The Rancher’s Runaway Bride (The Mountain Man’s Mail-Order Bride #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

L ayla

The mud sucks at my heels with every step, turning my once-pristine designer shoes into an unrecognizable mess. I grit my teeth, clutching the strap of my hastily packed bag, the lace hem of my wedding gown dragging behind me like a broken promise. What was I thinking? Bolting from the altar in Lake Tahoe yesterday, running from a wedding that wasn’t just a ceremony but an alliance. Power. Status. Wealth. Legacy. My father’s master plan.

Instead, I’m here. Devil’s Peak, Colorado. The middle of nowhere.

The Lazy Devil Ranch sprawls out before me, an expanse of weathered fences, a red barn, and fields nestled in the mountain valley. It’s beautiful, sure. But the practical side of my brain—the side screaming that I’ve made a terrible mistake—can’t stop noticing the muck and the chill in the mountain air.

A dog barks, sharp and commanding, pulling my attention to the barn.

That’s when I see him.

Broad shoulders, rough hands, and a face that looks like it’s carved from granite. Cal Walker steps out of the barn, his cowboy hat tilted low enough to shadow piercing dark eyes that seem to size me up in an instant.

“This can’t be happening,” he mutters, the words rolling out like a low growl.

“Hello to you too,” I snap back, sarcasm my armor against the very real fact that I might’ve just landed in over my head.

A black and white cattle dog bounds toward me, tail wagging and ears flopping with excitement. Before I can stop him, his muddy paws slam into my midsection, leaving perfect prints on my dress.

I let out a strangled squeak, half laughing, half horrified. “Well, I guess this gown wasn’t salvageable anyway.”

Cal doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, just stands there watching me like I’m some alien that crash-landed on his ranch. His eyes flick up and down my form then he asks, “You lost?”

“Nope.” I square my shoulders, willing the tremor in my voice to steady. “I’m Layla Hastings. I answered your ad.”

His brows lift, just slightly, but his scowl doesn’t budge. “The ad?”

“The mail-order bride ad.”

I expect shock, maybe a barrage of questions. What I get is a low, humorless chuckle.

“Well, hell,” he says, shifting his weight to one hip. “Didn’t think anyone would actually show up, let alone…” His gaze drifts down my muddied dress, and his mouth twists into something like a smirk.

I plant a hand on my hip. “Let alone what?”

“Let alone someone who looks like she got lost on her way to a country club.”

The audacity.

“Look,” I snap, yanking my bag higher on my shoulder, “I didn’t come here to be judged. I came here for… a fresh start.” My voice falters on the last words, but I hold his gaze, refusing to let him see how vulnerable I feel.

Cal’s silent for a beat, his eyes narrowing. Then, with a sharp whistle, he calls the dog–Duke–back to his side. The dog obeys, sitting obediently but still wagging his tail, clearly enamored with me.

“Fine,” Cal says at last, his tone amused. “Let’s get one thing straight, sweetheart. I don’t need complications. If you’re here to play house, this isn’t the place for you.”

“Noted,” I say through gritted teeth. “And just so you know, I’m not here to play anything.”

He mutters something under his breath, then jerks his head toward the house. “Follow me.”

The house is rustic and practical, with wood-paneled walls and furniture that looks like it’s been around for decades. It smells faintly of pine and leather, a comforting scent that matches the man towering beside me. I shift back and forth, foreign sensations spiraling through my system at his close proximity. I’ve never been around a man so…masculine. Cal Walker takes up space, and unapologetically so. I find myself feeling somewhere between uncomfortable and intrigued.

“Guest room’s that way,” he says, nodding toward a hallway. “Bathroom’s down the hall. Don’t touch my stuff, and don’t expect me to hold your hand. Life on the ranch won’t be anything like what you’re used to–no maid, no chefs–life is hard out here. Hope you’re ready for it.”

“Charming,” I tease, brushing past him.

“Charming, huh?” His voice is laced with mockery.

“Compared to the man I almost married yesterday, yeah,” I toss back.

That shuts him up, and I savor the brief silence as I step into the guest room. It’s small but clean, with a neatly made bed and a window overlooking the pasture with grazing horses. I set my bag down, the tension in my shoulders easing ever so slightly.

