Chosen for the Mountain Man (Mountain Man Mail Order Bride)

2. Ciara

CHAPTER 2

CIARA

T he winding roads of Deepwood Mountain always make me feel like I’m driving into a postcard. The trees tower above, their leaves a rich spring green against the crisp blue sky. I glance at the GPS for what feels like the hundredth time.

Hallie’s voice blares through the car speakers, and I wince, turning the volume down. “Ciara, I can’t believe you’re actually doing this,” she says, with a frustrated sigh. “Meeting some strange man you met online at his cabin in the middle of nowhere? What if he’s a psycho?”

I roll my eyes, even though I know she can’t see me. “Hallie, he’s not a psycho. He’s a Marine. Ex-Marine. And he owns a cleaning business, for god’s sake. Isn’t it ‘cleanliness is next to godliness’ or something like that?”

“Serial killers can be clean ,” she shoots back. “At least the good ones are.” She huffs. “You know Mom and Dad would lose their minds if they found out about this, right? And Lennox! Shit, Lennox might actually divorce me for not telling him.”

I cringe at the mention of my rockstar brother-in-law. Since Hallie got together with him, Lennox had taken on the older brother role, complete with overprotective tendencies and a penchant for dramatics. “That’s exactly why we’re not telling them. I’m staying at your place for the weekend. You swore you’d keep it a secret from our parents and Lennox.”

Hallie sighs. “I know. But I don’t like it! What if something happens to you?”

“Then I’ll call you…and you can send Lennox, our parents, the Sheriff, and a whole swat team, if you want, to rescue me,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “But nothing’s going to happen. Max seems really great. We’ve talked for hours, Hallie. I feel like I know him.”

“You know his dating profile. And how much of that is even true? For all you know, MountainMax66 is a 5’2” accountant with a comb-over and looking to recruit for his pyramid scheme.”

I laugh despite myself. “It’s possible. But doubtful. Give me a little credit for getting to know him more than just this superficial stuff. I want to do this one thing on my own terms, without anyone coddling me for once.”

“Fine,” Hallie replies, though I can tell she’s not convinced. “I have to keep reminding myself you’re an adult. That you can make your own decisions. Just...text me when you get there. And throughout the weekend. Include a photo or something, too.”

“If I must,” I say, turning onto a dirt path, the trees growing denser as I approach the home. I let out a breath of relief—the cabin looks…normal. No piles of junk or rusted cars on cinder blocks out front. No strange sheds with rotted wood or tarps covering mysterious mounds of tools. The place is actually cozy and quaint, with a charming stone chimney and a porch that looks perfect for sipping coffee or a cocktail. “I’m here.”

“Okay,” Hallie groans. “Be careful? I love you, Ciara.”

“I love you, too, sis.”

We hang up, and I sit, phone clutched in my hands. They’re a little shaky as I kill the engine, my stomach a mess of butterflies.

With all my sister’s concern about Max lying on his profile…she doesn’t know that I did.

Yeah.

I um…put that I was twenty-eight. I’m actually nineteen. Said I was into hiking and swimming and all the rigorous outdoor stuff he said he loves on his profile. And I left out the teeny-tiniest detail about my rheumatoid arthritis—the chronic condition that forces me to use a cane occasionally. Or on really bad days…a wheelchair. Oh, and that I still live with my parents. So, not even close to being as independent as I made myself out to be.

But I couldn’t help it.

The moment I swiped right on MountainMax66 , I felt this...spark. A strange all-consuming connection. And when we started talking—in emails, first, then texts, then phone calls—it was like everything came together. He’s funny, kind, and down to earth. Sure, he’s also ridiculously hot. Sheesh, I’d seen some good-looking men in my time, but Max is on a whole other level. Rugged. Chiseled. Brooding. Yep, the mountain man thing really works for him.

But what if he finds out I lied? What if, when he sees me in person, he notices I’m much younger and way more fragile than the woman I described? I could have a flare-up—making my hands swell or my knees give out. I’ve been so good about managing it lately, but stress can trigger my symptoms.

I push the thoughts aside and grab my bags. I’m committed now. I’ll deal with all that as it comes. For now, I just want to see him. Be near him. Feel whatever this is between us…in real time.

