The Mountain Man’s Accidental Bride (Mountain Man Sanctuary #7)

1. Payton

Payton

No matter how long I glare at my car’s flattened tire, it refuses to reinflate magically.

Twenty hours of white-knuckled driving, three questionable gas station coffees, and one near-miss with a deer later, I’ve finally made it to Willowbrook Ridge—only for my grand escape to sputter to a halt two miles up the mountain.

Talk about bad luck.

The universe has a sick sense of humor. After packing my entire life into a few suitcases and convincing myself this wasn’t a catastrophically bad idea, my future now hinges on a piece of rubber and my utter lack of mechanical skills.

I have a spare. I have the tools. What I don’t have is the faintest clue what to do with them.

Is it really my fault? Growing up, I never needed to learn how to change a tire. There was always someone else to call—until now.

I fumble for my phone, but the screen mocks me with a single, unforgiving bar. No service. Just the silent, towering pines and the creeping realization that I’m stranded in the middle of nowhere, with no white knight—or future husband—in sight.

I exhale hard, as if I could blow my problems away with one desperate breath. The flat tire remains, and when I drag my gaze upward, the sky delivers its own cruel punchline.

Thick, bruise-purple clouds churn overhead, devouring the last slivers of sunlight. A jagged fork of lightning splits the horizon, followed by a thunderclap that rattles my bones.

“Breathe, Payton.” My voice is barely a whisper, trembling only slightly. “Walter will notice you’re late. He’ll come.”

Huh. Not even a hopeful lie is enough to calm the race of my heart.

Even if he cared enough to track my arrival time—which he doesn’t, because this is a business transaction, not some fairytale rescue—no one in their right mind would brave a mountain storm for a stranger.

Especially not for a woman who is desperate enough to leave her city life, using the excuse of an arranged marriage to do so.

I scan the dense woods, my pulse thudding in my throat. No cabins as far as I can see. Just the creak of pines and the gathering wind.

There has to be someone. I know I’ve passed a couple of cabins on the way up here. I can backtrack a little.

All I need is twenty minutes and a pair of competent hands. Then I’ll be back on the road, rolling up to Walter’s estate like this never happened—like I’m not the kind of woman who falls apart at the first obstacle between her and an engagement.

With the worry of the future, and my tendency to rely on my impulsive thinking, I decide the best thing I can do is abandon my car and start walking back down the mountain in hopes of coming across one of the cabins that were a blur.

If this were a normal day, and I was taking a nature hike, this wouldn’t be too bad. All the greenery is beautiful. Something someone can fall in love with at first sight.

I hope that’ll be what it’s like with Walter. Perhaps he’ll be a handsome man with a charming smile. Beggars can’t be choosers, but a woman can hope.

Cupid’s Bloom Co. guarantees successful pairings, making claims of fate and such. With their high success rate, I’m expecting to come across the perfect man. Right now, it’s all I have to keep my feet moving, to keep my hope alive.

I really want to believe I can meet the man of my dreams. I don’t want to be a part of the three percent whose relationships don’t work out. Rather, I can’t .

I didn’t just leave the city—I fled it.

Traded the ceaseless scream of traffic for the whisper of wind through the pines. Swapped neon-lit chaos for the slow, golden bleed of sunset over the mountains.

Anyone would do the same if the opportunity came their way.

When the absence of sirens, shouting, and the relentless pulse of a thousand strangers makes my chest ache in a way I won’t name.

There’s no drama or stress. Just the singing birds and the soft sway of trees.

Sure, there’s an angry-looking storm approaching, too, but that’s only momentary. After the mess passes, I’ll be throwing myself into the arms of peace I’ve never experienced before in my life.

Thankfully, since my sneakers aren’t anywhere close to new, they barely dig into my feet as I follow the dirt path with quick steps, hoping not to have to race against time. Unfortunately, even if I broke out in a full sprint, there is no avoiding what is to come.

With my luck going from bad to worse, rain begins falling from the sky. Not even a light sprinkle to prepare me for what is to come, but a heavy downpour. It’s like the clouds couldn’t possibly wait another second before letting everything out at once.

