. He’s amused, but also a tad irritated while holding the end of a string. One pull once the hare is in the right spot, and snap! He’s ours. It feels wrong.

  “I know! I could make this really cool savory pie. All I need are leeks, mushrooms, and some Brussels sprouts!” I exclaim, and the hare decides to bound away, much to my relief.

  Daley lets out a groan, then stands up and jokingly glowers my way. I offer a mischievous grin in return as I straighten my back, now upright once again.

  “You got all soft on me,” he says.

  “Didn’t you see those big, cute eyes?”

  “I only saw the potential for rosemary, butter, and garlic roast.”

  I shrug. “Sure. But what about my pie idea? It’s my turn to cook, anyway. You promised the day before yesterday.”

  “Michelle, I’m trying to be a good host. You’ve already married me. The least I can do is spoil you rotten while you’re here.”

  That’s right. We’re married. That sounds so weird and funny. More weird than funny, mainly because I wouldn’t mind it if we consummated the damn thing.

  I know my temperature keeps spiking whenever he looks at me. Earlier, he placed a hand on the small of my back while walking up to this place, and my heart went on an absolute rampage. This man has a powerful effect on me, and I’m still hanging loosely between trying to understand why and giving in altogether.

  “And while I appreciate your honorable intentions, I just can’t let you kill Thumper to feed me, Daley. I can’t. It goes against my nature.”

  “Thumper?”

  I’m about to blush. “You never saw Bambi?”

  “I did, but… How old are you?” His reply makes me groan with a smidge of frustration, which tears a short laugh from his broad chest. “You never struck me as a vegetarian.”

  “I’m not a vegetarian. Don’t get me wrong, Daley, I’m a sworn advocate of indulging every guilty pleasure we have within the realm of food… but I don’t hunt my chickens. I don’t set traps to get my food. I go to the supermarket.”

  He thinks about it for a moment, then chuckles his surrender. “Okay, fine. Your vegan pie works tonight.”

  “It’s not vegan. There’s bacon involved. And sour cream. And butter!”

  “Well, you’ve made me curious,” Daley says, dismantling the snare and putting the ropes back in his backpack. “Shall we head back, then?”

  I look up, noticing the reddening skies of autumn—strips visible between the tree crowns. It’s getting colder, and I experience a shiver tumbling down my spine.

  Daley instantly takes my hands in his. Only now do I realize how cold my fingers really are.

  “I forgot my gloves,” I tell him, adding a sheepish smile on top.

  “Here,” he replies and produces his from a jacket pocket.

  I put them on, but they’re way too big for my hands. I’m about to take them off when he stops me.

  “Wear them. Big as they are, they’ll keep you warm. Can’t have you freezing on my watch.”

  It’s hard not to wonder if this is maybe some cool dream I’m having. None of the guys I’ve dated have been this courteous. In Minneapolis, the dating scene is surprisingly broad and diverse, but I’m pretty sure that men today lack the gentlemanly upbringing of previous generations. I may be wrong, but no date of mine ever did any of the things that Daley does so naturally and effortlessly.

  “Thank you,” I hear myself murmur as he motions for me to get back to the trail.

  I walk ahead, careful with my steps and constantly aware of his imposing frame so close behind me. I can almost feel his hot breath on the back of my neck—or it could be a mere figment of my imagination.

  We’re quiet for a while, but that’s never an issue between us. It’s like we’re at peace with each other.

  Yet another thing I’ve never experienced with other guys before, this peculiar but beautiful synergy. I like how Daley talks about the universe conspiring for or against us. I’m starting to believe he’s on to something, because I can feel myself orbiting closer toward him with every passing day.

  “Have you ever—” I lose the question altogether along with my balance as I slip and fall.

  My yelp is cut midway down as Daley springs into action and catches me before I tumble down the rockiest side of the path. It’s all jagged stones and gnarly roots along this route—both elements great for climbing without slipping up the mountain. Downward, however, it’s a whole other business.

  Catching my breath, I find myself reassured in Daley’s firm embrace.

  “
Are you okay?” he asks.

  I turn my head slowly. His lips are close. Way too close, and my mind is already racing in every wrong direction. “Yes.”

  “You really need to be more careful,” he replies. His voice is low, but it’s making me feel hotter than a crackling bonfire. The gray in his eyes has darkened, sucking the light from all around us, and I’m breathless.

