SILAS

Living in the backwoods of the Alaskan frontier allows me to be the man I’ve always wanted to be. Self-reliant. Independent. I’m my own fucking boss.

I don’t need anyone telling me what to do, and I sure as hell don’t need someone giving me orders.

Selling my business two years ago was the best goddamn decision I ever made. Sold my company on the North Slope and made my millions.

But shit, I only sold so I could get the fuck away from the bullshit that came with being responsible for all those employees. Now, I do what I want, when I want.

The only thing I’m missing is a woman.

But I’m getting her today.

As I’m getting my gear in the floatplane docked at my private lake, Travis pulls up in his ATV. He’s about my age—late twenties—but was born and raised here in the backwoods of the Denali Forest.

“Dude,” he calls out, grabbing a duffel bag as he heads my way. “So glad you called. I need to get laid in Anchorage. Bad. Once winter hits I’ll be stuck in that cabin with my ma every damn day.”

“I can’t bring you back, remember?” I cock an eyebrow at him, before triple checking that the plane is in working order. Having my own transportation allows me to get where I need to go, when I need to get there.

Travis doesn’t have that luxury.

“I remember you saying that on the radio. No worries. I’ll catch a ride with someone flying through.”

We get in the plane, and I busy myself with pre-flight check.

“Why not, though?” he asks. “You getting that much supplies?”

“No. I’m bringing back a girl.”

The sky is clear, the snow has long since melted, and the days are bright—as in, the sun doesn’t set until after midnight this time of year.

I planned this well. Late June is the perfect time to bring a mail order bride to the Alaska wilderness. In the winter, no woman would want to move to the frozen tundra.

We take off. I’ve travelled this route for the last two years, anytime I needed to show my face in Anchorage to meet with a lawyer, get cash from my bank account, restock supplies—basically any bullshit I can’t do from my off-grid cabin—which has become less and less often the longer I’ve lived out here.

Still, every time I get in this plane, I forget how cramped it always feels for my broad shoulders and tall stature.

“You really bringing back a girl?” Travis asks, once the plane is in the air. “Damn, I need to find some tail. Bad.”

I shake my head at Travis. This guy has zero game. He still lives with his mother and I don’t know if he’s ever had a girlfriend in his life. By the looks of him, I’m guessing no.

“I’m not just getting some tail. I’m going to pick up my wife.”

“Shit, man, what?” Travis asks, his wide eyes traveling to mine.

He’s shocked. And I’m not surprised. Some people might think a mail order bride is old school or crazy or whatever, but I don’t give a fuck about what those people might think.

The last thing I’m going to do is spend time in Anchorage trolling for a wife. But damn, I want one—need one. I need a woman to cook my food and keep my bed warm. I love living in the middle of nowhere, but I need a woman by my side.

But no way in hell am I going to waste my time dating some stupid-ass girl from the city. I don’t want a city girl anyway.

I need a woman who’s ready to make a life with me in the wild.

When Monique at The Modern Mail Order Bride Service contacted me, at first I thought it was a joke. But it wasn’t. They only serve clients with sizable fortunes—which is how they knew about me in the first place—and have made a niche market for themselves in the Alaskan wilderness.

Apparently they’re hooking a few other clients up this summer, too.

I filled out the paperwork this past winter, and when I didn’t hear anything I thought maybe the whole thing was bullshit—which fucking sucked, because by then I had my heart set on making a woman mine.

But then a week ago I was in town, which isn’t really a town—there’s just a post office and a gas station and a tiny roadhouse. Anyway, I got my mail and, lo and behold, I had a woman coming for me.

I called Monique while I was there, because of course I don’t have service up at the cabin, only a radio. She said she found me a bride who she thought was a perfect match.

“Did she meet my requirements? On my application?”

“She did, Silas. You’ll be very pleased with the bride chosen for you.”

We made the arrangements, I transferred Monique funds for the travel and student loan payment that I agreed to, and I got an appointment with my lawyer in Anchorage for the following week.

And now I’m ready to meet this mystery woman.

“What does this girl look like?” Travis asks, pulling me back to the present—which is probably a good fucking thing considering I’m piloting a plane.

“No fucking clue.” I shrug. I have no qualms about the way I’m going about getting my wife. Fuck, Travis has some slim pickings out here in the wild. I don’t want any leftovers. Instead, I filled out an application specifying exactly what I wanted in a wife.

Smart. A hard worker. Sexy as fuck.

It may sound simple, but that’s a tall order out here, where the only girl I’ve seen out here is a female fucking deer.

“You really have no clue what she looks like?” Travis laughs. “That’s nuts.”

“The agency said matches work better when you don’t go into it with expectations. It’d be easy to walk away if I knew what she looked like. This way, I’m taking her home regardless if she has blonde hair or black.”

“You can still send her back, though, right? If you don’t get along?”

“I can do whatever the hell I want, Travis.”

That shut him up.

I had my lawyer look into Monique’s company, and found proper documentation that she’d been placing brides with well-off men for the last decade.

She knows what she’s doing. There seems to be plenty of men with money who aren’t interested in the bullshit of looking for a wife. I’m not alone in that.

Today, I’ll meet my bride. Tomorrow I’ll marry her.

And then I will bring her home.