Page 3 of The Mountain Man's Runaway Bride

And then an eruption of whoops, cheers, and applause. Honest to God applause. And not just from the little audience I’ve assembled. Everyone in our part of the plane has apparently been listening in as I share my sad little story.

My cheeks flush again as I lean back in my seat. I have to admit, it feels good. Not the applause and attention. But to have announced to the world—and myself—that I’m done with Axel once and for all. That I deserve more than to be someone’s standby.

Maybe if I keep thinking that, I’ll start to believe it.

On his way past, the flight attendant hands me a small bottle of bubbly with a wink. “Here’s to new beginnings.”

The plane touches down a few hours later.

Thanks to my new friends, and the glasses of bubbly they insisted on ordering me, I’m feeling much more pleasant about my prospects.

And a smidge tipsy. But only a little.

As we disembark, I catch a glimpse of the snow-capped mountains and my heart hitches. “Beautiful.”

“It sure is,” Margaret—my white-haired crocheting companion—says. “Even after fifty years it still takes my breath away.”

“Just like your mountain man?”

“Indeed he does?” Her smile softens and she rests a comforting hand on my forearm. “You’ll find your love too. I’m just sure of it.”

I thank her, even as I have my own doubts. I’m not even sure I care about romance. Clearly, I can’t be trusted to make smart decisions when it comes to men.

As I near the airport entrance, reality hits me. I know next to nothing about I’m going or how I’m going to get there. Axel had taken care of the honeymoon. It was the only part of the wedding he had. I’d wanted to go to the Bahamas, but he insisted we should go on an outdoor hiking excursion in Alaska.

All he told me was we were going to Alaska and that a man named Knox Callahan was going to be our wilderness guide.

A honeymoon hiking through the mountains with another person. How romantic.

I push the irritation aside to focus on the pressing issue at hand. I need to figure out my next steps. I didn’t come to Alaska to convert my wedding dress into a tent here in the airport.

Taking a deep breath, I pull back my shoulders and scan the lobby for a sign about transportation. I’m so caught up in my search, I walk straight into a flannel-covered wall.

That turns out to be a broad, muscular chest.

“Oof.” I drop my suitcase handle. “I’m so sorry, I?—“

I pull back and my breath catches. There, standing in front of me is a tall, man with a dark beard that seems to have speckles of red in it as it catches the light.

And he’s staring at me with dark piercing eyes.

“Holy shit,” he mutters. “It’s you.”

My eyes widen. “Me?”

I open my mouth to explain, but he’s already sizing me up. The more he studies me, the more horrified he seems.

“Is something wrong?” I ask, frowning as he releases his steady grip on my arms and starts to pace, muttering words I can’t quite make out under his breath.

“No, you’re fine. It’s just…” He looks me over again, from veil to heels.

“Just what?”

“I didn’t think you’d be wearing a wedding dress.”

“Oh.” I look down at myself in all my poofy glory. “About that?—”

“It’s not that I don’t want to go through with it. I mean, I’m not sure. It’s just… Hell.” He takes the cap off his head and runs his fingers through thick, dark hair, leaving it standing upright in places.

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