  He might kiss me. I want him to kiss me.

  Maybe he’s contemplating it.

  Why don’t I just reach out and do it? I could kiss him. I just need to raise my chin, and our mouths would meet like they did when Sheriff Dunn married us. Gawd, that was so strange and sizzling and sweet.

  “Come on, let’s get you back home,” Daley says, gently pulling back.

  Something tells me he’s disappointed. What if we were both thinking it, but neither of us dared do it?

  No, Daley is brave. He speaks his mind, too. He’s also defined by his good manners, so maybe I should be the one to take the first step. The moment is gone, however. I can’t just pick up where he left off.

  One thing has become clear, I tell myself as we make our way back to his cabin. I like Daley, more and more. I’m attracted to him, but there’s also this tiny invisible string tugging at my heart. It’s hard to fully understand what I’m going through. I only know that I will not rest until I feel his lips on mine again.

  “Dang,” Daley grunts as we step into the clearing.

  The porch lights are on, and two men stand beneath them. Jax sits at the bottom of the steps, baring his white fangs. The slightest movement, and I have no trouble imagining the wolfdog as he tears through them.

  “Jax, come here.”

  Like a shadow, Jax glides away from the men and across the clearing, licking my hand as soon as he reaches us. I would like nothing more than to smother him with kisses because he’s a giant fluffball, but the visitors require our immediate attention. I recognize one of them. Simeon Cline.

  “What do we do?” I whisper.

  “Follow my lead and jump in when it’s time for lawyer talk,” Daley says, then turns his focus on them. “Mr. Sykes, I see you’ve brought your evil overlord with you tonight.”

  Cline laughs, throwing his head back for dramatic effect. “Don’t be ridiculous, Daley. I’m only here to make sure this property is lawfully vacated before it’s auctioned off next week.”

  “Are we doing this dance again?” Daley replies. We reach the porch in the blink of an eye, fueled by the apparent urgency that Cline and his lawyer’s visit entails. My blood runs cold as I notice the paper in his hand.

  “I think that’s an eviction order,” I mutter.

  “Ah… Good evening, miss. We’ve met before, haven’t we?” Cline asks, giving me a cold smile.

  I raise an eyebrow at him. “And?”

  I’m not happy with my reply, but I’m too busy measuring him and Sykes from head to toe. Body language can tell me a lot about the people I’m about to deal with. It’s the first thing I learned the hard way during my first year in court. Sometimes, it takes a while, but I always manage to spot the weaknesses. Micro-expressions are my jam.

  “Michelle… Perez, right? What brings you all the way up here?” Cline says, noticing Daley’s hand tightly clutching mine.

  I hadn’t even noticed, but I do enjoy the subtle reassurance I get from his touch.

  “Michelle Perez Fontaine,” I correct him.

  Sykes’s jaw hits the porch. This is it. The point of no return.

  It doesn’t take Cline more than a second to figure it out. “You thought you would get away with this,” he tells Daley, only half-amused. “You actually thought you could pull off such nonsense?”

  “You boys are trespassing on private property,” Daley replies. “Consider this your first and only warning.”

  “Before what?” Sykes jumps in, oddly defiant despite his mousy figure. “Need I remind you of the conversation we had the other evening? You’re no longer legally eligible to own and occupy this property. Judge Durbin has signed your eviction order, and the gentlemen back there are ready to enact it.”

  Only now do we see the two barrel-chested goons waiting at the top of the trail. There’s no sheriff’s car at the bottom—just Daley’s pickup and what I presume is Cline’s black SUV. Everything is happening fast. Too fast. I need to catch up quickly.

  Clearing my throat, I take a step forward, while Jax keeps growling in the background like an angry train engine. My guess is that even Cline’s men dare not get closer. I can see the fear in their eyes. Other men don’t scare them. But a wolfdog that’s about the size of a pony? Heck, yeah. That is one advantage we still have.

  The wheels in my head are starting to spin again.

  “Daley has a wife. Your eviction order is void,” I tell Sykes.

  “You can’t get a wife at the last minute to—” He tries this line with Daley, but I cut him off by keeping my conversation strictly with his lawyer.

  “Tell your client to stand back or address me with all due respect!” I snap, then offer a dry smile. “Show me that eviction order.”

  Sykes narrows his eyes at me but obliges and hands over the paper. I read it carefully, from the first line to the last, while feeling Cline’s glare practically murdering me.

