Page 2 of The Mountain Man’s Untamed Bride (Mountain Man Sanctuary #4)

"Says here she loves cooking, cleaning, and keeping house," Flint continued. "She's sweet, quiet, loves animals and children. Wants a big family someday. Profile mentions she has 'good Christian values' too."

"Which probably means she's a virgin," he added with a knowing wink. "From a good family, by the looks of it."

I handed the phone back, skepticism rising. "And she wants to marry some random mountain hermit she's never met? What's wrong with her?"

"Maybe she wants the simple life. Some women do, you know. Josie could've gone to Denver, worked for her uncle's accounting firm. Instead, she chose to run a shop in a town with more dogs than people because she loves it here."

"Josie's a native," I pointed out. "She was born two miles from your store. This girl is from Atlanta. You know, a city with actual infrastructure and functioning electricity."

"Maybe she's not running. Maybe she's just... looking for something different."

"Different from what? Indoor plumbing and electricity that works consistently?" I shook my head. "This has to be some kind of scam."

"Well, you can ask her yourself. Tomorrow."

I choked on my homebrew. "Tomorrow? TOMORROW? What the hell, Flint?"

"She's driving up from Georgia. Should be here around noon." Flint's expression brightened with mischievous delight. "Surprise!"

"I haven't even cleared out the spare room!" The words burst out before I could stop them.

Flint stared at me. "What's wrong with the spare room?"

"There might still be evidence of the raccoon tenants who were living there until recently." I ran a hand through my hair, mind racing. "This isn't happening. Call her. Cancel it."

"Can't. She's already on the road, and these mountain passes don't exactly have reliable cell service." Flint leaned forward. "Look, just meet her. If you absolutely hate each other, I'll help sort it out. But give it a chance, Bodhi. You've been alone too long."

I paced the small confines of my cabin, feeling like a trapped animal. "This isn't the 1800s. Normal people don't order spouses through the mail!"

"You're not normal people," Flint pointed out. "You live five miles past where civilization ends, talk to birds, and haven't had a haircut from someone other than yourself in what, three years?"

"Two," I corrected automatically. "Mabel did it when I got that sap stuck in it."

"My point exactly." He tapped his wedding ring. "Some of us got lucky and found the right person in our youth. The rest of you need a little help. Josie says all that's missing from your life is someone to share it with."

"Josie also said my cabin looked like a serial killer's workshop."

"Only the shed," Flint corrected with a grin. "She said the cabin just needed a woman's touch."

I collapsed onto the couch, sending up a cloud of dust that was probably half dog hair, despite the fact that I didn't own a dog. "I can't believe this is happening."

"Believe it." Flint finished his drink and stood. "Now, let's get this place ready for a lady. Where's your vacuum?"

I stared at him as if he'd just asked me where I parked my spaceship.

"Vacuum?" I repeated, the word sounding foreign in my mouth. "You think I own a vacuum cleaner? Out here? What would I power it with—optimism?"

"Broom?" he tried again, visibly recalibrating his expectations.

I pointed to the corner where a worn broom leaned like a neglected sentry.

"Right." Flint rolled up his sleeves. "This is going to take some work. Josie sent cleaning supplies, by the way. And food. She says your bride shouldn't have to eat squirrel on her first night here."

"I don't eat squirrel," I protested.

"Only because you're a terrible shot."

***

Four hours later, my cabin looked marginally less like a disaster zone.

We'd swept, dusted, and removed at least three previously undiscovered spider metropolises.

I'd changed the sheets in the spare room and confirmed that its previous woodland occupants had indeed relocated, though they'd left behind enough evidence to suggest they'd considered applying for permanent residency.

Flint had departed with promises to return tomorrow to "witness the magic," leaving me alone with my thoughts, a house that reeked of pine-scented cleaner, and a casserole dish from Josie with detailed reheating instructions taped to the lid.

"This is insane," I told Colonel, who had reclaimed his perch on the porch railing now that the threat of Flint had passed. "I'm not husband material. I don't even like people."

Colonel clucked, tilting his head in what could only be judgment.

I surveyed my kingdom—ten acres of remote Colorado wilderness, a cabin I'd built with my own hands, and a life carefully constructed to keep the world at arm's length.

Tomorrow, a stranger would invade this sanctuary.

A woman who claimed to want the simple life but probably had no idea what she was actually about to find.

The sun began its descent behind the mountains, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that no photograph could ever capture.

On any other evening, I'd have sat on the porch with a beer, soaking in the quiet and the beauty.

Tonight, I found myself arranging firewood into a neater pile and wondering if my spare towels still qualified as fabric rather than abstract fiber art.

As darkness fell, I stood on my porch, watching the first stars appear. The only sounds were the rustling leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl. Tomorrow, this peace would be shattered by a stranger who thought she wanted to be a mountain wife.

The same instinct that had kept me alive through two tours in Afghanistan now thrummed a warning beneath my skin.

My carefully constructed world was about to change, and I was powerless to stop it.

Tomorrow, Scarlett Montgomery would arrive with her sweet smile and traditional values, and nothing would be the same again.

Something told me she had no idea what she was getting herself into. But then again, neither did I.