Page 1 of Gifting the Mountain Man
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Cora
“Cora, I need you to tell the mail-order bride company I can’t marry the man I was matched with.”
“What are you talking about, Sara? What company? What man? You’re only eighteen years old. You’re far too young to get married.”
“I thought I could do it. I know we need the money, but I can’t do it.”
“Stop pacing, Sara, and tell me what is going on. You’re starting to scare me.”
“I wanted to help with the bills. I know it’s been hard taking care of me all these years after Mom and Dad died. You had to give up on your dream of going to college. You even put your dream of getting married and having a family of your own on hold to take care of me."
“Oh Sara, you know I would do anything for you. Besides, we're not so desperate that you have to marry a man you don’t know or love.”
“Not according to him. He’s demanding that we get married. He said he will sue if I don’t follow through with the marriage contract.”
“Please tell me you didn’t sign a contract, Sara.”
“I’m sorry, Cora.”
“There has to be a way to fix this.”
“There might be a way to fix this. We exchanged pictures, and the one I sent him included both you and me. I didn't tell him which one was me. Maybe you can go to him, pretend you're me, and talk him out of the marriage...”
I replay the conversation while sitting in my rental car outside Nash's cabin. The man Sara has agreed to marry—the man I have to convince to break the marriage contract.
The flight from Nebraska to Montana wasn’t bad, but driving up the mountain had me gripping the steering wheel tightly. I’m notused to the winding mountain roads. The flat prairie lands of the Midwest are more my style.
I left Sara at the hotel in town, telling her I would be back by nightfall. I didn’t want her to come with me, but she begged me, and I’ve never been able to tell her no.
I hope I still have my job at the diner when I get back after leaving on such short notice. God knows we need the tip money I earn from working double shifts six days a week. I’m one of their most loyal workers. I never call in sick and never take a vacation.
Glancing at the passenger seat, I trace the picture of Nash that Sara gave me—running my finger over his soulful blue eyes that stare back at me. Over his chocolate brown hair, which is in serious need of a trim, then along his beard that makes me clench my thighs together, imagining what it would feel like on the inside of my thighs.
I need to stop imagining what his beard would feel like and stick to the plan. I am Sara.
Ugh, he will never believe me. Of course, he’ll want the real Sara. She is petite, almost pixie-like, with bright blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. While I'm tall and curvy, some might say too curvy, with auburn hair and green eyes.
He’ll be so disappointed when he sees me at his front door instead of the real Sara. After looking at the picture of the two of us, I know he hopes for Sara as his bride, not me.
Knowing I can’t stall any longer, I get out of the car, shivering at the chill in the air I wasn’t prepared for when I started my journey up the mountain. I was so unprepared that I didn’t bring a coat, just my fuzzy sweater dress with tights and boots. I thought the outfit was so cute, but now I realize it isn’t practical.
The first blast of cold air hits me. I take a deep breath, trying not to shiver as I approach Nash’s cabin. I rub my hands on my arms to generate warmth.
I look toward his cabin. It appears cozy, set against the snowcapped mountains in the distance, with trees stretching as far as the eye can see, and fluffy white snowflakes gently falling from the sky.
Wait a minute, snowflakes? Is it snowing? No, it can't be snowing. But as I keep looking around, I see that it’s snowing heavily—so much that I can barely see Nash’s cabin, which was right in front of me a minute ago, but now it’s just barely visible behind the curtain of heavy falling snow.
I quicken my steps, eager to finish this doomed trip to break up with Nash or so Sarah can break up with him, so I can head back down the mountain before the snow gets worse.
Unable to see his cabin clearly, I walk toward what I believe is his house. My feet feel like ice cubes, and with each step, a sharp pain shoots up my legs. My teeth start to chatter. I’ve never been this cold in my life.
Focusing on putting one foot in front of the other takes all my concentration. The wind has picked up, causing me to shiver asit pierces my skin, whipping my hair around my face. I can feel the cold all the way down to my bones.
Finally, I reach the front door. I raise my hand to knock, but my hand is so cold and I'm so exhausted, I can’t lift it high enough to knock—maybe if I lie down for a few minutes, I’ll have the energy to knock on his door.
Surrendering the fight, I let my body slide onto the wooden porch as darkness clouds my vision.
