Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
My positive vibes about my wedding start to fade… because this much snow can never mean a good thing.
And right now, all I want is this one good thing — to say I do on this exact day.
Chapter Three
Hartley
The snow started coming down hard the moment I left town. But I trust the pilot knows how to navigate this flurry — hell, you couldn’t fly in and out of Snow Valley if you weren’t capable of handling a quick turn of the weather. So I trust that my bride is in safe hands… still, it makes me eager to get to my cabin as soon as possible because I don’t want to be stuck somewhere that isn’t home.
When I get out of my truck, I see the plane is just landing, and I stuff my hands in my pockets as I head toward the runway. The plane is small, holding eight passengers, and it doesn’t seem full, considering only four people exit down the stairs. An elderly couple, a teenage boy, and then… her.
She has on a pine green parka, and her long red hair whips around her. She is a Christmas card personified. Her eyes are bright and the snow falls down on her shoulders and she looks up, marveling at the sight.
Stepping down from the plane onto the apron, she bites her bottom lip, and looks around. Presumably for me. She is cute and curvy, I’m guessing 5’3” to my 6’2”. One look at her and all I want to do is wrap my arms around her and make sure no one takes a bite from my sugar cookie.
Mine.
Damn, I’ve never thought of a woman like that before, as something that belongs to me.
I run a hand over my beard, wondering what the fuck I am going to do with such precious cargo.
I step forward, my boots making imprints in the snow that’s already nearing six inches deep. She notices me, and her eyes widen — surprise written in them. And I tense, wondering if she doesn’t like what she sees. If she was expecting something else. A different sort of man.
I’ve never been called gentle. Never talked about my emotions. Never bought a girl flowers or called her back the next day. I am not marriage material, yet here I am, walking toward my bride-to-be.
I’ve never been so utterly over my head.
“Are you here for me?” she asks. “Holly Huckleberry sent me and—”
I cut her off. “Yes, I’m here to pick up my mail-order bride.”
She draws in a big breath, lifting her shoulders, then letting them fall as she exhales, taking me in. “Wow. I didn’t expect…”
I frown.
She grimaces. “No, I meant… I mean, you’re just so handsome.” She laughs, shaking her head. “Did I really say that before I even introduced myself?”
“I’m Hartley Mistletoe,” I tell her.
“And I’m Hattie. Well, Henrietta, but everyone calls me Hattie.”
Hattie. It’s a cute name, and it suits her. “We should get out of the cold,” I say. “You have luggage?”
“Oh, right. Of course.” She grins, her bubbly personally the utter opposite of mine. “Yes, two suitcases. Over there, the red and green plaid ones.”
I smirk, thinking how my mother would have picked those ones too. She packed light, though, I have to hand it to her. I lift both bags from the luggage trolley and tell her my truck is the forest green one on the end.
“It’s snowing so much,” she says. “It wasn’t like this in Southern Oregon.”
“That where you’re from?”
She nods. “Yep, born and raised, on a little farm in the middle of nowhere.”
I think how that bodes well for her. Snow Valley is no metropolis. Hell, the closest Starbucks is a two-hour drive.
I place the luggage in the bed of the truck and remember my manners, walking over and opening her door for her. “Thanks,” she says, smiling warmly. Her good mood is hard to ignore. And I wonder what her expectations are for this marriage. As I climb into my seat on the other side of the truck, I wonder how in the hell I might meet them, considering I never asked for this.
“Do you live far from here?” she asks as she buckles herself up. As I turn on the engine, the radio blasts. “Oh, it’s Frank Sinatra, ‘The Christmas Waltz,’” she says with a sigh. “I feel like that’s a sign. A good one.”
“Oh yeah? You believe in signs?” I turn out from the airport parking lot, wondering what else she believes.
“I suppose I do. I know we just met, but I feel like I am here for a reason. When I was out of hope, I found Holly. And it makes me think… maybe things are going to work out.”
Her voice is soft, sweet, and filled with so much longing I’m goddamn terrified of fucking this up. I’ve never felt like this before — like the person next to me needs to be handled with care.