The Marine's E-Mail Order Bride (Heroes of Chance Creek Book 3)

By Cora Seton

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Copyright © 2014 Cora Seton

Kindle Edition

ISBN: 9781927036600

Published by One Acre Press

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

The Marine’s E-Mail Order Bride is the third in the five volume series,
The Heroes of Chance Creek
. To find out more about Mason, Regan, Austin, Zane, Colt and other Chance Creek inhabitants, look for the rest of the books in the series, including:

The Navy SEAL’s E-mail Order Bride (Volume 1)

The Soldier’s E-Mail Order Bride (Volume 2)

The Navy SEAL’s Christmas Bride (Volume 3)

The Airman’s E-Mail Order Bride (Volume 5)

Find out where it all began with
The Cowboys of Chance Creek
Series:

The Cowboy’s E-mail Order Bride (Volume 1)

The Cowboy Wins a Bride (Volume 2)

The Cowboy Imports a Bride (Volume 3)

The Cowgirl Ropes a Billionaire (Volume 4)

The Sheriff Catches a Bride (Volume 5)

The Cowboy Lassos a Bride (Volume 6)

The Cowboy Rescues a Bride (Volume 7)

The Cowboy Earns a Bride (Volume 8)

Visit
http://www.coraseton.com
for more titles and release dates.

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O
f all the
things she’d done as assistant to mountaineer Kenna North, this was certainly the strangest, Storm Willow thought as she climbed the outside stairs to the second floor of the Big Sky Motel. Located in tiny Chance Creek, Montana, it was a nondescript building whose windows overlooked a parking lot in what passed for a downtown area. Flying in from California, she’d watched the large, sparsely populated ranches spread out below her as the plane descended to the airport. To the southwest had been a tall range of mountains. The town itself was barely visible until they were almost over it. It looked snug and self-reliant tucked among the open spaces surrounding it, so different from her bustling seaside hometown, Santa Cruz.

Too bad she wasn’t the one getting married in the fancy white gown encased in the garment bag she was hauling up the motel’s outdoor stairs. Her last boyfriend, Todd Winters, had crushed any aspirations she had in that department when she’d brought up the topic in the spring. She could still hear his response. “Marriage? For God’s sake, Storm, we’re twenty-three. No one our age gets married. We’re supposed to have fun and be spontaneous, but you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? Your life is scheduled six months out. You can’t even spend the night with me without checking your date book!”

They hadn’t lasted long after that, and no one else seemed eager to step into Todd’s shoes. Now it was September, and she hadn’t had more than a date or two in the meantime. What hurt the most was that Todd was right; there was no time for spontaneity in her life. Her father had died when she was fifteen, and with three much younger sisters to help care and provide for, she’d jumped right from junior high to parenthood. Now she worked full time, ran Zoe, Daisy and Violet to their activities and watched them every Saturday so her mother could take extra shifts. She was responsible. That didn’t mean she was boring. She too longed for adventure—someday, but when it came she wanted someone to share it with. Was that really so bad?

She moved the heavy garment bag to a new position and kept climbing. Todd’s words had hurt, but they’d also confirmed something she’d long suspected. Men these days didn’t know how to grow up. They bumbled around and acted like children long past their teens and into their twenties. Take Todd, for example, who worked as few nights as possible at a dance club so that he could spend his days surfing. That was great as far as it went—her own father had a terrific career in surfing that allowed him to buy the beach cottage she still lived in with her mother and sisters—but at some point you had to have a plan. Todd wasn’t Mitch Willow. He wasn’t going to get a surfing sponsorship. He was going to wake up one morning at forty-four and realize he’d missed his chance to own a home or start a family.

She wanted a home and family, but she wasn’t interested in dating any more boys. In fact, she’d written men off altogether for the time being. She’d decided the only way out of her current situation was to concentrate on her career and figure out how to turn this position with Kenna into something more—something that would actually pay all her bills and allow her to pursue some of her own dreams. Maybe then she’d be able to meet a man who was her equal, a man capable of acting like an adult.

Storm negotiated the last few metal stairs, surveyed the numbers on the motel room doors and turned left. As sick as she was of men right now, she was even more tired of being in debt. It wasn’t the gas bill, or medical insurance or keeping food on the table that was the problem.

It was the house. The beautiful cottage Mitch had bought when he made his first big splash as a professional surfer. Right on West Cliff Drive, with the best ocean views around, it was a spectacular home, and every time Storm entered it she was reminded of her father’s love for them all.

