Page 7 of Merry'd to the Mountain Man
The air is cold against my cheeks, but surprisingly I feel good. My heart’s pounding, but not from fear this time. From relief.
The weight of every demand, every guilt trip, every look of disappointment that’s been sitting on my shoulders finally lifts.
I slip my phone into my jacket pocket and look out over the river, watching the sunlight bounce off the water.
“Well, I guess it’s just me now,” I say to myself. And for once, that doesn’t sound lonely. It sounds like freedom.
CHAPTER 6
Cole
It’s been a little over a week since I married a complete stranger, and somehow, we’ve fallen into rhythm. Not as husband and wife, more like roommates who happen to share a last name and a questionable life decision.
She makes coffee in the mornings. Strong enough to peel paint, but I drink it anyway.
I split firewood and make sure the generator doesn’t freeze up.
She leaves sticky notes on the fridge reminding me to eat something that isn’t jerky or canned chili.
I leave her fresh logs by the woodstove because she always forgets to restock before the fire dies.
It’s…easy. Easier than it has any right to be.
At night, she knits and listens to her audiobooks by the fire wrapped in that red scarf she refuses to stop wearing inside. I pretend not to notice when she hums along to Christmas songs under her breath. I tell myself it’s annoying, but the truth is, I kind of like it.
She laughs easily, talks too much when she’s nervous, and leaves a trail of chaos wherever she goes. The cabin used to echo with silence—now it hums with life again.
And damn if that doesn’t scare me a little.
Earlier this week, I called Wentworth’s office and sent over all the signed paperwork. The marriage certificate, the judge’s signature, the whole nine yards. Proof that I had a wife, just like Gramps’ will demanded. They confirmed receipt, which means the ball’s in the court now.
All that’s left is getting past December 31st.
I’m in my workshop out back, running a sander over a slab of pine, when I spot movement through the open door. Frankie’s out by the barn, dragging two big plastic totes across the snow.
She’s muttering to herself, cheeks pin from the cold, hair falling out of her hat in dark curls that bounce against her scarf. I have no idea what’s in those boxes, but judging by the look of determination on her face, I’m guessing it involves Christmas decorations.
I shake my head, grinning despite myself. The woman’s a menace with a tinsel addiction.
I’m about to got out and give her a hard time for my own amusement when my phone buzzes on the workbench. The screen lights up with a name I’ve been half expecting, half dreading.
Ryan.
Here we go.
I take a breath and answer, trying to sound like a man who actually enjoys talking to his cousin. “Ryan, I didn’t expect to hear from you.”
“Cut the crap, Cole,” he snaps. “You really think I’m going to believe your marriage is real?”
I roll my eyes and lean against the workbench, keeping my voice calm. “What, you don’t trust what the lawyer sent over toyou? I told him to send you copies of everything for your record. The whole deal.”
“Please.” He scoffs. “You’re telling me you just happened to meet someone and marry her weeks before the deadline?”
I can’t help the smirk that tugs at my mouth. “Of course. What do you think, I just put out an ad online for a wife and some woman was crazy enough to answer it?”
“There’s silence on the other end. Long enough for me to imagine the vein in his forehead starting to make an appearance.
“That’s just…ridiculous,” I continue, letting the truth slide out in a way that sounds like a joke. “No one would bethatcrazy.”
