Page 6 of The Mountain Man's Untamed Bride
My designer boots sank instantly into mud.
"You cannot be serious," I muttered, trying to extract my foot without leaving the boot behind. By the time I stood upright, Bodhi had descended from the porch and was watching me with an expression that mixed disbelief and confusion.
"Hi there!" I called with my best pageant smile, the one that had won me "Most Photogenic" despite my coach's fear it made me look too ‘aggressively approachable.’ “Bodhi Wilder? I'm Scarlett. Your... bride, I guess?" I fanned myself dramatically, feeling sweat trickle down my back in the thick summer heat. "Will you be a dear and grab my bags? And please tell me there's central air or at least a pool somewhere!"
His expression shifted to unmistakable alarm. He looked like I'd announced I was here to audit his taxes rather than become his wife.
"What happened to your car?" he finally asked, gesturing to my mud-splattered BMW.
"Your driveway happened," I replied, still smiling. "I think I left my suspension somewhere back there."
He stared, his gaze traveling from my face to my tight jeans to the stack of luggage visible through the car windows.
"You're Scarlett?" he questioned, sounding like he hoped he was hallucinating.
"In the flesh." I wobbled slightly in the mud. "All yours, courtesy of Mountain Mates."
His jaw tightened. "There's been a mistake."
"Wouldn't be the first one I've made." I sighed. "But here I am, and here you are, and somewhere back there—" I waved toward the winding road "—is civilization, which I've officially left behind. Maybe we could continue this inside? I could really use a nice chilled white wine after that drive."
A chicken strutted purposefully around the corner of the cabin, its feathers ruffled importantly as if on official business. It stopped at Bodhi's feet and fixed me with a suspicious stare.
"Who's your feathered friend?" I asked, eyeing the bird that was sizing me up like I was on the menu.
"Colonel," Bodhi answered flatly. "He doesn't like strangers."
"Great. Even the chicken doesn't like me."
"Rooster," he corrected with the hint of a smirk. "City girl."
Bodhi ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more. "Look, Miss Montgomery—"
"Scarlett," I corrected. "If we're going to argue about why I'm here, we might as well be on a first-name basis."
"We are not getting married," he stated firmly. "My friend signed me up without permission."
I blinked at him as his words sank in. "You didn't want a mail-order bride?"
"No," he declared, crossing his arms. "I don't want a wife, mail-order or otherwise."
"Oh." The syllable hung between us awkwardly.
I glanced back at my car, then at the endless forest surrounding us. My carefully crafted escape plan was unraveling faster than cheap pantyhose. I had nowhere to go. No way to face my parents or Langley after my dramatic exit.
So I improvised.
"That's unfortunate," I said, injecting brightness into my voice. "Because I've already told everyone I'm married. Changed my social media status. My parents threw me a going-away party. The church is planning a welcome-back reception in six weeks." I delivered the lies with practiced conviction, knowing they'd create exactly the kind of social obligation that would make a decent man feel trapped.
None of this was true, but he had no way of knowing that.
His face paled beneath his tan. "You what?"
"I'll just grab my smallest bag for now," I continued, turning back to the car. "Don't worry, I'm a good roommate. You'll barely notice I'm here. Except when I'm cooking or..." I winked. "Being wifely."
The chicken made a sound suspiciously like a snort.
"This isn't happening," Bodhi muttered, more to himself than to me.
