Page 8 of Engaged to the Mountain Man

“Go with the medium.” I will not let her innocent behavior make me think she’s really a princess. I won’t let the way my t-shirt dips low on her chest make me wonder about the exact shade of her nipples.

She presses the button. When the coffee begins brewing, she claps her hands together in delight and graces me with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen.

“I made coffee for myself!” She says this as though she’s never done it in her life. For a moment, a flicker of doubt goes through me. Is it possible she is who she claims to be?

“Thank you.” She reaches around me for her mug. Except that my brain gets it all scrambled and thinks for some crazy reason that she’s going in for a kiss.

I drop my head, suddenly aware of the way our breaths mingle, of the way her eyes are so big and round. But most of all, I’m aware of how her breasts are pushing against my chest. They’re rounded and heavy, and my fingers itch to reach out and squeeze them.

She whimpers, the slightest sound of desire, and it’s enough to pull me from my trance. It doesn’t matter if she’s a con artist or a princess. I’m not kissing her, and I’m definitely not falling in love with her.

* * *

Aurora

I thoughthe was going to kiss me, and I’m surprised by how disappointed I am when Rafael pulls back.

He moves to the fridge, muttering something under his breath. He pulls out plastic bottles. I’m not even sure what they are, but he must have a dozen of them.

“Flavorings,” he grunts out the word.

I wait, confused by his bottles and his almost kiss. He has beautiful thick lips. The kind that I can’t help wanting to run my tongue across.

“They’re for the coffee. You pour them in to give it a gourmet flavor.”

I think I understand now. I scan a few of the bottles, selecting a caramel one. I add a liberal amount of it to my cup. Wanting to break the tension in the air, I say, “Tell me about Herbert.”

“He’s the closest thing I have to a pet, I guess.”

I think longingly of my horse, Moxie, and the way she’s comforted me since my mom’s death. Sometimes, pets understand us on a level no one else does. I make a mental note that we’ll need travel arrangements for his turtle. It wouldn’t be right for Rafael to leave him behind.

I look around the cabin, also noting that my husband-to-be doesn’t have a lot in the way of material possessions. The whole cabin is rustic and simple though spacious. The vaulted ceilings and large windows give it an airy feeling. It’s a far cry from Father’s castle with its five dining halls and endless sitting rooms all filled with ornate treasures designed to remind visitors of our status. “What do you normally do in the mornings?”

“Check on my crops. I’m not much of a farmer, just believe in living off the land. I grow most of my own food, and I trade with some of the other mountain men for things like meat.”

He’s independent and rugged. Will he like living in the castle where there are people to do even the most basic tasks for him? Or will he grow bored and resent me for bringing him into so much splendor?

“You could help me for the day…if you don’t have any royal duties to attend to.” There’s a definite note of sarcasm in his voice. He still doesn’t believe I am who I say I am.

I’ve never been one to back down from a fight, so I hold my head high and meet his gaze confidently. “I’d love to.”

5

AURORA

“Can I meet Herbert?”I ask after I’ve finished the tour of Rafael’s gardens. He spent the morning showing me his crops. He seemed to think I would be disgusted by the dirt and the worms and the hard work. But I spent the day shoulder-to-shoulder with him, doing the same tasks. I want my mountain man to know I’m interested in more than a marriage in name. I want to be partners in every sense of the word, and that means pulling my weight.

Besides, I know Rafael’s secret now. He might march around here like a big grump, scowling at me. But the man talks to his tomato plants. He fusses over his cucumbers, turning them to make sure they’re getting enough sunlight then he bends low to speak words of encouragement over the lettuce heads he’s growing.

He struggles to move sometimes. I see the way his balance is affected, the way he can’t control his limb movements. I’ve always taken for granted the fact that if I tell my body to pick up a shovel, it will. If I tell my fingers to release the handle of the hose, they will. But his muscles don’t work the same way.

“Sure, but I have to warn you, turtles are the ultimate introverts.” I think he made a joke. I’m finding that I like Rafael’s dry sense of humor. He makes a quiet joke, but he never draws attention to it.

Rafael leads me to the backyard where he shows me the enclosure he’s built. Carefully, he pulls back the netting, pausing to explain, “He’s a Carolina box turtle.”

I look down to see a turtle plodding along the grass with a yellow and brown pattern on his back. He’s kind of cute with his long neck and dark eyes. “Can I touch him?”

He nods. “Gently. The same way you can feel it when someone presses on your fingernail, he can feel it when you touch his shell. And don’t try to pick him up. He doesn’t like that.”

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