Page 5 of The Mountain Man's Second Chance Bride
When I pad barefoot into the kitchen, Josiah's not there, but a coffee mug sits by the pot with a note: "Help yourself. Outside."
Just like Josiah to be a man of few words, straight to the point.
The first sip of coffee nearly makes me moan. Strong and black, exactly how I like it. I take my mug and head to the porch, curious what he's up to.
I spot him immediately, working in the large vegetable garden beside the cabin. He's on his knees, pulling weeds from between rows of early tomato plants. His shoulders flex with each movement, shirt already darkened with sweat down the spine. The sight makes my mouth go dry.
Taking a deep breath, I head toward him. Operation Don't-Get-Sent-Back-to-Manitoba is officially underway.
"Morning," I call, approaching the garden's edge.
Josiah looks up, and for a brief second, his eyes darken as they travel from my bare feet, up my exposed legs, to my face. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard before his expression returns to neutral. "Morning. Sleep okay?"
"Better than I have in years," I answer honestly. Falling asleep to the sounds of the mountain felt like coming home.
He makes a non-committal sound, turning back to his weeding, but I notice how his shoulders remain tense, aware of my presence.
"Need help?" I ask, setting my coffee on a nearby stump.
"Not necessary."
"Didn't ask if it was necessary. Asked if youwantedhelp." I step into the garden without waiting for an answer.
The soil feels amazing between my toes, cool and damp from yesterday's rain. I kneel beside him, close enough that our shoulders almost brush when we reach for neighboring weeds. I begin working the next row over, carefully extracting each weed from the root and shaking soil back into the garden bed before placing the plant in his bucket.
"You don't have shoes," he observes, his voice gruff, eyes fixed pointedly on my hands rather than my bare legs.
I shrug. "Don't need them. Used to help Dad in our garden barefoot all the time."
"Remember that," he says quietly, almost to himself.
I hide my smile and continue working, appreciating the way he suddenly finds the tomato plants so fascinating when I lean forward to reach a distant weed, the position stretching my tank top across my chest.
We work in comfortable silence. I extract each weed completely, gently loosen the soil around the young plants with practiced movements. Each time our hands come close to touching, I feel him tense, then deliberately shift away, the dance of our bodies working in silent coordination.
"Bus still leaves at noon," he says after a while, his voice betraying no emotion.
"Not going back," I reply, my tone light but resolute. "Nothing for me there now."
"What about your job? Friends?"
I pause my weeding, sitting back on my heels. "Mom's gone, and the apartment was hers. Waitressing doesn't pay enough for my own place anyway." I shrug, keeping it simple. "As for friends...let's just say I wasn't exactly thriving socially."
I can feel his eyes on me, measuring, considering.
"Because of me?" His voice is carefully neutral, but curiosity bleeds through.
Heat creeps up my neck. "You left an impression."
"You were fifteen," he says, that edge returning to his voice.
"And now I'm twenty-five," I counter, turning to meet his gaze directly. "A whole decade of growing up happened in between, Josiah."
Our eyes lock, and something electric passes between us. His gaze drops to my lips for just a heartbeat before sliding lower, taking in my dirt-smudged legs. When he forces his attention back to the tomato plants, his movements are stiffer, more deliberate.
"Still planning to send me away?" I ask softly.
His jaw works as he yanks a particularly stubborn weed, a muscle jumping beneath the stubble. "It's not that simple."
