Page 3 of The Mountain Man's Accidental Bride
I wouldn’t mind making a run for it. If only I remembered how to use my legs. They’re completely useless, trembling underneath the weight of his stare.
His lips curl further at my lack of response to why I’m knocking on his door, revealing a flash of white teeth. Not a smile—a snarl. “You lost?”
My thighs press together, and I hate myself for the way my body responds to the sense of danger I get from the guy.
“Um, no. Not really. I mean…” My voice wobbles as badly as my knees. “I caught a flat and could use some help. Maybe a phone?”
Screw calling someone to rescue me. I’m already imagining this guy changing my tire. Clothes heavy with rain, clinging to his muscles and—
Oh, I’m a terrible future bride.
His eyes flick up like he expects to see my vehicle parked in front of his home. As if.
“My stuff is only a mile up, at most. The storm looks like it’s only going to get worse. If you have any idea of who I could call, that would be awesome—”
“Lines are down.” Like a thunderous cloud in physical form, he rains down on my parade, hitting me with something I didn’t think would happen. “Always the first thing to go during storms like these.”
Shoot. Now what?
Stepping back, I look out toward the downpour. The gray of our surroundings has grown thicker, making seeing more than twenty feet ahead more than enough of a challenge. If I tried to walk back to my car, would I make it there safely, or would I truly get lost?
Spotting the man’s truck, a bulky vehicle with chipped black paint, a new idea forms.
I fumble with my phone, pulling up Walter’s address with trembling fingers. I have to dig through our messages to find it. Surrounding the vital information is our attempt to get to know each other despite being complete strangers.
The man doesn’t move, doesn’t blink—just watches me struggle like I’m some pitiful creature caught in a trap.
“Here,” I thrust the screen toward him, forcing cheer into my voice. “If you could just—”
He stares at my email, but I don’t think it’s the words on the screen that catch his attention. Instead, it’s the company’s logo displayed at the bottom.
“Cupid’s Bloom Co.” He spits the name out like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. “Another mail-order bride.”
Not a question. An accusation.
“Let me guess.” His voice is a low rasp, edged with something darker than annoyance now that he’s seeing me in a new light. “You’re either another rich girl playing pioneer, or you’re dumb enough to think this mountain’s a damn spa retreat despite the alerts going out about this being one of the worst storms of the season.”
Heat floods my cheeks as my smile wavers. He’s seen women like me before. Wide-eyed, desperate, trailing luggage and naivety up this mountain.
I open my mouth to argue, but his laugh cuts me off—a harsh, humorless sound.
Okay, this guy might be attractive on the outside, but his personality sucks. In fact, he’s pretty much a giant asshole.
“No point in going anywhere but back down to town. You can talk to the mountain rescuers, I’m sure they’d be able to help with your car.” His eyes move toward his truck, and he squints. “But I’m not willing to get stuck in the middle of a violent storm for a woman who won’t last three days on this mountain.”
“Wow.” I shove my phone back into my pocket. “Has anyone told you that you’re an asshole?”
His brows lift—just a fraction—but it’s enough. His surprise doesn’t dull out my matching annoyance.
I spin on my heel, boots slamming against the warped porch boards to get my feelings across. “Thanks for nothing. Seriously. Could not have thought of a better way to waste time, minutes I could’ve been pointing toward someone less judgmental and more helpful.”
Three steps back into the downpour, lightning splits the sky. The thunderclap that follows rattles my teeth, and Ifreeze mid-stride, heart jackhammering against my ribs. Stupid inexperience with violent storms is biting me today.
This feels like the kind of storm people die in.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” His voice booms over the wind.
I don’t turn around with the fear of my face giving away my feelings. I don’t answer, not wanting a stranger to know that he’s hurt my feelings, that I’ve allowed him to.
