Page 11 of The Minx and the Mountain Man

We scramble up and hurry back inside, slamming the door against the storm. The warmth of the cabin wraps around us, but my body is still wired, my skin still buzzing. I don’t look at her as I strip off my coat and stomp toward the fireplace. I don’t want to see whatever’s in her eyes right now.

Because I know if I do, I might not be able to hold myself back next time.

Chapter Seven

Sadie

The storm howls outside, rattling the cabin walls, sending little tremors through the wooden beams. It’s the kind of night that makes the world feel small, closed off, like nothing exists beyond the snow-covered trees and the flickering glow of the fire.

I should be sleeping. Instead, I lie awake, staring at the wooden ceiling, the thick quilt pulled up to my chin. But warmth isn’t my problem.

I’m still buzzing from earlier, from the way Reid’s hands landed on my waist, firm and steady, as the snow fell thick around us. Buzzing from the way his breath warmed my temple, how his body felt pressed against mine, all heat and strength.

He’s confusing, this man I married. A walking contradiction wrapped in plaid and gruffness. Hard edges, soft moments. Silence.

I let out a slow breath. I wonder if he’s still awake.

I throw on a thick sweater over my nightshirt, pull my socks up, and quietly slip out of the bedroom.

Reid stands by the fire, a glass in his hand, the golden light flickering across the sharp angles of his face. His hair is slightly tousled, like he’s been running his fingers through it. His broad shoulders are tense, his stance rigid, like he’s bracing for something.

He doesn’t turn right away, but I know he hears me.

“Can’t sleep?” His voice is rough, low, edged with something unreadable.

I shake my head, though he still isn’t looking at me. “Too much on my mind.”

That makes him glance over, his sharp blue gaze locking onto mine. He takes me in—barefoot, drowning in my oversized sweater, my hair spilling over my shoulders.

He sighs, barely a breath, then gestures to the couch. It’s an invitation. Or at least, as close as Reid Calloway gets to one.

I settle onto the cushions, tucking my legs underneath me. He watches me for a beat longer before looking back at the fire. The silence stretches between us, thick but not uncomfortable.

I decide to push first. “Do you have trouble sleeping?”

His mouth curves at the corner, but there’s no real humor in it. “Every damn night.”

I study him in the firelight. The way his jaw tics, the shadows under his eyes. “Is that why you agreed to this?” I ask softly.

His fingers tighten around the glass. “What do you mean?”

“This.” I gesture between us. “The mail-order bride thing. The marriage.”

Reid’s jaw tenses. I think he’s going to shut me out like he always does, but then he exhales, rubbing a hand over his face.

“My grandmother made me promise.” His voice is quiet, almost reluctant. “She was the only one who ever really gave a damn about me. Before she passed, she told me I needed to stop isolating myself. Find someone. Build a life.”

I feel something tighten in my chest. “So you figured ordering a wife was the easiest way to check the box?”

His lips twitch, the ghost of a smirk, but it fades as quickly as it comes. “Something like that.”

I watch him for a long moment. His fingers tap absently against the glass, his posture stiff, but his eyes—those deep,unreadable eyes—hold something else. Something I don’t think even he understands.

“And now?” I ask, tilting my head. “Still feel like you’re just checking a box?”

His grip on the glass flexes. He doesn’t answer.

Instead, he turns the question back on me. “What about you?”

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