Chapter 2
Wyatt
The knock comes soft, like whoever’s on my porch doesn’t want to be heard.
That tells me plenty before I even reach the door.
I don’t rush. I don’t need to. I’ve already checked the tree line twice, already clocked the tire tracks that don’t belong up here, already made sure the shotgun is where it’s supposed to be and the locks are solid.
The ad wasn’t a joke. It was a line in the sand.
If someone crossed it, they’d find out real fast what happens on my land.
I reach for the handle, then pause with my palm flat against the wood.
And then I smell it.
Chocolate.
Not the artificial, candy-aisle kind. Real. Dark. Warm. Like it clung to skin and hair and clothes and made a person smell like trouble and temptation.
My chest goes tight.
I open the door.
Ellie James stands on my doorstep with a backpack slung over one shoulder and a stare that’s too bright for the way her hands are shaking.
Wind lifts a few strands of hair out of her messy bun and throws them across her cheek.
She looks like she drove too fast and thought too hard and refused to cry the whole way here.
Her eyes meet mine.
And for a second, neither of us moves.
“Wyatt,” she says, like she’s testing the name. Like she’s surprised it still works in her mouth.
I don’t answer right away. I’ve known Ellie since she was all knees and opinions, since Wade brought her around the station to show her off like a badge and told every guy there to keep his eyes to himself. Back then, I laughed and promised I would.
I kept that promise.
Even when she got older. Even when she got prettier. Even when she started walking into rooms like she owned the oxygen and my chest tightened every damn time.
I kept it.
And now she’s on my porch because she answered my ad.
Her gaze drops to my bare forearms, then snaps back to my face like she caught herself doing it.
Good.
She’s not the only one who’s going to struggle.
“You’re early,” I manage, because my brain wants something neutral to cling to.
She blinks. “I’m… what?”
“Forty minutes,” I say, nodding once. “You beat my estimate.”
Her mouth pulls into a tight line. “Sorry. Next time I’ll schedule my crisis better.”
There it is. The bite. The Ellie I remember. The one who uses sarcasm like armor.
It hits me low in the gut anyway.
“Come in,” I say, stepping back.
She hesitates on the threshold. Not because she’s shy. Because she’s smart. Because she knows what this looks like—walking into a mountain cabin alone with a man who posted a bride ad.
Her chin lifts a fraction. “You’re not going to murder me, right?”
I look her over slowly, deliberately. The backpack. The tight grip on the strap. The way she’s bracing like she expects the ground to shift under her.
Then I meet her eyes. “Not unless you give me a reason.”
She lets out a breath that could be a laugh if it wasn’t edged with nerves. “Comforting.”
“I’m not here to comfort you,” I say, and my voice comes out lower than I mean it to. “I’m here to keep you safe.”
Her throat works as she swallows.
“Okay,” she says, like it costs her something. “Okay. Fine.”
She steps inside.
The door shuts behind her with a soft click that sounds too final. Her eyes sweep the cabin fast, taking inventory—kitchen, couch, hallway, the stacked firewood by the stove. It’s what people do when they’re looking for exits and weapons and threats.
Ellie’s always been good at reading a room. She’s better now.
Her gaze lands on me again, and the air shifts. Something invisible pulses between us, tight and hot, like a wire drawn too taut. She feels it too. I see it in the way her shoulders stiffen, like she wants to step back but refuses to.
“Jesus,” she mutters, then clamps her mouth shut.
“What?” I ask, though I already know.
She waves a hand between us like she’s swatting smoke. “Nothing. It’s just… you.”
I arch a brow.
She huffs. “You’re… Wyatt. You’re Wade’s—”
“Best friend,” I finish, because she can’t seem to get the words out without choking on them. “Yeah.”
Her cheeks flush, and I don’t miss the way her eyes flick to my mouth like she’s thinking something she doesn’t want to admit.
That’s fine. I can think enough for both of us.
“I shouldn’t be here,” she says, voice tight.
“Yet here you are.”
“I didn’t know it was you,” she snaps, and that’s the panic talking now, turning into anger because it’s easier to hold. “Your stupid ad didn’t say ‘Wyatt Cooper, local firefighter, the one man in town I absolutely should not—’”
“Should not what?” I cut in, calm.
Her lips part. Her eyes flare.
Then she shuts her mouth like she’s bitten her tongue.
Good girl.
She glares at me for even thinking that thought.
I fold my arms, letting the silence stretch. Letting her squirm. Ellie’s strong, but she hates not being in control, and right now she walked into my cabin off a listing she shouldn’t have answered.
