Page 1 of Mountain Man's Mail Order Runaway
1
FINLEY
Tacos with chips and salsa. Maybe ice cream with chocolate syrup for dessert.
I licked my lips as I stared up the long gravel driveway leading to the cabin of the man I was going to marry. The man who’d promised he’d have my favorite meal waiting when I got here.
With that goal in mind, I lifted the handle of my tattered suitcase and started walking. I was starving and exhausted. I hadn’t slept, aside from a nap on the airplane, in almost two days. But I was safe. They couldn’t find me here.
That thought kept me going.
By the time I reached the wooden steps leading to the porch of my fiancé’s cabin, my legs were wobbly and my head ached from complete fatigue. I was about to meet the man who’d saved me. I could muster a few more steps.
I nearly stumbled on the second step, but I somehow managed to keep myself upright. Using what seemed like the last of my strength, I hoisted my bag onto the porch and followed it with my body.
The rideshare driver rolled his eyes like I was being melodramatic when I asked him to drive me to the front door, but at this point, I was running on fumes. The hand-me-down suitcase I’d snatched from a closet at the compound didn’t have wheels, so the least the driver could’ve done was drop me off.
Food and a nap. I should have told my fiancé that was exactly what I’d need as soon as I arrived. But he’d promised food, so I’d focus on that for now.
I stopped in front of the big wooden door and considered knocking, but then I saw a doorbell. A doorbell would take less strength. I pressed it with the pad of my left thumb and scanned the porch. Not even a rocking chair I could plop down on while I waited.
But first impressions were everything, and I’d rather be standing when I made a first impression on the man I’d promised to marry. I rang the doorbell a second time and waited. Nothing. Did it even work?
Finally, I gripped the door jamb with one hand to balance myself, summoned the last of my strength, and slammed my knuckles against the hard wood. The door was so solid, I didn’t feel like I could make much noise that way, but I’d wait a couple more minutes, then ring the doorbell again if nothing happened.
Spots. I was seeing spots. That wasn’t a good sign. Plus, bile was rising in my throat. Was I going to be sick? There was nothing on my stomach, so that didn’t seem likely.
Maybe I should try the handle. I could let myself in and curl up on his couch. Did they lock doors in small towns like this? Probably not.
I was about to turn the handle when the door whipped open. I stared for several long seconds at the sight in front of me. He wore only a towel, his hair dripping wet. Drops of water clung to his chest, his shoulders, his arms—all of which were well sculpted.
Had I fallen asleep on the porch and dreamed this guy into life? I should have asked for a picture of him. I had no idea what he even looked like. A woman who visited our compound to drop off groceries every week had set this up after I snuck a note to her on a piece of paper. She’d messaged the details to a secret email address I checked on our weekly visits to the library.
And that was how I’d ended up here, in a small town all the way across the country. I was a mail order bride, apparently, and my groom had paid for my plane ticket, arranged the rideshare, and promised to feed and house me once I arrived.
“What?” the guy barked, cutting into my thoughts.
I blinked at him, sure I must have misheard. Then I had another thought. Did I have the wrong house? I stepped back and took a look. The number on the house matched the number on the slip of paper I’d memorized before tossing it in the trash. This was definitely the right house.
“I’m looking for Logan Reid,” I said.
“Yeah. That’s me.”
Oh good. It was the right house. Or was that bad? He didn’t seem to know who I was. Yes, that was definitely very, very bad.
“I’m Finley.”
That was the name I’d made up when I first started concocting this plan. My real name was Renee, but I read a book when I was a kid where Finley was the main character. I’d always loved that name, and now it was mine.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Yeah?”
There was heat in those eyes, and I swore I saw him scan my body. I half expected him to keep scanning, like the leaders in my organization had since I was nine years old. Dressing modestly didn’t help. They saw me as a sex object, no matter what I did. It was the same with all of us.
“I’m here,” I said, because I really didn’t know what else to say.
What could I say? I’d done my part. I’d snuck out with what I could fit in one suitcase and made my way across the country, following the instructions I’d been given. Now it was time for him to do his part, which was to let me in, feed me, and keep me safe.
“Look, I don’t know what this is about,” he said. “You’re going to have to help me out here.”
