The Mountain Man’s Irresistible Bride (Mountain Man Sanctuary #10)
Chapter One
Juniper
The gravel crunches under the tires of the ride-share car as we wind deeper into the woods, the road narrowing with every passing mile.
Pine Hollow is beautiful, like something from a postcard or one of those romantic fall movies I used to watch with a pint of ice cream and no plans on a Friday night.
Fiery leaves drift down from trees that look like they’ve been painted in impossible reds and golds.
The air is crisp, and when I roll down the window, it smells like pine and woodsmoke.
There’s a pit in my stomach as we get closer to my destination. While I might look like someone confidently heading toward her new life, I am broke, recently heartbroken, and running out of options.
I pull the envelope from Match Mates out of my tote bag for the millionth time and re-read the information.
Elias Boone. Carpenter. Seeks a marriage of convenience. Secluded cabin. Room and board provided.
The online form had been straightforward. A place to start over. A man who didn’t want love or drama. Just someone to help hold things together. Maybe cook a little. Keep him company. I could do that. Hell, after my last relationship? No romance sounds pretty perfect.
“Is this it?” the driver asks, his voice uncertain.
I look up. The cabin looms ahead, and it is not what I expected.
Instead of the tidy log home I envisioned, I’m met with scaffolding, a ladder propped against the side, and what appears to be a tarp acting as part of the roof. One of the porch beams is missing entirely. The front yard looks like a lumberyard exploded.
The driver unloads my suitcase, hesitates like he might ask if I want to turn back, then wisely decides to keep his thoughts to himself. As he drives away, my heels crunch on a mix of dirt, sawdust, and broken dreams.
“Hello?” I call out, trying to sound bright and confident and not like I’m having a slow-moving panic attack.
Then I see him.
Elias Boone is tall. Not just tall—he’s massive.
Broad shoulders fill out a flannel shirt that’s been rolled up to reveal strong forearms dusted with sawdust. His jeans ride low on narrow hips, and his dark hair is pushed back in that careless, sexy way that suggests he either doesn’t own a mirror or doesn’t care how good he looks.
But it’s his eyes that stop me. Piercing, pale gray, and currently staring at me like I’m a particularly annoying raccoon who’s shown up to steal his tools.
“You’re early.” His voice is low, gravelly. It’s been a long time since he used it.
“I’m on time,” I reply, lifting my chin. “You sent a letter that said today.”
He doesn’t argue. Just walks past me, grabs my suitcase like it weighs nothing, and carries it toward the front door. Which, by the way, is missing a knob.
“This is not exactly what I imagined,” I say as I follow him inside.
He doesn’t respond.
The interior is rough—wood framing, unfinished floors, and a plastic sheet covering part of the ceiling. There’s a bed frame with no mattress in one corner and a small wood stove in the other. The only modern appliance appears to be a dented mini-fridge humming in the corner.
“This is your idea of move-in ready?”
“I didn’t promise anything,” he mutters.
“You promised a cabin. Those usually have four walls and a whole roof.”
He drops the suitcase and folds his arms over that intimidating chest. “You can leave. I won’t stop you.”
For a second, I consider it, but then I think about the apartment I just gave up.
My ex-boyfriend is currently shacking up with his yoga instructor.
My bank account, which would laugh at me if it could, and the fact that the idea of being somewhere quiet, where no one knows me, where I don’t have to pretend everything’s fine, is suddenly everything I need.
“No,” I say, stepping closer. “I’m staying.”
His brow lifts slightly. “You sure?”
“Unless you plan to toss me into the woods.”
He lets out something between a grunt and a laugh. “Suit yourself.”
“Great,” I say brightly, setting my tote bag down. “So where do I sleep?”
He looks around, then gestures vaguely. “I can finish that corner. Put up the wall. I’ll sleep in the shop tonight.”
“You have a shop?”
“Out back. Not much, but it’s dry.”
“You don’t have to give up your bed, if that’s what that is. We can share, you know. It’s just a marriage of convenience, right?”
That earns me a long, unreadable look. Then he mutters, “I’ll sleep in the shop.”
Fine by me. I’m tired, overwhelmed, and still weirdly fascinated by the quiet storm of a man who is about to become my husband.
I spend the afternoon sweeping, dusting, and finding a few mismatched plates and cups in a box shoved under a workbench. The fridge has a half-empty jar of mustard, an expired carton of milk, and nothing else.
When Elias returns later with a bag of groceries, silent as a shadow, I’m already curled up in a blanket with a paperback from my suitcase.
“Thanks,” I say softly.
He nods and sets the bag down on the counter. We move around each other awkwardly, like two strangers who’ve been dropped into a play with no script.
“Do you always glare like that?” I ask as I slice cheese for sandwiches.
“I’m not glaring.”
“That’s definitely a glare.”
“It’s my face.”
“Your face needs to work on not glaring.”
For half a second, the corner of his mouth twitches. I consider it a win.
That night, I lay in the half-framed bedroom, listening to the wind rustle the trees and the sound of hammering from the shop out back. It’s not what I expected, but then again, nothing about my life has gone to plan lately.
And Elias Boone? Well, he’s not thrilled about me, but I’ve got time and determination. He doesn’t know it yet, but I’m not just staying, I’m about to make this place a home.