She’s not in control.
She clears her throat. “Why did you post it?”
I shrug like it’s nothing, like this wasn’t a choice I made with my teeth clenched and my instincts screaming. “Because I needed to.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you get for now.”
Her eyes narrow. “Wow. So secretive. Very normal. Definitely not serial-killer vibes.”
I step closer, just enough to make her tip her head back a fraction. I keep my hands to myself. For now.
“You’re in my cabin,” I say. “On my land. You want normal, you can go back down the mountain.”
Her jaw tightens. “I can’t.”
The words slip out before she can stop them.
“You can’t,” I repeat, soft.
She looks away, blinking fast.
“That’s what I thought,” I murmur.
Her gaze snaps back, sharp. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That… quiet voice thing.” She gestures at my face, irritated, flustered. “Like you’re reading me.”
“I am reading you.”
Her breath catches. She tries to cover it with attitude. “Well, stop.”
I smile without showing teeth. “No.”
She stares at me like she can’t decide if she wants to slap me or kiss me. The answer is neither, and both. It’s written all over her.
I nod toward the backpack. “That all you brought?”
Her lips press together. “Apparently.”
I don’t ask why. Not yet. Ellie’s pride is a live wire; if I yank on it too hard she’ll bolt. I want her here. I want her safe. I want her under my roof where I can keep my eyes on her.
I gesture toward the small hallway. “Bedroom’s down there. Bathroom’s first door on the left.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “Bedroom?”
“You sleeping in the bed,” I say, like it’s not up for debate.
“And you?”
“Couch.”
A beat.
She snorts. “Sure you are.”
I lean closer, letting my voice drop. “You think you’re going to share a bed with me, sweetheart?”
Her entire body stills on that word.
Sweetheart.
It’s not a pet name I use. It’s a warning wrapped in velvet. I watch it hit her like a spark—something in her belly, something behind her eyes.
She swallows hard. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why?”
“Because…” She fumbles, angry at herself for fumbling. “Because you don’t get to.”
I tilt my head. “I don’t?”
“No.” She plants her feet like she’s about to draw a line on my cabin floor. “This is already insane. I’m not adding… whatever this is.”
I let my gaze travel down her body slowly—hoodie, leggings, the curve of her hips, the way she’s breathing like she’s trying not to breathe.
Then I bring my eyes back to hers. “You answered a bride ad, Ellie.”
Her face burns hotter. “I answered an ad for a place to stay.”
“You didn’t call it that on the phone.”
Her lips part, then close. She exhales, frustrated. “I was desperate.”
The word hangs there, raw.
It makes something ugly tighten in my chest. Not because she’s weak—Ellie’s never been weak. Because I hate that someone put her in a position where she had to come to me like this with a backpack and a shaky hand.
I keep my voice steady. “And now you’re here.”
She lifts her chin. “And now I’m here.”
Good. There’s that spine.
I step back and gesture around. “Kitchen’s yours. Fridge is stocked. You want coffee, it’s in the tin by the stove. Don’t go past the treeline behind the cabin. If you hear anything outside at night, you wake me up.”
She squints at me. “You think something’s out there.”
I hold her gaze. “I know there’s something out there.”
Her mouth tightens. “So what, you’re just… what? Armed and ready and—”
“And capable,” I finish.
She huffs. “Of course you are.”
“You want to ask why I posted the ad again?” I say, watching her. “Or you want to ask the real question?”
Her brows knit. “What real question?”
I take a step toward her, slow, deliberate, the way I move when I’m trying not to spook a scared animal.
“Why you came to me,” I say.
Her throat bobs.
“I didn’t come to you,” she snaps, but her voice isn’t sharp enough to cut. “I came to… an address.”
“Mm-hm.” I nod once. “And the address turned out to be mine.”
“Yeah.” She squeezes the backpack strap like it’s a lifeline. “Lucky me.”
I let a beat pass. “Why didn’t you call Wade?”
Her eyes flicker, just for a second. Then her mouth sets. “Because my brother would try to fix it. And I don’t need fixing.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“I know what you said.”
“Then answer it.”
She stares at me, shoulders tense, stubbornness and fear doing a slow dance behind her eyes. “I’m having… difficulties,” she says finally, tight and clipped like she’s throwing me a bone she resents.
I nod like that’s enough. “Okay.”
Her gaze snaps up. “That’s it? No interrogation?”
