Page 11 of Mountain Man's Mail Order Treat

“Doing what?” I looked up.

She’d reminded me I hadn’t touched my own chips, and half of the first of my two sandwiches was now gone. I opened the bag and chomped on a chip as I scanned the view.

“Setting you guys up with women you’ve never met,” she said. “To marry them.”

She probably didn’t know my part of that story, so it was time to share it with her. “I was the only one on our crew who sought it out. I’ve always wanted to get married and have kids. I just needed the right woman. The rest of the crew…” I shook my head. “We have a lot of guys scared of commitment in this town.”

“So you think she’s done?” Whitley asked.

I chuckled. “Not a chance in hell. I’d say she already has the next bride on her way.”

We both looked over to the right—to the inn parking lot, which was dotted with vehicles.

“She’s probably in there right now.” Whitley nodded toward the inn. “Bobbi’s next victim.”

I grinned, turning my gaze back to the beautiful woman at my side. “You really think Bobbi works that fast?”

“Oh, please. My guess is the bride is checking in at the front desk this very minute, dragging her suitcase upstairs and wondering if this town is as crazy as it sounds.”

I chuckled. “You might be right.”

She leaned in slightly, a playful gleam in her eyes. “I usually am.”

My gaze drifted back toward the inn, where a door on one of the parked cars had just popped open. A woman stepped out, adjusting her bag over her shoulder and glancing around like she was trying to get her bearings.

Whitley followed my gaze. “Maybe that’s her.”

I tilted my head. “Could be.”

She looked young, nervous. Maybe even a little hopeful.

“Well,” I said, “if she is, the only question is, which one of my buddies is about to meet the love of his life?”

We both laughed, but before I could throw out any names, I noticed another woman heading straight for the table. Not a stroll, but a beeline. I felt Whitley shift beside me.

“Uh-oh,” she whispered. “Looks like business is picking up again. Do I look professional enough?”

“You do,” I said. “You look like a boss.”

She smiled, cheeks flushing just slightly. “You make me feel that way.”

I reached under the table and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “That’s because you are.”

We barely had time to exchange a look before the woman reached the table.

I glanced at my girlfriend—soon to be my wife. “Ready?”

She nodded. “Let’s do this.”

And together, we stood to greet the customer.

EPILOGUE

WHITLEY

Ihadn’t planned on working on date night. But when you love what you do, does it ever really feel like work? Besides, my husband was beside me, both of us standing at our large kitchen island, with preserves on the stove behind us and various decorative mason jars in front of us.

“This is much easier without the kids,” he said.

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