Page 29 of The Mountain Man's Untamed Bride
Her eyes filled with tears, but a small smile curved her lips. "That's unexpectedly poetic for a man who communicates primarily in grunts."
"I have hidden depths," I deadpanned, relieved to see her smile widen.
"I've noticed," she said, moving closer until our thighs touched. "Thank you for coming when I needed you. For believing me."
"Always will," I promised, before I could consider the implications of 'always.' "No one touches what's mine."
The words hung between us, and I immediately backpedaled. "Not that you're mine. Or anyone's. People aren't possessions. Unless you want to be. Mine, that is. Not a possession." I scrubbed a hand over my face. "I should stop talking."
To my surprise, Scarlett laughed—not the practiced, artificial laugh she'd used when she first arrived, but something genuine that lit up her entire face despite the tear tracks on her cheeks.
"You're adorable when you're flustered," she said, leaning her head against my shoulder. "And for the record, I wouldn't mind being yours. In a completely equal, mutually exclusive way."
The knot that had been in my chest since reading her SOS text finally loosened. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer.
"We'll figure this out," I promised. "I'm not letting him near you again."
"My hero," she murmured, but without the sarcasm that would have laced the words days ago.
She looked up at me then, her expression making my breath catch. Without makeup, her hair a mess, wearing my too-large flannel shirt she'd grabbed in her panic—she'd never looked more beautiful.
"I think I'm in trouble, Bodhi Wilder," she whispered.
"What kind of trouble?"
"The kind where I came here looking for an easy solution and found something much more complicated instead." Her fingers traced my jaw. "The kind where I might be falling for a mountain man who talks to chickens and threatens to feed my ex to wildlife."
"That is trouble," I agreed, turning to press a kiss to her palm. "Especially since that mountain man is definitely falling for you."
When our lips met this time, it wasn't the desperate passion of our earlier encounter. This was something deeper, something that felt dangerously close to a promise.
We had a long road ahead—legal battles, confrontations with her family, figuring out if a city girl and a reclusive military vet could actually build something real together. But for the first time since she'd arrived in her mud-splattered BMW with designer luggage and impossible expectations, I allowed myself to hope.
Colonel chose that moment to appear at the window, pecking insistently at the glass as if demanding a status update on the threat to his territory.
Scarlett broke the kiss with a laugh. "Your chicken is jealous."
"He'll adjust," I said, pulling her back into my arms. "We all will."
Chapter Ten
“Roots and Wings”
Scarlett
The August sun beat down mercilessly as I dug my fingers into the rich mountain soil. Sweat trickled between my shoulder blades, darkening the back of my once-white tank top that I'd sacrificed to the gardening gods. A full week had passed since Langley's dramatic arrest, and I was still adjusting to this strange new reality—one where I wasn't constantly looking over my shoulder.
"You're supposed to plant them, not interrogate them," Bodhi called from where he was reinforcing the chicken coop.
I sat back on my heels, wiping dirt across my forehead with the back of my hand. "I'm having a philosophical discussion with these tomato plants about their life choices. They're very opinionated about soil pH."
His laugh—that rare, wonderful sound I'd been hearing more frequently—carried across the yard. Colonel pecked at the ground nearby, occasionally cocking his head to stare at me as if critiquing my gardening technique.
The restraining order against Langley had been issued yesterday. According to the sheriff, he was still in custody pending bail hearings, with additional charges likely forthcoming based on evidence found in his car—including detailed maps of Bodhi's property and what appeared to be a sedative kit that made my blood run cold.
My parents had been notified immediately. Their initial disbelief had quickly transformed into horror when confronted with the evidence of Langley's obsession and the Richardson family's carefully constructed facade of respectability.
I pressed the final tomato seedling into the ground, patting the soil around it with surprising tenderness. Gardening wasn't something I'd ever imagined enjoying, yet here I was, filthy and sweating, feeling oddly satisfied by the simple act of coaxing life from dirt.
