Page 6 of Merry'd to the Mountain Man
The vinyl creaks under his weight as he leans back. “I booked us each a room at the inn down the road. We’ll head to city hall first thing in the morning to get married.”
He says it so matter-of-factly, like we’re discussing a grocery list and not the most impulsive decision of my life.
“Sounds good,” I say, pretending my heart isn’t creeping up into my throat.
Cole reaches out his hand across the table. “Deal?”
I look down at his hand, noticing how big and strong and rough they are. Each callus earned from hard work, not sitting in an office like my brother. I slide mine into his and his palm swallows mine completely, warm and solid. The spark that shoots through me is instant, but I school my features so it doesn’t show.
This is a business arrangement. That is all. Nothing more.
But as his thumb brushes the edge of my hand before he lets go, I can’t help the tiny thought that sneaks in anyway. If simply shaking his hand has me reacting this way, what else can that hand do to me?
I clear my throat and pull my hand back. “So, city hall in the morning?”
He nods once, the corner of his mouth lifting again. “City hall in the morning.”
CHAPTER 5
Frankie
“What do you mean you just got married?”
Mom's voice screeches through the phone loud enough to practically perferate an eardrum. I hold the phone away from my ear and stare out at the stretch of forest behind the cabin. The river sparkles in the sunlight, snow dusting the banks like powdered sugar on a donut. It’s stunning out here. Peaceful. A whole different world from the chaos on the other end of the call.
“Harold!” she shouts in the background. “Get in here! Your daughter just said that she got married!”
I can practically picture my father blinking sleepily from his recliner, wondering if it’s worth pretending he didn’t hear her.
I close my eyes and let her rant fade into the background. As my mind drifts back to this morning at city hall, the echo of footsteps on the marble floors, the smell of old paper and cheap coffee.
It was the most anti-climatic wedding in history.
We waited in line behind a couple arguing over their witness, filled out some forms, and stood in front of a judge who lookedlike he’d rather be fishing. He read a few words off a card, we signed our names, and that was it.
Just like that, I became Francesca Annabelle Whitaker. Wife of a man I’d met less than twenty-four hours ago.
No dress. No flowers. No music. Just a pen, a paper, and the sound of Cole clearing his throat beside me before saying, “I guess that’s it.”
And now here I am, standing on the back porch of a gorgeous log cabin surrounded by pine trees that stretch so high they look like they could scrape the clouds. The river that runs behind the property, winds down to the valley below.
It’s beautiful and quiet and exactly the opposite of everything I’ve ever known.
“Selfish!” Mom’s voice cuts through my thoughts and I bring the phone back to my ear. “You are selfish, Francesca! Running off like this. Not telling anyone. Do you even know this man? What kind of person does something so—”
“Spontaneous?”
“Reckless!” she snaps. “You’ve always been reckless. You only ever think of yourself and never about how your actions will affect others. I can’t believe you’d do this to me right before Christmas.”
Something inside me, the part that always stayed quiet to keep the peace, finally decides to speak up.
“I didn’t do anything to you,” I snap back at her. “For the first time in a long time, I am thinking of myself.”
“Don’t you dare take that tone with me!”
“I’m serious.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to make everyone else happy. You, Dad, James and his perfect family. But I’m done. You’re just going to have to find someone else to push around and treat like crap for Christmas, because I won’t be there.”
There’s a stunned silence on the other end of the line. It’s brief, but it’s glorious, until she hangs up on me.