  “You’re not taking my land,” Daley tells him, though even I can hear the wavering in his voice. This is new and shaky ground we’re on, and we both know it. It has escalated quickly, and the possibility of failure is painfully present. We’ve been planning for moments like this, but talking the game and playing the game turned out to be different things.

  “Oh, but I am,” Cline replies. When I first met him, he struck me as quite handsome, but now that I see his ugly, greedy soul, I no longer see the aesthetic appeal. “The law is on my side, Daley, and you need to come to terms with that. This entire display is pretty pathetic. I mean, you even got yourself a fake wife. It’s ridiculous.”

  I scoff. “First of all, we are married. You can look it up with the appropriate clerks at the Dickinson Town Hall. Second, where’s law enforcement?”

  “Excuse me?” Cline replies, clearly insulted by my audacity.

  “This eviction notice is worthless without the presence of law enforcement,” I say.

  There’s no real legal basis for my statement, but neither of the men needs to know that. If there’s one thing I know for a fact it’s that lawyers on billionaire’s retainers aren’t always up to speed with the local codes. City legislation, maybe. Big city, in particular. But the backwoods of North Dakota leave some room for my desperate imagination, and I’m dying to put Cline back in his place.

  “You cannot proceed without the sheriff’s presence,” I say, doubling down.

  “I’m sorry, says who?” Sykes cuts in, equally irritated.

  “You see, my wife is an accomplished attorney,” Daley says, smiling broadly. “Just in case you thought you could try and swindle me with any more legal jargon.”

  Pride oozes from every pore, and I’m warming up on the inside. It’s a nice fantasy we’ve devised for ourselves. I should remember the fantasy part.

  “Ah, so you’re a practical man, after all,” Cline grumbles. He gives me a look of contempt, and I would like nothing more than to have Jax chase him and his lawyer and his goons off this property. Alas, this is my fight, and I think I have the right angle.

  “Mr. Cline, Mr. Sykes,” I say, giving back their paper, “this eviction order is useless without the presence of law enforcement. You’re free to inquire with the sheriff herself, if you want, but I know for a fact that statute 245B/1998 stipulates this clearly.”

  “Statute 245B? From 1998? What on earth are you talking about?” Sykes mutters, downright baffled.

  Cline gives him a curious glance. “Is she right?” he asks.

  “I would need to check,” Sykes says, then looks at me. “Where is this statute from? County? State law?”

  “County,” I lie through my teeth. “And befo
re we even address the statute itself, there is still the issue of Daley being married, which does render your eviction order null and void.”

  “You two were married sometime this week. You expect that to hold?!” Sykes shoots back.

  “Come Monday, we’re filing a harassment complaint against you, along with an appeal for the eviction order,” I say.

  Cline is already dialing 9-1-1. “Hello, yes, I’m at Daley Fontaine’s house with an eviction order. I need the sheriff to come—” He pauses, listening to the dispatcher, while Sykes nervously glances back at the goons. Jax is kind enough to patrol the clearing, occasionally growling their way. “Dickinson, North Dakota.”

  “Are you sure about this?” Daley whispers in my ear.

  I give him a discreet nudge to let him know I have this. At least, I think I have this. Even with a lawyer present, if I talk fast enough, I think I can confuse the men all the way back to their SUV. My guess is we still have Sheriff Dunn on our side.

  “What do you mean the sheriff is unavailable?” Cline blurts out, close to blowing a gasket while Sykes rubs the back of his neck. He probably knows where this is headed. “Can’t you send a deputy or something?”

  “You need the sheriff,” I tell him. “Statute 245B—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Cline waves me away before he tries another tactic with the local dispatcher. “When will she be back, then?”

  “This is a dangerous game you’re playing,” Sykes tries to warn Daley and me. “He will get his way, sooner or later.”

  “Monday!” Cline explodes, then curses under his breath and hangs up.

  There are many things he’d like to say to me right now, but he’s too angry. So angry, in fact, that he has a thick vein thumping along his right temple.

  I’d hate to be him at this point. This is humiliating, mainly because he came here to kick Daley out. What a despicable, depraved man, to just force someone out of their home with no prior notice, just legal loopholes he can afford to know about. He disgusts me, and I have no mercy for this embarrassment.

  “This isn’t over,” he spits my way, then goes down the porch steps and trudges back to his goons.