Page 38 of The Mountain Man's Untamed Bride
Bodhi snorted. "I should charge you for emotional distress."
"Right," Flint scoffed. "Because you're clearly suffering, sharing your cabin with a beautiful woman who can actually stand your moods."
"He still refuses to wear slippers indoors," I stage-whispered. "And Colonel has better social skills."
Everyone laughed, including Bodhi, who squeezed my knee under the table. These dinners had become a regular occurrence—this found family accepting me without question into their tight-knit circle. The irony wasn't lost on me that I'd found more genuine connection in this tiny mountain town than in my father's megachurch with thousands of congregants.
"Speaking of matchmaking," Flint continued, setting down his glass with a theatrical flourish. "I've been thinking of expanding my business ventures."
Josie rolled her eyes fondly. "Here we go."
"Mountain Mates: The Flint Hawthorne Method!" He spread his hands like he was revealing a billboard. "One hundred percent success rate so far!"
"Your sample size is one couple," Mabel pointed out dryly.
"Quality over quantity, Mabel," Flint countered. "Besides, I've got a knack for seeing what people need before they know they need it."
"Like that time you decided Harvey needed a pet snake?" Josie reminded him.
Harvey shuddered visibly. "Still finding shed skin in my workshop."
Dinner continued with easy conversation and frequent laughter. By the time we drove back to the cabin, the night sky was a blanket of stars, the air crisp enough to see our breath.
Bodhi and I settled on the deck he'd finished back in August, bundled in blankets against the December chill. The mountains loomed dark against the star-studded sky, and somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled.
"I should check on the hens once more," Bodhi said, but made no move to get up from where we were cuddled together on the outdoor loveseat he'd built.
"They're fine," I assured him. "Colonel's probably got them all doing perimeter checks and security drills."
He chuckled, pulling me closer. "We need to finalize our Christmas plans. Your mother's called twice this week to confirm dates."
"I know. She's already planning which church ladies to scandalize with stories of my mountain man husband."
The word slipped out before I could catch it. Husband. We hadn't discussed marriage, not once in our whirlwind months together. Bodhi went still beside me, and I felt heat rush to my face.
"I didn't mean—" I started, backpedaling frantically. "It's just what my mother calls you. Not that I think we're—I mean, we haven't—"
"Scarlett," he interrupted my stammering, shifting to face me. "Stop talking."
"Stopping," I agreed, mortified.
To my surprise, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small velvet box, its dark blue fabric worn with age.
"I was waiting for the right moment," he said, voice gruff. "But since you brought it up..."
My breath caught as he slid from the loveseat to one knee in front of me, snow crunching beneath him.
"I've been carrying this around for two weeks," he admitted, opening the box to reveal a vintage emerald ring set in white gold that I'd admired in Mabel's display case when we'd first visited town together. I'd thought he hadn't noticed my lingering gaze.
I couldn't speak as he took my hand.
"I'm not good with words," he continued. "But I know what I want, Scarlett. A life with you, here in these mountains or wherever we end up."
"Bodhi—"
"Marry me," he said simply. "Be my wife, for real this time. No mail-order schemes, no escape plans. Just us, together."
"Yes," I whispered, then louder, "Yes!"
