Page 4 of The Mountain Man's Second Chance Bride
"I sold everything I owned to come here," she interrupts. "All I have is in that suitcase and what little cash is left after the journey."
"That was your choice," I say, harsher than intended. "Made based on deception."
She doesn't flinch. "I made it based on knowing exactly what I want."
"And what's that? A man old enough to be your father?" The words come out bitter, edged with the guilt I feel at my own unwelcome attraction.
Now she does flinch, but recovers quickly. "You're forty, Josiah, not ancient. And I'm twenty-five, not a child."
"You were a child when I knew you."
"But I'm not now." Her voice softens. "Look at me. I'm not that girl anymore."
That's exactly the problem. I've been looking—trying not to, but failing—and what I see is a woman whose determined eyes and gentle voice are doing things to me that make me question my own morality.
"It doesn't matter," I say finally, standing to clear the dishes. "This isn't appropriate. I knew your father, for Christ's sake."
"You know my father's been gone from my life since I was fifteen," she replies quietly. "And I'm not asking for anything inappropriate. Just a chance."
I turn to face her, thrown by the genuine vulnerability in her voice. "A chance at what, exactly?"
"At proving I can be what you were looking for when you signed up for that service. A partner. Someone to share this life with."
The simple honesty in her words hits me like a physical blow. It's the same thing I'd written in my profile. I wanted a practical, hardworking woman for companionship, partnership, and eventually a family to inherit this land. Land that's been in my family for three generations. Land that will die with me if I don't create a legacy.
For a moment, I let myself imagine it. Wynonna here permanently, her voice echoing through these timber walls, her presence filling the empty corners of this too-large cabin. Her bare feet on my hardwood floors. Children with her eyes and my stubbornness running through the meadow beyond the workshop.
The vision is so vivid it leaves me breathless. So powerful it terrifies me.
"One night," I repeat, my voice firm. "We'll figure out next steps in the morning."
She nods, accepting the boundary for now, but I see the determined glint in her eye. Wynonna Crow doesn't give up easily. Never did.
After she's gone to bed, I sit at the kitchen table nursing a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid reflecting the dying firelight. How had she found me through that service? It couldn't be coincidence. Which means she'd been searching for me specifically.
The thought sends an uncomfortable mix of emotions through me. No one has ever wanted me with the steady certainty that Wynonna seems to. No one has ever come looking for me, let alone traveled across two provinces on the strength of letters and a decade-old connection.
It's irrational. Impulsive. Completely inappropriate.
And God help me, but part of me doesn't want her to leave at all.
three
Wynonna
Iwakeupwrappedin the smell of pine and cedar, sunlight streaming through curtains I didn't close properly. For one disorienting second, I can't remember where I am. Then it all crashes back. Josiah, the cabin, my crazy cross-country journey to get here.
I'm really in Josiah Stone's house. In his spare room. Under his roof.
The thought sends this giddy little flutter through my chest that makes me feel fifteen all over again, which is exactly what I'm trying to prove I'm not. Smooth, Wynonna.
I stretch and listen to the sounds of the cabin—the distant chopping of wood, birds calling outside, the creaking that old log buildings do when they're settling. It feels weirdly familiar and brand new all at once, like putting on a favorite sweater that somehow fits differently than before.
Last night, Josiah made it crystal clear he plans to ship me back to Manitoba today. No way that's happening. I didn't selleverything I own and travel across half the country just to turn around and go back.
There's nothing left for me in Manitoba anyway. Just an empty apartment and a dead-end diner job where guys either ignored me or tried pickup lines that made me cringe. The few dates I went on all ended the same way: disappointment. No one measured up to the mountain man who'd been living in my head for a decade.
I pull on a pair of denim shorts and a simple tank top because it's already warm, and the forecast said Silver Ridge was having an unusually hot spring. Might as well get comfortable if I'm fighting for my future.