The trees surrounding me as I move hardly keep my body dry. What coverage the leaves have is taken out by the wind picking up.

In a matter of seconds, I’m drenched. My jeans are clinging to my thighs like a second skin. My gray shirt is looking black, and what hairs have escaped my ponytail are now curled like tendrils against my cheeks, clinging to my flushed skin.

Muttering my groans and annoyances, my steps grow more urgent as I try to avoid slipping on the ground. With the dirt turning into mud, the last thing I need is to twist an ankle.

Eventually, I come across a cabin.

Weathered cedar logs, silvered by decades of mountain storms, blend into the bark of the trees crowding around it. As if the forest is slowly swallowing it whole. The roof sags under a quilt of pine needles, and a single stone chimney juts upward, a stream of smoke lifting toward the sky.

No porch light burns. No cheerful wreath hangs on the door—just a rusted iron latch and a whiff of woodsmoke clinging to the damp air. The windows are dark, their glass winking like dull eyes when the wind shifts the branches.

It isn’t abandoned, which is a good thing. I think.

A stack of split logs leans against the side, bark still clinging in ragged strips. An ax is resting against the wall of the cabin, looking quite sharp despite the large pile of wood next to it.

Whoever lives here doesn’t want visitors, but I don’t have a choice. I need help. If not their help, then a phone so I can get someone .

Taking a set of creaky stairs leading up to a matching porch, I hesitate slightly as I make my way toward the front door.

What if the owner of this cabin isn’t the helpful type? Even worse, what if he’s dangerous? Like, serial killer vibes.

Maybe I should’ve stayed in my car until someone came to me.

Shivering at the thought of what I could’ve done, I try to brush off my worries and knock on the door.

At first, silence welcomes me. If it weren’t for the smoke coming out of the chimney, I’d have a good suspicion that no one was home. Knocking harder, my knuckles ache.

The sudden loud boom of thunder up above makes me jump, startling me just as the sound of heavy footsteps approaches from the other side.

My poor heart is still racing at the exact moment the door is yanked open—revealing a man who looks nothing like a serial killer. The only thing I can think of to describe him as is trouble.

Big trouble.

The man in the doorway isn’t just tall—he’s a reflection of the mountain itself.

Six and a half feet of hardened muscle, shoulders broad enough to blot out the storm behind me. Dirty blond hair, overgrown to the point of brushing his chin, frames a face that hasn’t seen a razor in months. His beard is wild, a shade darker than the rest of him.

It’s not his rugged appearance that steals the air from my lungs, but his eyes.

Deep blue, flecked with green—not the serene shimmer of tropical waters, but the churning violence of the sea. The kind that drags sailors under.

My knees wobble, my body betraying me with a traitorous flush of heat.

This is the kind of man who hunts through a person’s darkest fantasies with teeth bared. That, or maybe he’s more of the kind I’d find in mine.

I’ve never had a type of man in my life, not until this very moment. Given the way my body is responding, I do not doubt my discovery. Not while I’m struggling to react under his watch.

I know for a fact that this man isn’t like Walter Green. Even if I’ve never seen my future partner before, there’s no way a man like this would ever find himself getting involved with Cupid’s Bloom Co. to find a wife.

If he wanted a bride, he’d go out and steal one for himself. Throw her over one of those broad shoulders and claim her as his.

Woof.

The downward curl of his lips is enough to snap me out of my daze. He looks angry, not just at the world, but at me as well. Like I’ve disrupted his peace.

Well, he’s not the only one wishing I weren’t standing on his porch right now.

I wouldn’t mind making a run for it. If only I remembered how to use my legs. They’re completely useless, trembling underneath the weight of his stare.

His lips curl further at my lack of response to why I’m knocking on his door, revealing a flash of white teeth. Not a smile—a snarl. “You lost?”

My thighs press together, and I hate myself for the way my body responds to the sense of danger I get from the guy.

“Um, no. Not really. I mean…” My voice wobbles as badly as my knees. “I caught a flat and could use some help. Maybe a phone?”

Screw calling someone to rescue me. I’m already imagining this guy changing my tire. Clothes heavy with rain, clinging to his muscles and—

Oh, I’m a terrible future bride.