As I step out of the car, I hear the thud of an axe on wood.

I freeze, my heart leaping into my throat. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him. Max. Absolutely, impossibly gorgeous. Tall, with a physique that rivals the mountain range behind him. His broad shoulders and sculpted chest are on full display as he swings the axe with practiced precision, splitting a log in half with a satisfying crack. He’s sweaty, a gray t-shirt with Marines stretched across the front, highlighting every muscle of his torso. Worn jeans sit low on his hips. His dark hair is damp, and his strong jaw is set in concentration.

He pauses, resting the axe on his shoulder, as if it’s light as a toothpick.

I fan myself with my hand.

He turns then, catching sight of me, eyes narrowing before a slow smile spreads across his face. He sets the axe down against a tree and walks toward me with an easy confidence. He’s even more intimidating in person, but in the best way. The way that makes you want to stand up straight, despite your trembling heart, and pretend you’re not a hot mess.

Okay, Ciara. Play it cool. Don’t drool. Don’t faint. Don’t ? —

“Ciara,” Max calls, in that deep, raspy voice I’m already addicted to from our phone conversations. “I wasn’t sure when you’d get here, so I thought I’d chop some wood to pass the time.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Nerves and all.”

I swallow hard. “Nerves over meeting me?”

“Well, yeah.”

My eyes dart from his sweaty chest to his thick arms to his piercing brown eyes. “That’s…um...really sweet.” I’m failing at sounding casual, my mouth dry. “I mean, you did a great job. The wood...is all...chopped.” Oh my god, what are you saying, Ciara?

He chuckles, the sound sending heat low in my belly. “Thanks. Though I should’ve guessed I’d be drenched in sweat after all that.”

“You still look really good to me,” I reply, and my cheeks go hot.

He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tilting up. “Yeah? Cause I’m dying to give you a hug. But I don’t want to get you all wet.”

Too late.

“I don’t mind a little sweat,” I say, my voice breathier than I expect.

His smile shows a hint of surprise before he sweeps me into his arms, lifting me off the ground.

Oh…I’m in trouble.

His scent hits me first—smoky and earthy, like the woods after a gentle rain. His muscled arms, wrapping around me, press me tight against his hard chest. So warm. I bury my face in his shoulder, inhaling deeply, and it makes my head spin. My fingers clutch at the back of his neck.

He laughs, his chest vibrating against mine. “You okay? I’m not squeezing too hard, am I?”

I pull back, face burning up. “No! I’m...um…good. I’m just surprised that you really are 6’6”. Guys tend to lie on their profiles and give themselves an inch or two.”

“Lying’s not my style,” he says. “Besides, I’ve no need to add an inch or two…anywhere.”

Did he just say that? Gulp.

He studies me, his molten chocolate eyes traveling over my body as he sets me down. “You’re even more beautiful than in your photos, Ciara.”

I blush harder, feeling like I might actually melt into a puddle right here. “Ditto,” I say. I’m so lame.

He chuckles, the tension at how close his face is to mine making me squirm. Then he moves to grab my bags. “Come on,” he says, gesturing toward the cabin. “I’ll show you to your room. You can get settled while I grab a quick shower.”

I nod, following him into the cabin, watching his muscles flex under his clothes. “Thanks for taking my bags. You didn’t need to.”

He flashes a grin over his shoulder. “Ciara, I’ve been trying to impress you for weeks, the least you can do is let me carry a couple of bags.”

“Well, since you put it that way,” I tease, as I glance around the interior of his cabin.

It’s just as charming as the outside—rustic but cozy, with a fire crackling in the hearth and a fluffy rug. He leads me down a short hallway to a room with a queen-sized bed and an en-suite bathroom.

“Make yourself at home,” he says, setting my bags down near a dresser. “There’s drinks and snacks in the kitchen. Help yourself to anything there. I won’t be long.”

I nod, and smile. “Thanks. But please, no rush. I’m fine.”

He hesitates for a second, then turns and walks away, his broad back disappearing down the hall. I let out a breath and collapse onto the bed, staring up at the wooden beams above.

What have I gotten myself into?

And, more importantly, how am I going to keep it up without completely falling apart? What will happen when Max discovers the real me—flaws, limitations, and all?