Page 22 of The Mountain Man's Mail Order Muse
Mark’s eyes narrow.
“Two.”
I hold my breath.
Mark throws a punch.
It’s wild. Sloppy. Fueled by nothing but rage.
Itmisses.
And before I can blink, Hudson’s fist connects with Mark’s jaw.
The sound is sickening. Clean. Final.
Mark’s body is slumped in the dirt. Hudson standing over him like some avenging mountain god. And me—shaking, heart-sore, still trying to make sense of it all.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “But… thank you. For showing up. But how did you find me?”
He nods, then hesitates. “The guy at the front desk—Caleb—he’s someone I’ve known for over a decade,” he says. “We used to hunt elk together, back when I had more time. He recognized my car and called me when he saw it parked outside. Said a girl left it there, looked upset. Figured something was off.”
I glance down at my feet, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. “So… he ratted me out.”
“Daisy, you stole my car.”
I wince. “Okay. Yeah. That’s fair.”
A silence stretches between us, but it’s not quite comfortable.
“Why didn’t you tell me about him?” he asks gently. “Mark. The ex.”
I look up. My chest tightens.
“Because it’s hard to talk about,” I say. “And I didn’t want you to see me as weak. I didn’t want to ruin anything by dragging that mess into your life.”
He takes a step closer. “You’re not weak. Not even close. But… if we’re going to build anything, Daisy, I need to know what’s real. All of it.”
I nod slowly. “Okay. Then why didn’tyoutell me you weren’t the one who signed up for a mail order bride? Or even signed the contract? No wonder you had no idea what I was talking about with the rules.”
His face shifts, almost like he forgot for a second. Then he sighs, shoving a hand through his hair.
“I should’ve. I wanted to. But you showed up so bright and sweet and... I didn’t want to scare you off either. I figured it didn’t matter because once I saw you, I knew we were meant to be. But I was wrong about not being truthful with you from the start.”
I raise an eyebrow. “So we’re both full of secrets.”
“Seems like it.”
We stand there, looking at each other, stripped of the stories we’d been hiding. A breeze picks up and carries the scent of pine between us.
“Maybe we’re even now,” I say, offering him the tiniest of smiles.
He smiles back, a little crooked, a little cautious. “Even.”
I take a breath. “If we’re actually going to do this—this crazy, impulsive marriage—we can’t keep lying. We need to be transparent. Even when it’s messy. Even when it hurts.”
He nods. “Agreed.”
