Page 2 of The Mountain Man's Second Chance Bride
"You're twenty-five."
"Yes," I reply, not bothering with corrections. "And you're forty. Doesn't change that I can be what your ad asked for."
He drags a hand through his hair, frustration coming off him in waves. "This isn't what I had in mind when I signed up for that service."
"Isn't it?" I challenge him, my voice softening. "You wanted someone practical, who knows mountain life. Someone who gets what it means to live out here." I gesture at the wilderness around us. "That's me, Josiah. It's always been me."
His eyes narrow. "You've been planning this, haven't you?"
I don't bother denying it. "I know what I want. Always have."
"And that's me? After all this time?" He sounds completely baffled.
"Yes." Just the simple truth.
A muscle jumps in his jaw. Behind him, I glimpse inside the cabin—rooms added on, a home clearly built for more than just one person.
"You should go back to Manitoba," he says, but there's something hesitant in his voice that gives me hope.
"I sold everything to get here." I stand my ground, refusing to back down. "This is where I belong."
"With me?" His voice turns it into a challenge.
"Yes." I don't look away. "With you."
The moment stretches between us, charged with ten years of distance and something electric that's always been there, even when he pretended not to notice. The mountain air swirls around us, carrying the smell of pine and coming rain.
Finally, he steps back from the door. Not welcoming me with open arms, but not slamming the door in my face either.
"One night," he gives in gruffly. "You can stay one night while we figure this out. Town's too far to send you back today anyway."
I reach for my suitcase, but he grabs it first. Our fingers brush, and the jolt that runs through me nearly makes me gasp. His eyes meet mine, and for just a second, I see it—the spark that tells me he feels this crazy pull between us too.
"Thanks," I say, stepping past him into the cabin I've dreamed about for ten years.
Inside, his scent is everywhere—cedar and coffee and something that's just Josiah. The cabin is neat but lived-in, practical furniture, not many decorations. A massive stone fireplace takes up one wall, and the windows frame mountain views that would cost a fortune in the city. It feels right. It feels like home.
As Josiah shows me to the spare room, keeping as much space between us as possible, I watch how tense his shoulders are, how he won't look at me for more than a second. He's fighting whatever this is between us—but I didn't travel across half the country to give up now.
When he leaves me alone, closing the door with a quiet click, I sit on the edge of the bed and run my fingers over the handmade quilt. A feeling settles over me, warm and certain as sunshine. I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. Josiah might not know it yet, but I belong here, with him.
And wild horses couldn't drag me away.
two
Josiah
Iclosethespareroom door behind me and stand frozen in my own hallway, trying to make sense of what just happened. Little Wynonna Crow. Here. On my doorstep claiming to be my mail-order bride.
Hell.
I move to the kitchen on autopilot, gripping the edge of the counter until my knuckles turn white. The cabin feels suddenly smaller, the air thicker. This has to be some kind of mistake. Or a joke. Maybe a dream.
But the suitcase sitting in my spare room is real enough. So is the lingering scent of something floral that followed her through my door. The smell of wildflowers and summer rain, completely out of place against the cedar and woodsmoke of my home.
The shock of seeing her hits me again, a physical ache in my chest. Not the gangly teenager I remember, but a woman with soft curves and quiet strength. Those deep brown eyesstill looking at me like I'm something special. Like I'm worth crossing a country for.
I grab a glass, fill it with water, down it in three gulps. Outside the window, darkness creeps between the pines as the setting sun paints the mountains in fiery orange and deep purple.
