Page 7 of Kidnapped By the Mountain Man

“Great. How’d it go?”

Austin looks toward me, then back to Rick. I can see a million thoughts rushing through his mind.

“I’ll let your fiancé tell you about that.”

He laughs. “She wouldn’t have a damn clue. I’d rather hear it from you.”

My heart stills and falls in my chest. I work damn hard on this farm and I sure as hell have a good clue, but there’s too much on the line and I don’t want to rock the boat. Mom is counting on me, even if she doesn’t know I’m marrying him for money.

Austin’s jaw tightens. “She did great out there. I’d reckon she knows quite a bit. More than you, I’d assume.”

Though it’s wrong in every sense of the word, Austin’s words blossom in my chest like a giant bouquet of something unfamiliar. A good unfamiliar. And though I shouldn’t, I want more. More of his praise, more of his focus. It’s as though he sees me like no one else does.

Rick doesn’t respond with more than a nod.

Austin glances toward me and I see it in his eyes. The unmistakable scream for me to come to my senses. It’s the same look my best friend Kate had when I told her what I was doing. It’s a look telling me how insane I’m being.

Austin says his goodbyes and makes his way toward his truck as Rick pushes inside the house.

I immediately feel his loss.

But why? A few brief conversations in passing, a weird, accidental phone call, and now a two hour appointment where we irritated the hell out of each other doesn’t make for a genuine connection. None of that matters in the grand scheme of things… right?

“Well, that guy was dirty.” Rick pulls a chair out from the table.

“Dirty?”

“Yeah, like he could use a shower.”

“He’s a rancher, Rick. It’s the middle of the day… so he’s working.”

“It didn’t look like he was working. It looked like he was drinking on your front porch.”

I pour Rick a glass of lemonade. “He was thirsty.”

He laughs darkly. “Yeah, I bet he was.” There’s a pause in his breath. “How’d the breed go?”

No matter what I say, he’s going to find fault in it. It’s a thing he does, like a hobby.

“No luck today.” It’s a partial truth.

He cackles again. “Should I hire another guy?”

“No. It was my fault. I left the gates open.”

He reaches toward me and pulls me onto his lap. “Ah, best to get your head on straight before too long or next time the mistake could be bigger.” There’s condescension in his tone.

I bite back a smart-ass remark.

“Are you getting excited for the wedding?” he continues. “My mother called this morning. She put the order in for the cake.”

The cake. The last time we had this conversation, we were going to order it together.

“Great.” I bite my bottom lip. “What flavor did you order?”

“Chocolate with raspberry filling. I know you have a slight allergy to raspberry, but Mom says it’s a classic and we can make it work. Alright?” He rubs my stomach. “I’m sure you don’t want the extra calories, anyway.”

I stand from his lap and roll my neck in a small circle, trying to ignore the pileup of comments.

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