Page 1 of The Mountain Man's Runaway Bride

ONE

QUINCY

The plane dips, and I clutch the armrest until my knuckles are as white as my wedding dress.

Well… maybe I should call itadress. Sure, it’s made of lace, satin, and tulle. I spent thousands of dollars on it and the alterations at a bridal boutique.

But is a dress still a wedding dress if the bride bailed on the wedding?

The plane’s wings level out. My pulse steadies, though my stomach doesn’t stop churning. That’s to be expected, I suppose, for someone who skipped breakfast and then bailed on her wedding.

It’s also probably not great that my carry-on contains nothing but waterproof mascara, a bag of Jordan almonds, and two pairs of lacy underwear meant for “married life.”

Across the aisle, a white-haired woman lowers her crocheting hook and gives me a sympathetic smile.

“You look a little nervous, dear.”

“A little,” I admit. “Though it’s probably not what you’re thinking about.”

“Oh, I’m sure I have an inkling.” She clucks her tongue and takes up her crocheting. “I was a bride once upon a time, too. I understand.”

“I’m not nervous about my wedding.” I raise a can of ginger ale that has long gone lukewarm to my lips. Maybe it will settle my stomach.

“That’s not what I meant.” Her gaze meets mine, and the corners of her mouth twitch. “I was talking about your weddingnight.”

I cover my mouth before I can spray ginger ale out of it. The pint-sized passenger next to me gapes as I hack up a lung and try to catch my breath. The flight attendant two rows up turns slowly, the kind of turn that saysPlease don’t be contagious.

Meanwhile, my new friend across the aisle smirks.

“Don’t worry, honey.” She loops a stitch with total calm, seemingly oblivious to the chaos she’s created. “Alaskan men are like wood stoves. They’re cold and can be fussy. But when you light a fire under them, they usually do the trick.” She wiggles her brows at me. “If you know what I mean.”

A man dressed as if he stepped out of an ad for outwear snorts and the bearded man next to him snickers. Both dart looks my way.

I wish I could melt into the cabin floor.

I wipe my mouth with a napkin and push the ginger ale away. “That is… some advice.”

“Advice I learned the old-fashioned way. Through my own experience as a mail-order bride to a mountain man.”

It’s a good thing I gave up on drinking my beverage. The whole cabin would’ve been in the splash zone.

“You were a mail-order bride,” I repeat slowly. “To a mountain man.”

“That’s what I said, young lady. He smelled like cedar, wore flannel like a second skin, and had hands like you wouldn’t believe.” She sighs. “We’ve been married fifty years last summer.”

“That is… something.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” She smiles fondly. “Showing up in a wedding dress was a good idea.”

“Oh.” I glance down at my gown. For a moment, I’d completely forgotten I was still wearing this damn thing. “I don’t know about?—”

“He’s going to love getting you out of that thing tonight before bed.” She gives me a knowing look. “And trust me, you won’t have anything to worry about on your wedding night.”

My eyes widen. “My wedding night?”

“That’s what you’ve been worrying about, right?”

I can feel my cheeks flush bright red as more heads turn. We’ve attracted an even larger audience. And I’m not sure, but the tween next to me might be recording this exchange on their phone.

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