Page 17 of Unwrapped By the Grumpy Mountain Man
"Please?" Lucy begs, turning her wide eyes to her father. "She made us cookies! We should make her dinner!"
"It's only fair," Angie agrees softly, surprising everyone again with her boldness.
Silvie rolls her eyes but doesn't object, which I'm starting to recognize as tacit approval from the oldest Wilder girl.
Hudson looks torn. I can see him weighing his options—disappoint his daughters or invite the woman who wants to be his mail-order bride to dinner.
"It's okay," I say, giving him an out. "I don't want to impose."
"Please, Daddy?" Lucy persists, joined now by Angie's hopeful expression.
Hudson exhales heavily. "Fine. Violet, would you like to join us for dinner?"
The invitation isn't exactly enthusiastic, but it's genuine. His eyes meet mine, challenging me to say yes.
"I'd love to," I reply, holding his gaze. "What time should I be there?"
"Six," he says gruffly. "And don't bring anything. You've already supplied enough baked goods to last us through Christmas."
"Yes, sir," I salute playfully, earning giggles from Lucy and Angie and the smallest hint of a smile from Hudson.
As we say our goodbyes, with promises to see each other in a few hours, I catch Silvie watching me thoughtfully. When our eyes meet, she doesn't look away.
"Don't hurt him," she says quietly, while her father is distracted with Lucy's coat.
The simple statement hits me like a punch to the gut. This ten-year-old girl has taken on the responsibility of protecting her father's heart.
"I won't," I promise her solemnly. "That's not why I'm here."
She studies me for another moment before nodding once, a barely perceptible dip of her chin. Not approval, not yet, but acknowledgment of my words.
It feels like passing a test I didn't know I was taking.
As soon as I’m back in the safety of my car, I call Ivy to fill her in.
"You're having dinner at his house?" Ivy practically squeals. "Tonight?"
"His daughters invited me," I explain, unable to keep the excitement from my voice. "He couldn't say no without disappointing them."
"This is perfect," Ivy declares. "You've got your foot in the door. Now you just need to refuse to leave until he agrees to marry you."
"I'm not going to barricade myself in his house, Ivy."
"Why not? It worked for me with Nash."
I laugh, remembering how Ivy had essentially broken into the Hunter Distillery, gotten drunk on their reserve whiskey, and passed out at Nash's feet. Then she refused to leavehis mountain cabin, claiming she was "not going" despite his protests, until he eventually admitted he had feelings for her.
"Hudson is different," I say. "He's more guarded. And he has his daughters to consider."
"Who clearly already adore you," Ivy points out. "Two out of three, anyway. The oldest will come around."
"Silvie's protective of him," I say, respecting the girl's concerns. "She should be. They sound like they’ve been through a lot."
"And you could help make things better," Ivy says softly. "Vi, this isn't just about the money anymore, is it?"
I stare out the windshield at the snow-covered mountains in the distance, thinking about Hudson's intense gaze, the gentle way he touches his daughters' hair, the electric feeling when our skin makes contact.
"I don't know what it is," I admit. "But I'm going to find out."
