Big Man’s Bride (Big Men Small Towns #1) Read Online Penny Wylder

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors: Series: Big Men Small Towns Series by Penny Wylder

Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 34007 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

(Big Men Small Towns #1) Big Man's Bride

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Penny Wylder

Book Information:

I want my childhood home. He wants a fake wife for a month.
I lived on a shoe string budget just so I could buy back the house my mother raised me in. That place meant everything to me. A week before I could put down the cash, I found out it's been sold.
I should have walked away. Instead I showed up on the doorstep-- MY rightful doorstep-- planning to do anything to get the house.
I wasn't ready to stand toe to toe with Caleb Staunton.
Darkly handsome, gorgeous from his hair to his boots, with the ability to make your skin tingle if he stares right at you. Everyone knows his family is rich beyond belief with a reputation for tearing down historical properties. He's my enemy. No question.
That's why I'm shocked when he offers me a deal. He'll give me the house... If I pretend to be his wife. One month. That's all he's asking for. And I think I can handle it, keep things business. No flirting. No kissing.
I can't give in, because someday I DO want marriage... a real one. This isn't real.
I remind myself of that every minute Caleb consumes me with his intoxicating presence.
I could never love him or his terrible family.
We're total opposites. So why does it feel like we want the same happy ending?
Books in Series:

Big Men Small Towns Series by Penny Wylder

Books by Author:

Penny Wylder



I stare at my bank account, the smile on my face nearly painful it’s so wide. I did it. It’s all there.

It’s a huge fucking relief, too. Frankly, it’s more money than there’s ever been in my account, and I’m about to spend it all at once to get my house back. Or rather, my family’s house.

My entire childhood, my grandfather spent his time restoring an old manor house along the Cumberland River just outside of Nashville, and it was my favorite place. I took my first steps in between the huge evergreen trees, and I’d collect rocks from the banks of the river, filling my bedroom shelves with Mason jars filled with multicolored pebbles. As I got older, I would beg my mom to let me spend weekends there, helping mend fences or weeding Grandpa’s garden. In the summer, when it was unbearably hot, I would spend hours on the bank reading, and then plunge into the water for relief. I learned to swim in that river, and spent hours floating in tubes with my mom, just staring at the big blue sky and talking about anything that was on our minds.

But that was all before. Before Mom got sick. Before everything spun out of control. Before my dreams for my future came to a screeching halt. In just a matter of days, those carefree days floating down the river with Mom seemed like a different life altogether. Instead of the sounds of the glorious rushing water of the Cumberland river, I fell asleep at night listening to Mom beg and haggle on the phone with hospitals and the insurance company. She tried to be so strong and keep on a happy face for me, but there was no hiding how sick she was. And after going through her savings and suffering through treatment, none of it mattered anymore because she was gone. Her chance of survival was slim, and she just couldn’t hold on. At fifteen, I held my mother’s hand as she died, telling her I’d be okay and that I loved her. I’d never felt more alone in my life.

But I wasn’t ever really alone. When I left my mom’s hospital room for the final time, it was Grandpa’s arms I fell into, I cried into his well-worn cardigan and clung to him for dear life. He drove me home that night and moved in the next day. He sold the Cumberland River house and never looked back. For two years of high school we lived together. Both of us grieving and trying our best to find a new normal. He hadn’t expected to be raising a teenager at his age, and I was shellshocked realizing that I’d have to make my way in life without my mom. I owe him so much. He made sure I had a roof over my head, food, and enough money to get me through college.

Even though I understand why Grandpa let go of the house, it’s still hurt for all this time. It felt like a piece of my heart had been sold off to strangers. Even worse, I felt like I’d stolen something from Grandpa. If it weren’t for me, he would have continued to live in his home and fulfilled his dream of bringing it back to its original glory. Now, though, I’m getting that house back. We are going to finish restoring it together. After everything he’s done for me, I want to see him sipping lemonade on the wraparound porch and puttering around his garden like he used to love to do. The man who bought it from Grandpa all those years ago never really took a shine to it, so it’s been sitting empty for years now. There hasn’t been much interest from any new buyer. It’s out of town, so inconvenient for anyone who works in the city, and it still needs a lot of work. It’s also a lot of house for someone who doesn’t have an emotional attachment to it. It’s much more of a project than just a home. Still, it’s as beautiful as ever. I’ve been driving by it every week just to make sure. And to make sure the For Sale sign was still hanging out front. Every couple of weeks I’d call the realtor to see if the asking price was the same. It hasn’t dropped a penny.

My hands are shaking and I can barely dial the number that I’ve memorized over the last few years. It’s been about a month since I’ve checked in with the broker, Janet. God, I have so much adrenaline I feel like I could run a marathon. Maybe I should run a couple of laps around the block. Burn off some of this nervous energy before I pull the trigger.

I don’t press dial yet, because I’m too … I don’t know. I’m ready to burst. For a moment, I have a little dance party in my living room. This has been my dream for so long. I can’t believe that it’s actually happening. I even go as far as to pinch myself to make sure that I’m actually awake.