Page 7 of The Minx and the Mountain Man

“Okay,” she announces, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Moment of truth.”

She plucks a biscuit off the tray and hands it to me, her eyes bright with anticipation. I take it, still warm from the oven, andbreak it open. Steam rises, carrying the buttery scent straight to my nose, and I take a bite.

It’s good. Really good. Not that I’ll tell her that.

She watches me expectantly, rocking back on her heels. “Well?”

I chew slowly. Swallow. Shrug. “It’s fine.”

Her jaw drops. “Fine?”

I smother a smirk. “Passable.”

She gasps, clutching her chest like I just delivered a mortal wound. “Reid Calloway, you take that back this instant.”

I don’t. I just take another bite. She narrows her eyes, clearly unimpressed with my lack of enthusiasm.

“You’re impossible,” she mutters, grabbing a biscuit for herself. She takes a bite, then sighs dramatically. “Mmm. Delicious. Perfect. The best thing I’ve ever eaten. If only my husband-to-be had taste buds.”

I huff. “Are you always this dramatic?”

“Always.” She winks. “You’ll get used to it.”

That’s what I’m afraid of. I glance away, focusing on the fire crackling in the hearth. I remind myself why she’s here. Why we’re here. This isn’t a love story. It’s a business arrangement. And no matter how good her biscuits are or how bright she makes the cabin feel, that hasn’t changed.

It can’t change. I won’t let it. Even if, for the first time in a long time, the silence I’ve always treasured doesn’t feel quite as comforting anymore.

Chapter Five

Sadie

I refuse to let a grumpy mountain man and his stubborn silence ruin my fresh start.

Sure, Reid Calloway might act like he regrets ever agreeing to this arrangement, but I signed up to be a mail-order bride with full knowledge that it wasn’t going to be some fairytale romance. If I’m going to be here for the foreseeable future, then I might as well make the most of it.

This is exactly why on my second day here, after breakfast, I roll up my sleeves and get to work.

The cabin is solid and well-built, but it lacks any real warmth. Everything is wood, leather, and stone, with no personal touches to soften the edges. It’s clean, but only in the way a house is when no one really lives there.

That’s going to change.

I start small, tidying up and dusting the shelves, rearranging the collection of books in the living room, and washing the few dishes in the sink. Then, I tackle the kitchen, opening the curtains to let in more light and scrubbing the counters until they gleam.

Reid doesn’t say much while I work. He watches me with narrowed eyes like he’s waiting for me to get bored and give up. But I won’t.

When he finally mutters something about needing to work in his shop and heads outside, I take my chance to add a little flair to the place. A plaid throw blanket over the back of the couch, a few pinecones and evergreen sprigs arranged in a wooden bowl I find in a cabinet, and—my favorite touch—a row of candles along the mantel.

By the time Reid comes back inside, stomping the snow from his boots, I’m standing in the middle of the living room, hands on my hips, admiring my handiwork.

He stops short, eyes sweeping over the room. His brow furrows. “What… happened?”

I beam at him. “I made it homey.”

His mouth flattens. “It was fine before.”

I tsk, stepping closer. “Fine isn’t cozy, Reid. Fine is cold.” I gesture around us. “See? Doesn’t this feel more inviting?”

He grunts, which I think is an acknowledgment, but I can’t be sure.

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