Page 2 of The Mountain Man's Untamed Bride
"I'm busy," I'd growled. "Some privacy would be nice."
"Perfect timing, actually. Got something for you to read while you're... occupied."
Before I could protest, several sheets of paper had slid under the door, narrowly avoiding the questionable puddle that always seemed to be present no matter how well-aimed a person tried to be.
"What the hell is this?" I'd demanded, reluctantly picking up the papers.
"Application forms," Flint had answered cheerfully. "For Mountain Mates. The mail-order bride service."
I'd nearly fallen off the seat. "The WHAT?"
"Been in there long enough to read the registration forms," Flint had chuckled. "Might as well sign!"
I'd skimmed the papers in horrified fascination.Mountain Mates: Connecting Lonely Mountain Men with Women Seeking a Simpler Life.Complete with testimonials from supposedly happy couples who'd found love through arranged matrimony.
"Have you lost your mind?" I'd hissed through the door. "I'm not signing up for a mail-order bride!"
"Already did it for you, buddy. Just need your final approval on the form." Flint's voice had been entirely too pleased with himself. "That guy at Skyline Bar over in Hope Peak, Montana found his wife this way—the Mountain Mates site works!"
"You did WHAT?" I'd been so shocked I'd forgotten to keep my voice down.
"Check the second page. Your profile's all set up."
With mounting dread, I'd flipped to the second page.
Name: Bodhi WilderAge: 32Occupation: Skilled craftsman/woodworkerInterests: Nature, sustainable living, animals, quiet evenings by the fireSeeking: Traditional woman who appreciates simple living, home cooking, and rural values
"What the actual fuck, Flint?" I'd emerged from the outhouse clutching the crumpled papers, my shopping forgotten.
Flint had been leaning against the wall, looking like the cat that ate the canary. "Just some light embellishment. I didn't mention that time you chased the mailman with an axe. It was Halloween, but still."
"That was ONE TIME, and he shouldn't have been on my property without warning," I'd defended myself. "And I'm not a 'skilled craftsman.' I build things so they don't fall apart, not for art."
"Potato, po-tah-to." Flint had waved dismissively. "Look, you're turning into a mountain troll. When was the last time you had a conversation with someone who wasn't me, Mabel, or one of your birds?"
I'd glared at him. "I like my chickens. They don't talk back or sign me up for matrimony."
"You need someone in your life, Bodhi. You can't spend the rest of your days talking to Colonel about the weather."
"Watch me."
"Josie agrees with me, by the way," he'd added smugly. "She says it's unnatural for a man your age to be so alone. Says it's not healthy."
"Tell your wife to mind her own business. I don't need her matchmaking any more than I need yours."
"Too late." Flint had grinned. "She helped me fill out your profile. Said to emphasize your 'rugged capability' and downplay the 'grumpy hermit' vibe."
***
Now, back in my cabin, Flint settled into the ancient armchair that served as my primary furniture in what generously could be called a living room. The chair creaked ominously under his weight.
"You're going to fix that when it finally gives up," I warned him, retrieving two mason jars from the kitchen and filling them with amber liquid from a growler in my fridge.
"So," Flint said, accepting the homebrew with a nod of thanks. "About your bride—"
"There is no bride," I interrupted. "I never confirmed anything."
"Funny thing about that..." Flint took a long sip, obviously stalling. "You know how the form had that little clause at the bottom? The one about automatic confirmation if no objection was received within seven days?"
