Page 32 of The Mountain Man's Runaway Bride

“Stop. Just stop. Don’t you dare try to gaslight me right now. Don’t you dare try to pretend that you said you weren’t marrying me for love, but because it was expected.”

“That was just cold feet.”

I snort. “Was it cold feet when you fucked your co-worker? Or the woman you met at the bar? Or my high school lab partner?”

He opens his mouth, but no words come out. Good. They’d probably be more lies. More excuses. But none of those matter now.

“You know what? I’m glad you did it. I’m glad you said it all.”

He blinks rapidly. “You are?”

“I’m especially glad I heard it all.”

His expression softens. “You’re right. It’s good we don’t have any secrets.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more.” I smile too brightly at him. “So now I’ll tell you one of mine: I’m so glad I’m not married to you and I will never—ever—get back with you.”

“But—”

“You’ve said your piece. I’ve said mine. It’s time to call it what it is and now I think it’s best we go our separate ways.” I slam the door in his face. “And if you see her again, be sure to tell my old lab partner I say ‘hi.’”

My body is thrumming with energy and I release a shaky laugh. That felt… so damn good. I meant every word I said to Axel. Well, maybe everything besides wanting him to tell one of his affair partners that I say hello.

But I meant that I’m glad it all came out. It save both of us from being in a marriage that was only ever going to end in heartbreak.

There’s another loud, insistent knock on the door. Blood boiling I pull it open, ready to not just give Axel a piece of my mind, but the whole damn thing.

“And another thing?—”

I freeze as my gaze lands on the man on the other side of the threshold.

“Knox,” I whisper.

It’s him.

The right him.

Wearing the same heavy flannel I last saw on myself. Hair wild, the way it is after he’s run his hands through it a million times when he’s worried. The lines around his eyes tired.

His expression completely wrecked.

I grip the doorframe to keep myself upright.

“How—what are you—how are you here?” I stammer.

“The usual way.” He drags a hand through his hair, making it even messier. “I caught a red-eye. Spent the whole flight tracking down your contact information. Rented the first car I could find. It smelled like corn chips and had three pine air fresheners. But I cracked a window and didn’t stop driving until I got here.”

“You made good time.” I suppose that was the benefit of booking a more direct flight than the one I took, with all its connections. “But why?”

“You left.”

“Of course, I left.” My irritation reignites. “Because your freaking bride showed up!”

“She’s not my bride. She was never my bride.”

“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes. “I met her. I spoke with her. She said you’d been writing to her. That you made her feel safe and loved. That you realized you’d developed feelings for her and changed your mind about wanting her there.”

“I swear, I didn’t write her.” He exhales slowly. “Boone did.”

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