“You tell me what you want to tell me,” I say. “When you’re ready.”
Her eyes narrow. “Why are you being… reasonable?”
I let my mouth tilt. “Don’t get used to it.”
She gives a short laugh that sounds more like relief than she wants it to. “God. This is so weird.”
“It is,” I agree.
She looks around again, like she’s trying to find her footing in my space. Her gaze lands on the table, where the printed copy of the listing sits folded beside my keys.
She points at it. “So you really wanted… a mail-order bride.”
I watch her finger hover over the paper like touching it might burn her.
“I wanted a wife on paper,” I say. “Discretion. Cover. Someone who can follow rules and make this place feel more…homey.”
“And you thought… strangers were a good idea?” she challenges.
“I thought the right person would show up.”
Her eyes flash. “So you were waiting for me?”
The question hangs between us, half accusation, half something softer she doesn’t know how to hold.
I take one step closer until I can see the pulse in her throat. “I didn’t know it would be you.”
“But it is.”
“But it is,” I echo, and my voice is rougher now.
Ellie’s breath catches. She tries to hold my gaze and fails for a second—her eyes sliding down to my chest, the way my shirt pulls over muscle, then snapping back up like she’s mad at herself.
“You’re staring,” I say.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Her cheeks flush deeper. “Stop talking.”
I lean in just enough that she has to tilt her head back. Not touching. Just close. Close enough to make her aware of my heat, my size, the fact that she is alone in a cabin with me and her body knows exactly what kind of danger that is.
“I’m going to talk,” I tell her, calm and unfiltered. “You’re going to listen.”
Her lips part again. She swallows. “Wyatt…”
“Yeah?” I murmur.
She holds herself still like she’s trying not to shake. “This doesn’t mean you get to… claim me.”
My mouth twitches. “Claim you.”
“Yes.”
I let a slow breath out. “Sweetheart, you walked into my cabin off a bride ad. I’m not claiming you.”
Her eyes widen slightly.
“I’m protecting you,” I correct. “There’s a difference.”
She licks her lips, and I track the movement like a starving man.
“And if I don’t want your protection?” she whispers, defiant, even as her voice trembles.
I smile, but it isn’t kind.
“Then you wouldn’t be here.”
Ellie’s breath stutters. She hates that I’m right.
I take a step back before I do something reckless, before my hands forget every promise I’ve ever made to Wade, before my mouth finds her throat and I lose my mind.
I point down the hall. “Go put your bag in the bedroom. Make yourself a tea. Eat something. You look like you’ve been running for days.”
Her eyes narrow. “And what if I don’t want to be told what to do?”
I tilt my head. “Then you can argue with me after you do it.”
She glares. “That’s not how arguing works.”
“It is with me.”
Her mouth opens, ready with another bite, another shield.
Then her shoulders sag a fraction, and she exhales. “Fine. But I’m not… I’m not your bride.”
I hold her gaze, steady and dark.
“Not yet,” I say.
Her eyes flare, and she spins on her heel before I can see what that does to her face.
She walks down the hallway with stiff, determined steps, backpack bouncing against her shoulder. Halfway down, she glances back at me like she can’t help it.
Like she needs to know I’m still there.
I’m still there.
I watch her disappear into the bedroom, then I turn my head to the window and scan the treeline again, jaw tight.
Because Ellie’s in my cabin now.
And whatever put fear in her eyes?
Whatever “difficulties” she won’t name?
It’s going to learn something.
No one touches what’s under my roof.
No one.
And if a man thinks he can scare Ellie James into disappearing again, he’s about to find out what a firefighter does when the thing he wants to protect is threatened.
I move toward the door, checking the locks, checking the sightlines, already planning the next steps.
Then I hear her voice from the hallway, sharp and breathless.
“Wyatt?”
I turn.
“Yeah?”
She’s standing in the doorway with her backpack still on, hair a mess, eyes too bright. “If I’m here… what exactly am I supposed to pretend?”
My mouth goes dry.
Because the answer comes too easily.
My wife.
My bride.
Mine.
I keep my voice steady anyway. “You’re supposed to pretend you belong to me.”
Her breath catches. Her eyes flicker.
“And if I’m not good at pretending?” she asks, like she hates herself for asking.
I take one step toward her, slow and sure, letting the heat in my gaze do what my hands aren’t doing yet.
“Then you better learn fast,” I say. “Because someone out there is watching.”
Her face goes pale.
And the air between us tightens, charged and dangerous, like a match struck in a room full of gas.