Until Cal speaks again.

“Dinner’s at six. You eat, you clean up. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” I say with a mock salute.

His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. “Don’t make me regret this.”

And with that, he’s gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts—and the very real realization that I’ve just committed to living with a man who might hate me on sight.

An hour later, I find myself in the kitchen, awkwardly stirring a pot of soup while Cal watches from the doorway. His arms are crossed, his expression unreadable.

“You cook?” he asks, the skepticism in his tone unmistakable.

“Believe it or not, yes,” I reply, resisting the urge to snap the spoon in half over his head.

“Huh.”

That’s all he says. Huh. Like the idea of me being remotely capable is so far-fetched it requires no further commentary.

“Do you always make people feel so welcome?” I ask, something playful in my voice.

“Do you always barge into people’s lives uninvited?” he counters, his gaze steady.

“What did you expect?” I shoot back, crossing my arms.

“Coulda called first–didn’t expect anyone to answer that ad if I’m being honest. What kinda crazy person answers one of those things, anyway?”

I bite my tongue. If only he knew.

His eyes are twinkling with something like mischief as he watches me. I hate that the way he looks at me causes butterflies to batter inside my stomach. The tension between us crackles, neither of us willing to back down. It’s infuriating and… something else. Something I can’t quite name but can definitely feel, low and persistent like an ember waiting for the right moment to ignite.

Duke breaks the standoff, trotting into the kitchen and plopping down at my feet. I reach down to scratch behind his ears, and for the first time since I’ve been here, Cal’s expression softens.

“He likes you,” he says grudgingly.

“I’m a pretty likable person,” I reply with a sweet smile. “Despite what you seem to think.”

His lips twitch, almost like he’s fighting a grin, but he doesn’t let it surface. Instead, he grabs bowls from the cupboard and sets them on the table.

“Soup smells good,” he admits.

“Careful,” I tease. “You might accidentally pay me a compliment.”

“Don’t push your luck, kitten,” he shoots back, but there’s no heat in his words and I almost falter at his nickname– kitten . I wonder why he’s decided to call me that, but I don’t have the heart to question. Not today, not after everything else I’ve been through.

“Hey, Dad!” Just then a little kid blazes through the front door, tossing his backpack on the floor and wrapping his arms around Cal’s leg.

“Hey, Buddy! How was school today?” Cal ruffles the boys soft, blond hair.

“Good–I played flag football after–” the kid halts mid-sentence, wide eyes trained on me. “Who are you?”

“Oh–I’m Layla.” I cross the room, bending to the little boy’s level. The ad didn’t say anything about Cal having a son. Questions buzz to life inside of me.

“Nice to meet you, Layla.” The little boy sticks out his hand like a gentleman. I shake it, thinking that despite his dad’s gruff attitude, he’s definitely taught this kid some manners. “I’m Carson Lane Walker. I’m seven.”

A smile tugs at my lips. “It’s so nice to meet you Carson Lane Walker.”

“Layla is gonna stay with us a while, maybe help us do some cooking and cleaning.”

“Oh,” the boy looks between his dad and me, like a thousand questions are burning behind his eyelids.

You and me both, buddy. You and me both.

After a quiet dinner, I clean up the kitchen and Carson helps me put dishes in the dishwasher, and then I turn in early. I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the day’s events in my mind. Cal is… complicated. Gruff and guarded, sure, but there’s something else beneath the surface. Something that makes me want to push past his walls, even as he does everything he can to keep me at arm’s length. He also has a jawline set in marble and eyes so smoldering that looking too long feels like looking directly at the sun. And his son…I never expected to see the softer side of this rugged cowboy.

Carson. Sweet, curious Carson.

I’ve only been here a few hours, but already, this place feels more real than anything I left behind. The ranch, the quiet, even the mud—it’s messy and imperfect and so far removed from the gilded cage I escaped from in San Francisco.

But it’s not mine. Not yet.

With a sigh, I roll over and close my eyes, determined to prove that I’m more than just a runaway bride in a fancy dress.

Because if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that I didn’t come all this way to fail.