Page 2 of The Mountain Man's Curvy Bride

She waves a hand dismissively, cutting me off. "I know, Wes, strictly business. But that doesn't mean we can't have a little fun while fulfilling your uncle’s condition."

Her playful tone sends heat shooting through my veins, warming my skin far more effectively than the coffee spill had earlier. "Define fun," I growl, trying to hold onto my grumpy demeanor.

She smiles softly, closing the distance between us until there's barely any air left between our bodies. Her gaze drops to my lips, lingering for a moment before rising back up to meet mine. "Oh, I think we both know exactly what I mean."

My mouth goes dry. The woman standing before me is pure trouble wrapped in sunshine, threatening to thaw every bit of ice around my heart. Every instinct screams to run, to barricade myself back into comfortable solitude. But her intoxicating presence anchors me in place, curious to see exactly how dangerous Daisy Whitmore can be.

God help me, I think with grim resignation, because Daisy Whitmore is exactly the kind of woman who could bring a mountain man to his knees.

2

Daisy

I'm inside the cabin less than five minutes, and I'm already in love with every inch of it. Sure, it's a little rough around the edges—just like its owner—but it feels like the home I've always wanted. A place I can finally call mine without worrying that the ground might crumble beneath my feet.

I glance over at Wes, who's currently attempting to glare a hole through the floorboards, and smile to myself. He's grumpy, definitely, but I can work with that. Besides, beneath all that prickliness, he's ridiculously handsome, with broad shoulders, tousled dark hair, and a rugged jawline covered in just enough scruff to be dangerously tempting. I decided the moment I saw that online ad for a bride that this was my ticket to a fresh start. I've never moved so quickly in my entire life, responding faster than I could talk myself out of it.

Wes clears his throat, bringing my attention back to him. "So, about this wedding…"

"Oh, right!" I chirp eagerly, bouncing slightly on my heels. "When's the wedding?"

He rubs a hand roughly over his stubbled chin, clearly uncomfortable. "We can go down to the courthouse tomorrow. The sooner, the better, right?"

"Tomorrow works for me!" I say cheerfully, trying to hide my relief. I'd half-feared he might toss me out before we even got to this part. I've come prepared, though—a special white dress my mother had given me before she passed away, neatly folded and safely stowed in my bag. She’d always wanted me to find happiness, and maybe I can find it here.

"Great," Wes says gruffly, turning toward the small kitchen. "I'm going to start dinner."

"Oh, can I help?" I hurry after him, not wanting him to feel like he has to handle everything himself.

He eyes me warily for a moment before sighing. "Fine. You can chop vegetables."

"Perfect," I say, beaming as he hands me a wooden cutting board and a pile of carrots and potatoes. "I've always loved cooking. It's relaxing."

Wes snorts softly. "Nothing relaxing about dinner in this cabin."

I giggle, slicing into the carrots. "We'll see about that."

As we prepare the meal, the silence gradually fills with comfortable companionship, punctuated by the occasional scrape of knives against wood and the sizzle of vegetables hitting the pan. The smells of garlic and rosemary fill the tiny kitchen, mingling deliciously in the air.

"Smells amazing," I say after a while, sneaking a glance at Wes as he expertly flips the meat in the skillet.

His lips twitch slightly, the closest thing to a smile I've seen yet. "Glad you think so."

Dinner passes with Wes offering little more than monosyllabic responses, but I'm determined not to be discouraged. I've handled much worse than a taciturn mountain man. I'll thaw him yet.

When it's finally time for bed, Wes shifts awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. "About sleeping arrangements…there's only one bed."

I nod slowly, pretending to consider. "Well, we're getting married tomorrow, so…"

He clears his throat, looking decidedly uncomfortable. "I'll take the couch."

I shake my head, stepping closer and placing a gentle hand on his arm. "No, Wes. You don’t have to do that. We're adults. We can share."

He hesitates, his dark eyes meeting mine, uncertain. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

"I won't be," I promise softly, feeling my heart flutter at his genuine concern.

But he just shakes his head resolutely, retreating to the worn couch and grabbing an extra quilt from a nearby chair. "It's fine, Daisy. You take the bed."

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