Page 3 of Christmas With The Broken Mountain Man
Her face falls for just a moment before she rallies. "I understand. This is pretty unconventional. But maybe..." She takes a deep breath. "Maybe we could just get to know each other? No pressure, no expectations. Just two people spending some time together during the holidays."
I should say no. I should explain that I'm not interested in a relationship, mail-order or otherwise. I should tell her there are plenty of decent hotels in Whisper Vale where she can stay until she figures out her next move.
But those eyes, one surrounded by that unmistakable bruise, look at me with such hope and determination that I find myself nodding.
"There's a guest room upstairs. You can stay until after Christmas, give yourself time to make proper arrangements."
Her smile is like watching the sun rise. "Thank you, Mason. I promise I won't be any trouble."
Something tells me that's a promise neither of us will keep.
CHAPTER TWO
DESTINY
Mason Walsh is nothing like I expected. When I signed up for Sealed, Signed, Delivered, I pictured some desperate loner who couldn't get a date. Not this tall drink of water with penetrating blue eyes that see straight through my lies.
He leads me upstairs to the guest room, carrying my suitcase like it weighs nothing. His cabin is gorgeous with exposed beams and windows that frame the snow-capped mountains like living artwork. It's the perfect place to hide and heal.
"Bathroom's across the hall," he says, setting my luggage down. "Towels in the cabinet under the sink."
"Thank you." I run my fingers along the handmade quilt covering the bed. "This is beautiful."
"My grandmother made it." His voice softens slightly. "She made one for each of us when we graduated high school."
I smile, filing away this tiny glimpse beneath his gruff exterior. "So you grew up here in Whisper Vale?"
"Born and raised." He crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. "You said you're from San Diego?"
"Yes, but I've always loved the mountains." Not a lie. Just not the whole truth.
He nods, and I can feel his therapist brain analyzing my every word. That penetrating gaze lands on my bruised eye again, and I resist the urge to cover it with my hand.
"I don't mean to pry, but?—”
"Then don't," I say, more sharply than intended.
Something flashes across his face, looks like more concern than anger. That almost breaks me. I'm not used to concern without strings attached.
"Right. Well, I've got appointments this afternoon. Make yourself at home." He steps back into the hallway. "We can figure out... whatever this is... when I get back."
After he leaves, I sink onto the bed, finally letting out the breath I've been holding since I knocked on his door. The fake smile I've perfected over the last year slips from my face like a mask.
I made it. I actually made it.
Three months ago, Sealed, Signed, Delivered seemed like a ridiculous suggestion from my roommate Tasha.
"Girl, you need to get out of this city," she'd said, scrolling through the website on her phone. "Greg knows too many people here. You'll never feel safe."
"So your solution is a mail-order marriage?" I'd laughed, but it wasn't really funny. Nothing had been funny since Greg, my principal and boyfriend of two years, showed his true colors.
The first time he grabbed my arm hard enough to bruise, he cried afterward, promising it would never happen again. I believed him because I wanted to. Because I'd invested two years in our relationship. Because I loved my job teaching second grade at his school, and the kids loved me.
The second time, he threatened my career if I told anyone.
The third time landed me in the emergency room with a sprained wrist and the realization that I needed to disappear.
I touch my eye gingerly. This isn't from Greg, it's from his friend, the private investigator he hired to track me down after I fled San Diego last week. I thought I'd covered my tracks, but I underestimated Greg's resources and obsession.
