Page 15 of The Mountain Man's Untamed Bride
"I think we've wasted an hour on cosmetic enhancements for a trip to buy eggs."
She seemed unperturbed by my grumpiness, dabbing something glossy on her full lips. "Beauty is never a waste of time, Bodhi. It's an investment."
"In what?"
"In making people underestimate you." She winked, brushing past me to the truck. "Let's go to town."
***
The drive to Promise Ridge was silent except for Scarlett's occasional gasp when we hit a particularly vicious pothole. She spent most of the journey checking her appearance in a compact mirror, adjusting things that looked perfectly fine to me.
"This is it?" she asked as we pulled into what generously could be called the town center. "This is the entire town?"
Promise Ridge's main street consisted of exactly four buildings: Mabel's General Store (which also housed the post office), Hawk's Nest Outfitters, The Ridge Diner, and a gasstation with a single pump that had been displaying the "Be Right Back" sign for approximately three years.
"Welcome to metropolis," I deadpanned, parking in front of Mabel's.
"It's... quaint," she offered, which I interpreted as city-speak for "horrifyingly primitive."
Mabel Kovacs was restocking sacks of rice when we entered, the bell above the door announcing our arrival with an unnecessarily cheerful jingle. At seventy-five, Mabel had the energy of someone half her age and the vocabulary of a sailor twice it. Her blue-dyed hair was piled atop her head in what she called her "don't-give-a-damn updo."
She peered over her reading glasses as we approached, her shrewd eyes cataloging Scarlett's tiny sundress, carefully applied makeup, and the diamond studs in her ears that probably cost more than Mabel's monthly inventory.
"Well, well," she drawled, setting down her price gun. "If it isn't the Unabomber himself, gracing us with his presence. And company!" She turned her attention fully to Scarlett. "This the mail-order? Huh. Thought Flint ordered you someone who could milk a goat. This one looks like she'd milk a credit card."
I suppressed a groan. "Mabel, this is Scarlett. Scarlett, this is Mabel. She owns the store and apparently all the bad manners in the county."
"Pleasure," Scarlett replied, extending her hand like she was meeting royalty instead of a foul-mouthed shopkeeper in overalls.
Mabel shook it, eyeing her with undisguised curiosity. "You actually agreed to marry this grizzly bear? Voluntarily?"
"It's... complicated," Scarlett answered with a polite smile that revealed nothing.
"Ain't it always." Mabel cackled. "Well, consider this your welcome to Promise Ridge, honey. If you need the dirt on your new man, I've got files thicker than the Bible."
"We need eggs," I interjected before this conversation could deteriorate further. "And whatever else is on this list." I handed over the paper I'd scribbled on earlier.
"Help yourselves," Mabel gestured around the store. "I'll get the stuff from the back."
As Mabel disappeared through a swinging door, Scarlett surveyed the small store with the expression of an anthropologist discovering a new civilization.
"I'll be right back," I told her. "Try not to buy out the entire store."
"Wait, where are you—"
"Post office counter," I gestured to the small window at the back. "Need to check if any packages came in."
I left her examining a display of locally made honey with the caution one might reserve for potentially radioactive materials.
After confirming no packages had arrived (which I'd known, but needed an excuse for a moment's peace), I returned to find Scarlett wandering the aisles with increasing dismay.
"But where is the gourmet cheese section?" she was asking Mabel, who had returned with a box of supplies. "The olive bar? Or at least some artisanal bread? How do people LIVE?"
"We live just fine," Mabel replied with the patience of someone who'd fielded similar questions from tourists. "Cheese is in the cooler. White or orange, take your pick."
"That's it? Two options?" Scarlett looked genuinely distressed. "What about brie? Gouda? Aged cheddar with truffles?"
"Honey, the only truffles around here are the chocolate ones near the register, and they've been there since Valentine's."
