Page 5 of Mountain Man’s Mail Order Treat (Wildwood Valley Brides #3)

JARETH

T his was the very definition of making lemonade out of lemons.

When I returned with lunch, I pulled into the Wildwood Valley Pancake House parking lot, casting a quick glare toward the inn. That glare was for Bobbi—the one who’d promised my girl a farmers market and instead had given her a lone table in front of the pancake restaurant next door to the inn.

I pulled into the closest space I could get and cut the engine. A crowd had gathered in front of Whitley’s table. I couldn’t even see her from here, it was so thick.

And that was when I realized I should be thanking Bobbi, not glaring in the general direction of her inn. After all, if it weren’t for her, I definitely never would’ve met Whitley. She’d changed my life.

She was my life.

I grabbed the sack of sandwiches I’d bought while I was in Hartsville picking up supplies, then hopped out of the truck. By the time I got to the table, it was clear she probably wouldn’t be able to break for lunch. But I could pitch in and help clear this line.

Or so I thought. As it turned out, jams and jellies were much more complicated than I thought. People had questions.

“How sweet is this one?”

“Are there any artificial sweeteners?”

“How long does it last?”

Still, I managed to help a little once I figured out how things worked. I bagged up items and ran some payments through the little app on the tablet she used as a cash register. She called it a POS, which meant piece of shit in my world but point of sale in hers, apparently.

“Thank you,” she said to me once the last of the crowd was gone. “It’s been like that all morning. I didn’t think I’d ever clear that line away.”

She plopped down in one of the two folding chairs Bobbi had set out. I’d insisted at the time that I was off to run some errands, but Bobbi seemed to know I’d eventually be back to help. Or just to hang out with my girlfriend.

“I was mad at first,” she said. “I thought Bobbi had wasted my time with this supposed farmers market. But I’ve never made this much money.”

I sat down and opened the bag from the deli, pulling out a sandwich and chips for each of us. Then I grabbed a water from the cooler I’d set under her table—it was full of ice and drinks I’d packed myself.

“Yeah, I was about to go chew her out,” I said. “But you might be on to something.”

I scanned the parking lot, which was still dotted with just a few cars. Most of the customers were on their way out when they stopped by Whitley’s table.

“I’d say a few other local businesses will probably join you here soon. It’ll become a full-fledged farmers market before you know it.”

She looked over at me. “Do you think?”

I shrugged and unwrapped my sandwich, an ultimate meat sub. “That’ll work for a while, but eventually you either need a food truck or a storefront.”

She sighed. “That’s the dream.”

She bit into her sandwich, closing her eyes as she savored every bite. I’d noticed her doing that last night too. Finally, she opened her eyes and stared across the street.

She was visualizing it. I could tell. If that was her dream, I’d do everything I could to support her in achieving it.

“I think we might need a strip mall over there,” she said. “My little shop, maybe a café where I can grab a fancy iced latte every morning before I open. Also, a great little meat-and-three where I can pick up dinner and bring it home after working all day.”

I chuckled. “Well, as long as you’re looking out for the needs of the community?—”

“This community will grow. You told me two of your friends have already found brides through the same site I used.”

“Well, one did. The other met his match the old-fashioned way. She stumbled into his diner looking for wine.”

“Now that’s a story.” She set down her sandwich. “But my point is, this town’s going to grow fast. You’ll see. And the women my age—the ones coming from suburbs and big cities—we need our iced lattes and to-go food, preferably delivered directly to us.”

Food delivery was a long way off in this town.

First, we needed restaurants. But she was right.

This town was going to grow fast. The tiny elementary school would work for now, but I guaranteed by the time our kids reached middle school, Wildwood Valley would outgrow the small, attached building that housed it.

Her bag of chips crinkled as she reached in to take one. “Do you think Bobbi’s still doing it?”

“Doing what?” I looked up.

She’d reminded me I hadn’t touched my own chips, and half of the first of my two sandwiches was now gone. I opened the bag and chomped on a chip as I scanned the view.

“Setting you guys up with women you’ve never met,” she said. “To marry them.”

She probably didn’t know my part of that story, so it was time to share it with her.

“I was the only one on our crew who sought it out. I’ve always wanted to get married and have kids.

I just needed the right woman. The rest of the crew…

” I shook my head. “We have a lot of guys scared of commitment in this town.”

“So you think she’s done?” Whitley asked.

I chuckled. “Not a chance in hell. I’d say she already has the next bride on her way.”

We both looked over to the right—to the inn parking lot, which was dotted with vehicles.

“She’s probably in there right now.” Whitley nodded toward the inn. “Bobbi’s next victim.”

I grinned, turning my gaze back to the beautiful woman at my side. “You really think Bobbi works that fast?”

“Oh, please. My guess is the bride is checking in at the front desk this very minute, dragging her suitcase upstairs and wondering if this town is as crazy as it sounds.”

I chuckled. “You might be right.”

She leaned in slightly, a playful gleam in her eyes. “I usually am.”

My gaze drifted back toward the inn, where a door on one of the parked cars had just popped open. A woman stepped out, adjusting her bag over her shoulder and glancing around like she was trying to get her bearings.

Whitley followed my gaze. “Maybe that’s her.”

I tilted my head. “Could be.”

She looked young, nervous. Maybe even a little hopeful.

“Well,” I said, “if she is, the only question is, which one of my buddies is about to meet the love of his life?”

We both laughed, but before I could throw out any names, I noticed another woman heading straight for the table. Not a stroll, but a beeline. I felt Whitley shift beside me.

“Uh-oh,” she whispered. “Looks like business is picking up again. Do I look professional enough?”

“You do,” I said. “You look like a boss.”

She smiled, cheeks flushing just slightly. “You make me feel that way.”

I reached under the table and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “That’s because you are.”

We barely had time to exchange a look before the woman reached the table.

I glanced at my girlfriend—soon to be my wife. “Ready?”

She nodded. “Let’s do this.”

And together, we stood to greet the customer.