Page 1 of The Mountain Man's Second Chance Bride
one
Wynonna
Thesmellofpineand damp earth hits me as I step off the logging road that leads to Josiah Stone's property. Silver Ridge stretches out below, mountains shooting up in every direction. My legs feel like jelly after the eighteen-hour bus ride and that killer two-hour hike up here, but no way am I stopping now. Not when I'm this close.
I catch my breath at the property line. The cabin's bigger than I remember, a greenhouse stands near the edge of the clearing, and a massive pile of split wood shows Josiah's still as hardworking as ever. My chest tightens—everything's different, but it still feels like the place that's lived in my head for ten years.
Then I seehim.
He comes out of the workshop near the cabin, and my heart does this stupid flippy thing it always did. He's exactly how I remembered but even better. His flannel shirt stretches across those broad shoulders as he carries lumber like it weighs nothing, muscles shifting as he stacks boards against the wall.
And just like that, I'm fifteen again, hiding behind trees to watch him help Daddy fix our roof, my stomach knotting with want every time he'd wipe sweat from his brow. I'd spend hours imagining those strong hands touching me, daydreaming about him seeing me as something more than just his friend's kid. Josiah Stone was basically a god walking around in muddy boots.
I shake my head and grip my suitcase tighter. I'm twenty-five now, not some weird kid. I came here with a plan, not just some dumb crush.
"Don't mess this up," I whisper, and the wind snatches the words away.
Six months ago, I was scrolling through this mail-order bride website, yeah, they still exist, all fancy and digital now, when I found him. After Mom died, the emptiness in my life became unbearable, and there he was, like the universe was giving me a sign.
Josiah Stone, 40, Silver Ridge, British Columbia. Seeking a practical, hardworking woman for companionship, partnership, and eventual family. Must appreciate mountain living and solitude.
I filled out the application immediately, using a recent photo but listing my name as Wynonna Clarke, my Mom's maiden name, just enough disguise that he wouldn't connect me to the girl who once followed him around like a lost puppy. His letters were classic Josiah: direct questions about whether I could handle mountain isolation. I answered honestly but carefully, never revealing I already knew exactly what Silver Ridge winters were like.
Three weeks ago, he sent the train fare with a note that just said "Let's see if we suit." So I sold everything, packed this one sad suitcase, and split. No looking back.
Josiah disappears into his workshop again, giving me my chance. Each step closer feels monumental. For ten years, I've measured every man against him. None ever stood a chance.
The porch steps creak under my feet. It’s solid wood worn smooth by years of Silver Ridge weather. My heart pounds as I stare at the workshop door. This is it. One knock changes everything.
I take a shaky breath, smooth down my wrinkled top, and force myself to stand straight. Three quick knocks echo in the quiet.
Heavy footsteps approach. I try to look like a grown woman, not the kid he remembers.
The door swings open, and… oh.
He fills the entire doorframe like a mountain made into a man. His dark hair has more silver than his picture showed, little lines fan from his eyes, but those dreamy, stormy grey eyes they're exactly the same.
Confusion crosses his face, then total shock. "Wynonna? What the hell..."
Hearing my name in his deep voice makes my stomach do a backflip. "Hi, Josiah."
"Little Wynonna Crow?" He blinks like I might disappear. "What are you doing all the way up here?"
I swallow hard but meet his eyes. "I'm Wynonna Clarke. Your mail-order bride."
The words hang between us like smoke. His face hardens as it clicks.
"Clarke. Your mother's maiden name." He shifts backward, his whole body tensing. He rubs his forehead. "How could I have not noticed. You tricked me."
"I used a name that's mine too," I say, chin lifting. "Everything else I told you was true."
His jaw tightens as his eyes scan me from head to toe, like he's confirming I'm definitely not fifteen anymore. He looks away fast, but not before I catch something flash in his eyes.
"This isn't right, Wynonna," he says, voice dropping lower. "I knew you as a kid. Worked with your dad. I treated you like a little sister."
That stings, but I was ready for it. I've played this conversation in my head a million times.
"That was then, Josiah," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "I'm not a kid anymore."
