8. Jordana

8

JORDANA

ONE YEAR LATER

I ’m curled up on the couch in our mountain cabin, reviewing an engine manual while a gentle breeze rustles through the pines outside. Meanwhile, the sound of Griffin’s voice drifts down from his office upstairs, where he’s on one of his counseling calls. Steam rises from my cup of tea on the side table as I lose myself in transmission specifications.

A knock at our front door breaks my concentration. I set down the manual and ease myself up, one hand resting on my rounded belly. Through the window, I spot a young woman on our porch. She’s wearing jeans and a sweater, but there’s also a short white veil pinned in her hair. A large piece of luggage sits at her feet.

I open the door, and she gives me a tentative smile. “Hi, I’m so sorry to bother you. I think I might be lost. I’m looking for Hawk Sullivan’s place?”

My eyebrows rise. Hawk is the most reclusive man on the mountain, the kind of person who appears in town maybe once every few months for supplies, speaking to no one. The fact that anyone is looking for him, let alone a pretty young woman wearing a veil, is surprising to say the least.

“You’re close,” I tell her. “Follow the road up about a quarter mile. His cabin is at the very end of the road.”

Relief floods her face. “Thank you. I was starting to worry I’d never find it.”

Something in her expression makes me hesitate as she turns to leave. Her fingers twist a ring on her right hand over and over, betraying her nerves. “Wait—are you okay? Do you need any help?”

She looks back, and though her smile is bright, uncertainty flickers in her eyes. “I’m good. Really. Thank you for asking.” She grabs the handle of her luggage and heads for her car.

I watch until she’s safely on her way, then close the door and head upstairs. Griffin’s office door is closed as he finishes up his counseling call. Even through the solid wood, I can hear the gentle rumble of his voice as he talks another veteran through whatever they’re facing.

While I wait, I study our wedding photo hanging in the hallway. The image captures us outside city hall six months ago, both of us grinning like lovesick teenagers. I remember how the townspeople smiled at us that day, genuine warmth in their expressions. Such a change from how they’d once treated Griffin.

The office door opens, and strong arms wrap around me from behind. “Hey, beautiful.” Griffin’s lips brush my neck as his hands settle on my belly. “Everything okay?”

I lean back against his chest, savoring his warmth. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

“Funny. I was just thinking the same thing.” He kisses that spot behind my ear that always makes me melt. “Did I hear someone at the door?”

“You did. A woman looking for Hawk’s place. She was wearing a veil.”

His body freezes with surprise. “A veil?”

“Mm-hmm. And she seemed nervous.” I turn in his arms. “You don’t think...”

“What, like a mail-order bride situation?” He pauses. “Actually, given how reclusive Hawk is, that might not be too far off.”

“I hope she knows what she’s getting into.”

“Me too. Hope she makes it up there okay. Hawk can be...intense.”

“No kidding. Well, maybe we’ll find out more soon.” I shake my head. “Want to help me start dinner? Esther’s handling the afternoon appointments at the shop.”

“Of course. I’m all yours.”

We head downstairs together, Griffin’s hand warm on my lower back. In the kitchen, I gather ingredients while Griffin starts chopping vegetables.

“Would you have ever considered it?” I ask. “The mail-order bride thing?”

“What, if I hadn’t met you?” He sets down his knife. “Maybe. If I got desperate enough for company up here.” His hands find my hips, pulling me close. “But if anyone but you had shown up at my door, I would’ve sent them right back down the mountain.”

I laugh. “Good save.”

“I mean it.” His palm slides over my belly. “How’s our girl doing today?”

“She’s been doing somersaults all afternoon. Although she’s always the most active when I’m at the shop. Either she’s excited about all the engines, or she’s protesting and is going to be the girliest girl ever, wanting nothing to do with cars.”

“Would that disappoint you?” Griffin asks thoughtfully. “If she isn’t into cars like you are?”

I smile up at him. “It would be nice to share that with her, but I’ll love her no matter what her passions are.”

“You’re going to be such an amazing mom.”

“And you’re going to be the best dad.”

Looking at Griffin now, it’s hard to believe this all started with a broken-down truck and a town full of rumors. But the moment he walked into my shop that spring morning, our love story began—even if we didn’t know it then. Every day since then has led us here: to our home on the mountain, our baby girl on the way, and our future stretching out before us with all kinds of possibilities on the horizon.

I rise up on my toes, pressing my lips to his. After a year of loving my mountain man, I know exactly how to kiss him—how to draw that low sound from his throat, how to make his hands tighten on my hips, how to pour every ounce of my love into each press of my lips against his. His touch still sets my skin aflame, still makes my heart race just as much as it did the first time he touched me. But it’s all so much deeper now, suffused with an indestructible certainty that this is exactly where I belong: here in our kitchen, in the circle of his arms, building our life together one perfect kiss at a time.

Will Hawk and his mail-order bride get along?

Find out in How to Wed a Mountain Man

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