The Mountain Man’s Second Chance Bride (Mountain Man Sanctuary #16)
1. Wynonna
one
Wynonna
The smell of pine and damp earth hits me as I step off the logging road that leads to Josiah Stone's property.
Silver Ridge stretches out below, mountains shooting up in every direction.
My legs feel like jelly after the eighteen-hour bus ride and that killer two-hour hike up here, but no way am I stopping now. Not when I'm this close.
I catch my breath at the property line. The cabin's bigger than I remember, a greenhouse stands near the edge of the clearing, and a massive pile of split wood shows Josiah's still as hardworking as ever.
My chest tightens—everything's different, but it still feels like the place that's lived in my head for ten years.
Then I see him .
He comes out of the workshop near the cabin, and my heart does this stupid flippy thing it always did.
He's exactly how I remembered but even better.
His flannel shirt stretches across those broad shoulders as he carries lumber like it weighs nothing, muscles shifting as he stacks boards against the wall.
And just like that, I'm fifteen again, hiding behind trees to watch him help Daddy fix our roof, my stomach knotting with want every time he'd wipe sweat from his brow.
I'd spend hours imagining those strong hands touching me, daydreaming about him seeing me as something more than just his friend's kid.
Josiah Stone was basically a god walking around in muddy boots.
I shake my head and grip my suitcase tighter. I'm twenty-five now, not some weird kid. I came here with a plan, not just some dumb crush.
"Don't mess this up," I whisper, and the wind snatches the words away.
Six months ago, I was scrolling through this mail-order bride website, yeah, they still exist, all fancy and digital now, when I found him. After Mom died, the emptiness in my life became unbearable, and there he was, like the universe was giving me a sign.
Josiah Stone, 40, Silver Ridge, British Columbia. Seeking a practical, hardworking woman for companionship, partnership, and eventual family. Must appreciate mountain living and solitude.
I filled out the application immediately, using a recent photo but listing my name as Wynonna Clarke, my Mom's maiden name, just enough disguise that he wouldn't connect me to the girl who once followed him around like a lost puppy.
His letters were classic Josiah: direct questions about whether I could handle mountain isolation.
I answered honestly but carefully, never revealing I already knew exactly what Silver Ridge winters were like.
Three weeks ago, he sent the train fare with a note that just said "Let's see if we suit." So I sold everything, packed this one sad suitcase, and split. No looking back.
Josiah disappears into his workshop again, giving me my chance. Each step closer feels monumental. For ten years, I've measured every man against him. None ever stood a chance.
The porch steps creak under my feet. It’s solid wood worn smooth by years of Silver Ridge weather. My heart pounds as I stare at the workshop door. This is it. One knock changes everything.
I take a shaky breath, smooth down my wrinkled top, and force myself to stand straight. Three quick knocks echo in the quiet.
Heavy footsteps approach. I try to look like a grown woman, not the kid he remembers.
The door swings open, and… oh.
He fills the entire doorframe like a mountain made into a man. His dark hair has more silver than his picture showed, little lines fan from his eyes, but those dreamy, stormy grey eyes they're exactly the same.
Confusion crosses his face, then total shock. "Wynonna? What the hell..."
Hearing my name in his deep voice makes my stomach do a backflip. "Hi, Josiah."
"Little Wynonna Crow?" He blinks like I might disappear. "What are you doing all the way up here?"
I swallow hard but meet his eyes. "I'm Wynonna Clarke. Your mail-order bride."
The words hang between us like smoke. His face hardens as it clicks.
"Clarke. Your mother's maiden name." He shifts backward, his whole body tensing. He rubs his forehead. "How could I have not noticed. You tricked me."
"I used a name that's mine too," I say, chin lifting. "Everything else I told you was true."
His jaw tightens as his eyes scan me from head to toe, like he's confirming I'm definitely not fifteen anymore. He looks away fast, but not before I catch something flash in his eyes.
"This isn't right, Wynonna," he says, voice dropping lower. "I knew you as a kid. Worked with your dad. I treated you like a little sister."
That stings, but I was ready for it. I've played this conversation in my head a million times.
"That was then, Josiah," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "I'm not a kid anymore."
"You're twenty-five."
"Yes," I reply, not bothering with corrections. "And you're forty. Doesn't change that I can be what your ad asked for."
He drags a hand through his hair, frustration coming off him in waves. "This isn't what I had in mind when I signed up for that service."
"Isn't it?" I challenge him, my voice softening. "You wanted someone practical, who knows mountain life. Someone who gets what it means to live out here." I gesture at the wilderness around us. "That's me, Josiah. It's always been me."
His eyes narrow. "You've been planning this, haven't you?"
I don't bother denying it. "I know what I want. Always have."
"And that's me? After all this time?" He sounds completely baffled.
"Yes." Just the simple truth.
A muscle jumps in his jaw. Behind him, I glimpse inside the cabin—rooms added on, a home clearly built for more than just one person.
"You should go back to Manitoba," he says, but there's something hesitant in his voice that gives me hope.
"I sold everything to get here." I stand my ground, refusing to back down. "This is where I belong."
"With me?" His voice turns it into a challenge.
"Yes." I don't look away. "With you."
The moment stretches between us, charged with ten years of distance and something electric that's always been there, even when he pretended not to notice. The mountain air swirls around us, carrying the smell of pine and coming rain.
Finally, he steps back from the door. Not welcoming me with open arms, but not slamming the door in my face either.
"One night," he gives in gruffly. "You can stay one night while we figure this out. Town's too far to send you back today anyway."
I reach for my suitcase, but he grabs it first. Our fingers brush, and the jolt that runs through me nearly makes me gasp. His eyes meet mine, and for just a second, I see it—the spark that tells me he feels this crazy pull between us too.
"Thanks," I say, stepping past him into the cabin I've dreamed about for ten years.
Inside, his scent is everywhere—cedar and coffee and something that's just Josiah.
The cabin is neat but lived-in, practical furniture, not many decorations.
A massive stone fireplace takes up one wall, and the windows frame mountain views that would cost a fortune in the city. It feels right. It feels like home.
As Josiah shows me to the spare room, keeping as much space between us as possible, I watch how tense his shoulders are, how he won't look at me for more than a second. He's fighting whatever this is between us—but I didn't travel across half the country to give up now.
When he leaves me alone, closing the door with a quiet click, I sit on the edge of the bed and run my fingers over the handmade quilt. A feeling settles over me, warm and certain as sunshine. I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. Josiah might not know it yet, but I belong here, with him.
And wild horses couldn't drag me away.