His eyes flick up like he expects to see my vehicle parked in front of his home. As if.

“My stuff is only a mile up, at most. The storm looks like it’s only going to get worse. If you have any idea of who I could call, that would be awesome—”

“Lines are down.” Like a thunderous cloud in physical form, he rains down on my parade, hitting me with something I didn’t think would happen. “Always the first thing to go during storms like these.”

Shoot. Now what?

Stepping back, I look out toward the downpour. The gray of our surroundings has grown thicker, making seeing more than twenty feet ahead more than enough of a challenge. If I tried to walk back to my car, would I make it there safely, or would I truly get lost?

Spotting the man’s truck, a bulky vehicle with chipped black paint, a new idea forms.

I fumble with my phone, pulling up Walter’s address with trembling fingers. I have to dig through our messages to find it. Surrounding the vital information is our attempt to get to know each other despite being complete strangers.

The man doesn’t move, doesn’t blink—just watches me struggle like I’m some pitiful creature caught in a trap.

“Here,” I thrust the screen toward him, forcing cheer into my voice. “If you could just—”

He stares at my email, but I don’t think it’s the words on the screen that catch his attention. Instead, it’s the company’s logo displayed at the bottom.

“Cupid’s Bloom Co.” He spits the name out like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. “Another mail-order bride.”

Not a question. An accusation.

“Let me guess.” His voice is a low rasp, edged with something darker than annoyance now that he’s seeing me in a new light.

“You’re either another rich girl playing pioneer, or you’re dumb enough to think this mountain’s a damn spa retreat despite the alerts going out about this being one of the worst storms of the season. ”

Heat floods my cheeks as my smile wavers. He’s seen women like me before. Wide-eyed, desperate, trailing luggage and naivety up this mountain.

I open my mouth to argue, but his laugh cuts me off—a harsh, humorless sound.

Okay, this guy might be attractive on the outside, but his personality sucks. In fact, he’s pretty much a giant asshole.

“No point in going anywhere but back down to town. You can talk to the mountain rescuers, I’m sure they’d be able to help with your car.

” His eyes move toward his truck, and he squints.

“But I’m not willing to get stuck in the middle of a violent storm for a woman who won’t last three days on this mountain. ”

“Wow.” I shove my phone back into my pocket. “Has anyone told you that you’re an asshole?”

His brows lift—just a fraction—but it’s enough. His surprise doesn’t dull out my matching annoyance.

I spin on my heel, boots slamming against the warped porch boards to get my feelings across. “Thanks for nothing. Seriously. Could not have thought of a better way to waste time, minutes I could’ve been pointing toward someone less judgmental and more helpful.”

Three steps back into the downpour, lightning splits the sky. The thunderclap that follows rattles my teeth, and I freeze mid-stride, heart jackhammering against my ribs. Stupid inexperience with violent storms is biting me today.

This feels like the kind of storm people die in.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” His voice booms over the wind.

I don’t turn around with the fear of my face giving away my feelings. I don’t answer, not wanting a stranger to know that he’s hurt my feelings, that I’ve allowed him to.

A softie like me really won’t survive on this mountain. I could die. Like, actually die.

A beat of silence. Then—a frustrated curse comes from an equally frustrating man.

“Don’t do something stupid and reckless.” He curses again, more hushed than not. “Get back here. You can wait it out inside. At least until it’s safe enough that you won’t get yourself killed.”

It’s not an offer. It’s an order.

Sending a frown over my shoulder, I catch him scrubbing a hand over his beard, covering the sight of his jaw clenching, I’m sure.

Despite the insult still burning in my chest, it’s the rough command in his voice that sends a shiver down my spine—not the cold.

I should refuse. Walk deeper into the storm just so my mysterious fate eats at him.

Another flash of lightning turns the world white, and I jump again.

“Fine.” I stomp toward him, my glare meeting his. “Temporarily.”

I’d rather weather this storm—and him—than face the mountain alone. While I’m at it, I might try to prove that I’m not like any of the other mail-order brides who have stumbled across his doorstep.