Page 4 of The Mountain Man's Accidental Bride
A softie like me really won’t survive on this mountain. I could die. Like,actuallydie.
A beat of silence. Then—a frustrated curse comes from an equally frustrating man.
“Don’t do something stupid and reckless.” He curses again, more hushed than not. “Get back here. You can wait it out inside. At least until it’s safe enough that you won’t get yourself killed.”
It’s not an offer. It’s an order.
Sending a frown over my shoulder, I catch him scrubbing a hand over his beard, covering the sight of his jaw clenching, I’m sure.
Despite the insult still burning in my chest, it’s the rough command in his voice that sends a shiver down my spine—not the cold.
I should refuse. Walk deeper into the storm just so my mysterious fate eats at him.
Another flash of lightning turns the world white, and I jump again.
“Fine.” I stomp toward him, my glare meeting his. “Temporarily.”
I’d rather weather this storm—and him—than face the mountain alone. While I’m at it, I might try to prove that I’m not like any of the other mail-order brides who have stumbled across his doorstep.
2
August
I can count the number of raindrops as they each drip from this woman’s soaked frame. While she’s busy staring at the fire I have going, she’s creating a pond at her feet.
My knuckles whiten with the grip I have on the towel in my hand as I try to tear my eyes away from her state.
Every instinct screams that she shouldn’t be here—that she was meant for some other man’s doorstep, some other man’s life. Not mine. But the flat tire, the storm, the sheer dumb luck of it all has dumped her here instead, and now I’m stuck playing host to a stranger who smells like rain and bad decisions.
That doesn’t stop my nostrils from flaring as I inhale the hints of pumpkin spice that cling to her skin. I only noticed it once she brushed past to enter my cabin. Ever since, it’s lingered.
Shifting, the floor creaks, giving away my position. At the same time, she turns her head to look in my direction.
The anger in those onyx colored eyes remains, but the reflection of the flickering flames against her skin makes her expression look soft.
I shouldn’t have said what I said; that’s a given. There’s no question of my disdain for that company, however.
My exhaustion runs wild each time I have to hear about success stories, every time I have to see new faces on my hikes, and watch people experience something a guy like me can’t have.
Cupid’s Bloom Co. made it very clear when I caved and tried the ridiculous program for myself.
Incompatible.What does that even mean?
After getting told that my ‘fated other half’ wasn’t on the site, I wrote off the whole arranged marriage ploy of theirs as nothing but a waste of time and a way to pocket application fees from suckers who are desperate enough to find love that they can’t see what is going on behind the scenes.
Call me bittersweet. Jealous. Whatever it is.
Trying my hardest not to get lost in the view, I move toward her and offer the towel. “So, what is your story? What has brought you to Willowbrook Ridge?”
Patting her hair, a waterfall of brunette waves now that it’s no longer tied back, she turns her attention back to the flickering flames. Even without looking at me, I can see the emotion swimming around her expression. “And here I thought you had it all figured out. Didn’t think you’d feel the need to ask.”
“Call me curious.” Muttering the words, I try not to let the honesty pour out. Iamcurious. Curious to learn why a woman as beautiful as herself needs to rely on a service to find her a husband. Wherever she came from, I’d expect the men there aren’t blind. They should be dropping at her feet.
Thunder rolls in the background, making the storm brewing outside louder than the silence forming between us.
My fingers twitch at my sides, and for once in my life, I don’t know what to do with them. Not that my experience with women is at a flat zero, but I don’t purposely invite any of them into my home while a storm is brewing outside. I’ve already let my tongue run wild, painting myself out to be an asshole. No use in trying to comfort her.
Patting her body dry, I will my eyes not to follow. “Well, it’s not for the reasons you think. It’s just—I’m looking for some tranquility. A place where I won’t stick out like a sore thumb, and I can keep to myself.”
