Page 1 of The Mountain Man's Curvy Obsession
Chapter one
The rhythmic clack of the wheels against the tracks hum beneath me as I press my forehead against the cool glass. Some prefer summer, or winter for skiing, but early spring is my favorite season in Montana. The mountains are still covered with snow; the air is fresh, with a hint of warmth. I felt light and free when I lived here. Missouri’s sticky, smothering humidity could never compare to this.
“Deep breath,” I whisper over the rumbling train. Being back in Passion Pines feels like stepping into a dream. Do I still belong here? There’s no way I’ll avoid Slade—the town’s too small. What will he think when he hears I’m marrying a stranger, handpicked by Blind Date for Life? My stomach lurches at the thought. I try to force my gaze straight ahead, but the urge to check if I’m being followed wins.
I turn, angling my head to the right, and scan the aisle. The same people from earlier haven’t moved since the last time I checked. The little girl with pigtails, maybe five, giggles softlywhen she points to something on a tablet she shares with an older woman—her grandmother, I imagine. Two rows behind me, a man in a dark blue suit is slumped in his seat, snoring and the six other passengers are hunched over their phones.
Zeke is a thousand miles away in Missouri. He didn’t chase me when I left, so why would he bother now? I shift in my seat, straightening my spine. I can’t be a nervous wreck rolling into town to meet my new husband. There are so many questions battling in my head for answers, I’m getting a headache. I force myself to inhale deeply … and exhale.
Everything’s going to be fine, I tell myself, manifesting a perfect outcome.
“Last stop, Passion Pines,” a pleasant voice crackles through the car’s speakers. I reach down and clutch the handle of my heavy satchel and sling the bag over my shoulder. With the strap digging into my collarbone, I stand on my wobbly legs as the train slows with a groan and lurches to a stop.
The mountain air hits me like a clean, sharp slap the second I step onto the platform and find my luggage. I spot the driver I hired waiting by a dusty red pickup with his broad frame leaning casually against the hood. A man in his early twenties, with shaggy blonde hair peeking from under a faded baseball cap, gives a quick wave and strolls to me.
“Hey, I’m Steve,” he greets, pointing to the two massive suitcases parked beside me. “Is this all?”
“Yep, this is it, thanks so much for coming.” I nod with my arms already aching from the weight of my overnight bag. No Ubers or taxis up here in the mountains. I booked Steve’s service weeks ago from a town fifty miles away—the closest I could find.
“No problem. I appreciate the business.”
The cracked leather seat creaks under me as I settle into the passenger seat of his truck. My insides are churning with nerves. I hope the mysterious man they matched me with has somethingin common with me. All the mail-order bride matches with the company I used are arranged on a temporary basis. It’s up to the service to find the perfect match based on quizzes and the personal preferences of each customer.
I wasn’t picky—couldn’t afford to be. Signing up was my escape hatch, the only way out of the mess I’d made in Missouri. I can’t believe how hard and fast I fell for Zeke. I moved into his house after just a week, hook, line, and sinker. How was I supposed to know he’d turn out to be such a dud?
We wind our way up the familiar mountain to the address I gave when I booked the ride. My heart skips when the tires crunch over gravel, Steve slows, turns left and a modest log house appears. My favorite wildflowers, lupine and Indian paintbrush — dot the clearing surrounding the place.
“Is this it?” I ask anxiously, gripping the door handle. “Are you sure you have the correct address?”
Steve peers down at a crumpled piece of paper on the dashboard, his calloused finger tracing a line. “277 Eagle Nest Road. This is it.” He nods toward the cabin, his hazel eyes flicking to mine. We both stare at the house, its windows glowing faintly in the late afternoon light. My pulse races; a bead of sweat trickles at the back of my neck.
“Will you please wait for me here until I know someone’s home?” I ask in a weak squeaky voice that doesn’t sound at all like me.
“Of course.” Steve sends a reassuring grin. “Go on, take your time.”
He has no idea my entire life could change in the next few minutes. I manage a smile. “Keep your fingers crossed for me.”
Steve chuckles, and scratches his jaw. “Um, okay. Good luck.”
I inhale a shaky breath as I exit the truck and breathe in the tangy scent of fresh pine. Let’s do this. I say to myself,you can do this.I square my shoulders, adjust the strap of my satchel,and start toward the house with each step heavier than the last. This is it.
Chapter two
No, this isn’t normal. Signing up for a mail-order bride service—with a company called Blind Date for Life—is the last thing any man with a lick of sense would do. I scrub a hand over my jaw as I stare out the cabin’s bedroom window,herbedroom window.
“What the hell was I thinking?”
My grandmother’s face flashes in my mind, clear as the day she cornered me. Her frail hand, all bones and soft wrinkles, clamped onto mine. She had a stubborn, cute, mischievous glint in her faded blue eyes. She was very sick at that stage around this time last year. Her voice was raspy when she told me she didn’t want to meet her maker until one of her grandsons was married, or close to it. It was impossible for me to say no to her. Gran was an expert at playing me and laying it on thick.
“You’re the most handsome, the most settled, the most reasonable of the bunch,” she explained with a smile that made her look twenty years younger. I was aware she was giving me a load of bull—I’m no better than my brothers, but I ate upher compliments. Before I knew it, I was eating my favorite chocolate chip cookies, warm from the oven, and agreeing to give a mail-order bride service a try.
Do I regret it? The short answer is no. She died two months later. I made her happy. It was the least I could do for her. She helped Mom after Dad hightailed it out of here and left her to raise six boys on her own. But I admit, this new living situation is going to take getting used to, and today is D-Day.
I pace to the closet, find the comforter and lay it on the bed. My temporary bride—some stranger the service picked based on questionnaires and algorithms—will be here any minute. Thirty days. That’s the deal I made with Gran. I’ll play house to prove I gave it a shot, and then, adios, off she goes. I can survive anything for a month.
My hand finds the back of my neck, rubbing at the tension knotted there, and I glance at the clock on the nightstand. I just hope she’s quiet, keeps to herself, and doesn’t stir up trouble or try to rearrange my world. I cross my arms and lean against the window frame.Ugly, too, I think, half-serious, half-praying. The last thing I need is some city girl with big eyes and a smile tempting me to ruin my life. I’ve got my land, my work, my solitude. No woman’s worth throwing that away, no matter what Gran thought.
A knock snaps me out of my thoughts. My stomach lurches, and I straighten. My boots thud against the pine floors as I march down the hall.
