Page 30 of The Mountain Man's Runaway Bride

“That’s for safety on the trail.”

He pulls out another item. “Sir?”

“And that’s a camp stove—see? It’s not even loaded with fuel.”

“Sir.”

“Oh come on. That’s a thermos. How is it dangerous?”

“You’ll need to remove your boots. And your belt. And your flannel.”

“What? Are we playing a game of strip poker here or something?”

“Rules are rules.”

“I’m going to be late.”

“Sir.”

“Shit.” I hiss under my breath. “Aren’t you at least going to by me dinner first before you fuck me?”

“Sir.”

By the time I’m through, I’m half-dressed and sweating. I sprint barefoot down the terminal, skidding past travelers and dodging a guy driving another passenger with a cart.

Quincy’s gate is in sight.

But I’m too late.

Through the wide airport windows, I see the plane just starting to taxi.

There. In the back row, in a window seat, I can barely see a familiar figure I’d recognize anywhere.

Quincy.

She’s staring out the window, chin propped on her fist. She looks tired. Beautiful. Heartbroken.

I press a hand to the glass, helpless.

Then the plane lifts.

And she’s gone.

ELEVEN

QUINCY

Closing the apartment door behind me, I drop my luggage at my feet and release the heaviest of sighs.

“What a day,” I murmur. “Whoever thought it was a good idea to book a flight home with three connecting flights is an idiot.”

It was me. I’m the idiot. But at the time, it hadn’t seemed like there was another option.

I couldn’t stay in Alaska.

Especially not with Knox’s new—real—bride around.

Of course, there’s no one here to reply. Not even my cat, Lacy, is around to offer a comforting—if judgmental—meow after being gone for so long.

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