Unfortunately, when Mitch died in a surfing accident in Bali eight years ago, he hadn’t only left Storm’s mother, Cheyenne, four girls to raise, he’d also left her an enormous mortgage. Within months, Storm had quit school to work full-time, but with the cost of daycare for a three-year-old and one-year-old twins, plus an outsized house payment, her earnings paired with Cheyenne’s couldn’t keep up. Cheyenne took a second job while Storm struggled to get her GED. When she looked back, she realized together they’d pulled off a miracle holding onto the house and keeping themselves above water—barely—this long. Each year they’d slid a little bit, however, and now their debts had become too big to ignore. Something had to change.

But not today.

She paused in front of number twenty-seven. Kenna should already be in the next room over, but Storm wanted one last minute to herself before she informed her of her arrival.

She couldn’t believe Kenna was getting married—to a cowboy, no less. Every time she thought about it she had to laugh. Kenna was tough as nails, a no-nonsense climber who had no time for sentiment or romance. A cowboy was entirely wasted on her.

Of course, it would be a fake wedding. Kenna would never agree to be shackled for long. Storm had been with her the day her father’s will had been read, and Kenna had found that she wouldn’t receive her substantial inheritance until she was married. Storm had thought her boss might explode when she got the news, but instead Kenna had gone quiet, and had stayed subdued until she left a few days later for Nepal for her latest climbing expedition. Storm should have known she was formulating a plan.

She draped the garment bag over her left arm and fumbled with the key she’d received downstairs at the check-in counter. Kenna’s wedding dress had arrived in the mail two weeks ago with orders for Storm to get it here. As Kenna’s assistant, it was her job to do all kinds of things. She kept Kenna’s home running during her months-long excursions, helped write her grant requests and climbing articles, kept her books, coordinated her travel arrangements and anything and everything else Kenna wanted done. Kenna knew Storm would never say no to a job—Storm needed the money far too badly to jeopardize her position—so she didn’t hold back on her requests. In turn, Storm knew just how badly Kenna wanted that inheritance. The fact Kenna had used the Internet to find herself a fake husband shouldn’t have surprised her one bit. For the next six weeks it would be Storm’s job to pull together the wedding here in Chance Creek and stand in as Kenna’s best friend and Maid of Honor. Another laugh. Kenna made sure she was always aware of the discrepancy between their positions. There was nothing resembling friendship between them.

The key turned in the lock and Storm let herself in, hung up the dress in the closet, and flopped down on the bed, exhausted. Ever since Kenna had informed her of her upcoming wedding, she’d been on her feet, rushing to prepare for her trip to Montana. She’d done everything she could to make her prolonged absence easier on her mother. She wasn’t sure how Cheyenne would manage to work full time, do her errands and get the girls where they needed to go while she was gone.

As much as she hated to admit it, Storm was looking forward to the break. She loved her family, but Todd was right about one thing—her time never felt like her own. She’d be plenty busy helping Kenna arrange her fake marriage, but when she wasn’t working, she could relax and think about the future—especially about how to find a better-paying job.

Or how to convince Cheyenne to sell the house, so all her decisions didn’t have to be based on money.

A knock on the door startled her, and she put a hand to her chest, willing her heartbeat to slow. Kenna must have noticed her arrival and wondered what was taking her so long.

Six weeks
, she reminded herself as she walked to the door. She could endure anything for six weeks, even catering to Kenna’s every whim as she prepared for her fake Thanksgiving wedding to a cowboy who apparently needed a temporary wife as badly as Kenna needed a temporary husband. She wondered what the man would be like. Probably ugly, she decided, if he couldn’t find a willing woman. Buck-toothed, maybe. Illiterate, perhaps. Fond of words like
howdy
and
school-marm
. As lazy and boyish as Todd.

The knock sounded again.

“I’m coming.” She’d better take that annoyance out of her voice or Kenna would have something to say about it.

Her phone shrilled out the sharp, insistent ring she’d programmed to announce that her boss was calling. Storm grabbed it out of her pocket automatically even though she was sure she was about to come face to face with the woman. Kenna demanded absolute attention from her employees. If she called, you answered, even if she was simultaneously knocking on your door.

“Hello?” She rested her hand on the knob.

“Storm? You’ll have to take my place.”

Storm frowned at the urgency in her boss’s voice. “Take your place? Where?”

“In Chance Creek. You’re there, aren’t you?” Kenna’s frustration was evident.

“Of course I’m here. I’m about to let you into my room.” Storm was sure her own frustration was all too clear.

“That would be a trick, seeing as I’m still in Nepal.”

“What?” Storm took a step back from her door. “What are you doing there?” She strode back to the bed where she had Kenna’s itinerary in her bag.

“I got delayed. I’m not going to make it back—there’s a new expedition setting out and I’ve been invited to join it. It’s too good to pass up.”