Page 25 of The Mountain Man's Untamed Bride
Knocking began—firm, powerful but controlled. Pure Langley.
"Scarlett, I know you're in there." His voice hardened. "Your car is here. Open the door. We need to discuss your... behavior."
Footsteps crossed the porch. The doorknob rattled.
"Scarlett," his tone shifted, "don't be childish. I've driven all this way. The least you could do is show some gratitude."
The closet was my only option. I squeezed in among Bodhi's flannel shirts and heavy coats just as a sharp crack announced the front door giving way.
Slow breaths. Quiet breaths.
Surrounded by Bodhi's clothes, I inhaled his scent. It made me feel both safer and more terrified—safe because it reminded me of his strength, terrified because he wasn't here.
"Scarlett?" Langley's voice echoed through the cabin. "What a... quaint accommodation you've found. Quite different from your father's estate."
Cabinet doors opened. Papers rustled. Drawers scraped.
"Everyone's devastated," he continued, coming closer. "Your father had to explain to the congregation why his daughter disappeared before her engagement announcement. The gossip has been... unfortunate."
Of course that's what he'd worry about.
"We've prepared a statement," his footsteps entered the bedroom. "Temporary emotional distress. Pre-wedding jitters. Nothing a few sessions with Dr. Atherton won't fix."
My phone vibrated silently—the text had gone through! No response from Bodhi, but at least the message delivered. I clutched it tightly.
"Interesting choice of men," Langley muttered nearby, his breathing quicker than normal. "Though I suppose a primitive lifestyle suits primitive tastes."
I pressed deeper into the closet. A hanger dug into my shoulder.
"Did you really think this would work?" His voice turned conversational as he moved around the bedroom. "That you could just vanish and play wilderness wife with some... what is he? A lumberjack? A survivalist?"
Something glass clinked against wood.
"What exactly was your plan? To hide out until you got bored? We both know you can't last a week without your spa appointments."
The closet door swung open.
Langley stood there, his smile cold. "Found you."
His hand grabbed my arm, yanking me forward. I stumbled, dropping my phone.
"Now, now, little lamb," he said, his fingers wrapping tightly around my arm. "Time to stop playing and return to your proper place."
I wrenched free, surprising both of us with my strength. "No, Langley. I'm not going anywhere with you."
His eyes narrowed, jaw working. "Don't be difficult. This wedding is happening. Your rebellion changes nothing."
"The engagement is off," I said, steadier than I felt. "I don't want to marry you. I don't care what our parents arranged, or what you want."
He moved closer, crowding me. A muscle twitched near his temple. "You don't get to make that decision."
"It's my life," I countered. "My choice."
His hand shot out, pinning me against the wall, his palm against my throat—not squeezing, just there. A warning.
"Your father gave me his blessing," he hissed, inches from my face. Scotch fumes washed over me. "Do you know how much I've invested in this relationship? The connections I've made with your father's ministry?"
His hand trembled. Sweat dotted his forehead despite the cool room. His pupils had expanded, nearly swallowing the blue of his irises. The constant sniffing, the twitching jaw, the frenetic energy—it all clicked.
