Page 25 of The Mountain Man's Mail Order Muse
And in that moment, I know that I have found the woman of my dreams. We have broken the rules and taken a risk, but it has been worth it. I have never felt so alive, so in love. And I know that I will never let her go.
EPILOGUE
HUDSON—AT THE END OF THE WEEK
I’m standingat the altar, hands clasped tightly in front of me, trying to keep them from shaking. My heart is pounding like a war drum in my chest, each beat louder than the last. The breeze is soft on my face, carrying the scent of wildflowers and pine, and the mountain air is crisp, clear—perfect.
But nothing, not the sky, not the view, not even the peaks surrounding us, comes close to how she looks.
Daisy.
The moment I see her step out, my breath catches hard in my throat. I blink fast—too fast—trying to keep my eyes from giving me away. If I let even one tear fall, I’m done for. But hell, she’s breathtaking. That dress, that light in her eyes, the soft smile she’s giving me—it’s too much. She’s too much.
She walks slowly, graceful as ever, like she belongs in this mountain air, wrapped in sunlight. Her hair is curled, loose around her shoulders, and the way it moves with each step—God, I’ll never get over that. I can barely breathe.
I can’t believe it’s only been a week. One week since I opened that cabin door and found her standing there, holding a cat and changing my whole damn life. I didn’t know then that she’d bethe one to soften me, to surprise me, to wake something up inside me I thought had gone quiet forever.
And now, here she is—walking toward me like she was always meant to. The dress is simple, elegant, clinging to her curves like it was sewn just for her. But it’s not the fabric or the shape that gets me—it’s the woman in it. The fire in her. The strength. The kindness. The way she looks at me, like I’m worth loving.
I almost laugh when I think about it—Mountain Mates planned this whole thing. They picked the spot, they set up the altar, they arranged the flowers and the food and whatever else makes a wedding feel like a dream. And it does. But it’s not their work that stuns me. It’s her. It’s always her.
I can’t wait to hold her hand. I can’t wait to call her my wife—officially. And I swear, right here and now, with my heart cracking open in my chest, I’m going to spend every damn day trying to deserve her.
We’re finally back at the cabin after the wedding.Ourcabin.
The door shuts behind us with a soft click, and silence settles in, wrapping around us. The silence hums with energy, with anticipation. Daisy’s standing a few feet in front of me, her back turned, her dress glowing ivory in the low firelight. Her hair’s a little tousled from the wind, and when she glances over her shoulder, her eyes catch mine and hold them like they always do—like they never plan on letting go.
I felt like I waited years to see her walk down that aisle, to see the dress. And now, I can’t wait to see her take it off.
"Can you help me with this zipper?" she asks, voice low and playful.
My hands are already moving before I even speak. “Thought you’d never ask.”
I step in close—close enough to breathe her in. Her perfume is soft and warm, like wildflowers. I touch the zipper at the base of her neck, but I pause, letting my fingers rest there for a moment.
“This dress,” I murmur, dragging the zipper down slowly, “has been driving me insane all day.”
“Yeah?” she says, breath catching slightly.
“Mm-hmm.” I let the zipper slide lower, the fabric parting like petals, revealing smooth skin and the delicate line of her spine. “Every time you moved, I thought about getting you out of it.”
She lets out a soft laugh that turns into something more like a shiver.
“I think that’s what wedding dresses are for,” she says, voice teasing. “To drive husbands crazy.”
“Husbands,” I repeat, grinning against her neck. “Still getting used to that.”
She turns then, the dress slipping from her shoulders, catching at her hips, held up only by the tension between us. She tilts her chin up, eyes gleaming, mouth slightly parted like she’s waiting for it—like she wants it just as badly as I do.
My voice is rough when I say, “You keep looking at me like that, and I’m gonna do something about it.”
Her breath hitches. “Then do it.”
I don’t need to hear another word.
I cup her jaw with one hand, the other sliding around her waist, pulling her flush against me. I lower my mouth to hers, not gentle, not slow—just heat and hunger and the kind of want that’s been simmering under my skin since the day I met her. Her lips are soft and sweet, but the way she kisses me back? It’sfire. She tastes like tension and temptation, like everything I’ve been trying not to want too fast—but can’t help craving.
She fists my shirt, pulling me in deeper, like she’s trying to climb inside me—and hell, maybe she already has. Her body molds to mine, warm and eager, and my thumb brushes along her jawline, grounding us in something that’s just as much about tenderness as it is about heat.
