Page 5 of The Mountain Man's Mail-Order Wife
I can’t help laughing too. “No. I do. But it’s a little complicated. His mother is,was, my great aunt.”
“Was?” He frowns at me.
“Yes. Was. She died a few weeks ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
I’m not. But that’s not the right thing to say. The right thing would be to thank him for his sympathy. “Thanks. It was expected. A relief really. She isn’t suffering anymore.” What I don’t say is, neither am I.
“Should we go inside?”
I look over at the cabin. It doesn’t appear very large, only one level, and I wonder who it is I’m supposed to take care of. Maybe this is my new home and there’s a bigger house somewhere…my gaze moves over the trees surrounding us.
“Is this where I’m staying?” I ask as I follow him toward the front porch.
“Yes.” He glances back at me, a frown on his face again. “Is that a problem?”
“Oh, no. I’m just trying to get my bearings. Warren”—I wave at the empty driveway—“didn’t tell me anything more than he found me a job.”
The bear of a man in front of me stops short. Spins on his heel, his long hair sweeping out in a dark arc. “A job?”
“Yes.” I nod, taking a small step back. “He said I’d be doing what I did for Aunt Bethany.”
His frown deepens so much his eyebrows become one and the scars on the left side of his face go from red to pink as they stretch. “What did you do for her?”
“Took care of her. Cooked. Cleaned. Shopped.” I shrug. “Whatever she needed me to do.”
Anger swirls in his dark eyes, but it doesn’t seem directed my way even though he’s looking right at me. “You didn’t put a profile up on Get Hitched?”
My forehead scrunches in confusion. “What’s Get Hitched?”
“Fuck!”
The expletive is so loud and sharp, I jump.
“Sorry,” he says in a quieter tone. He clears his throat then lowers his voice more. “Didn’t meant to scare you.”
“That’s okay.” I glance around and finally take notice of the dog at our feet. “Oh, hey, aren’t you a pretty thing.”
“Neville.”
I’m bent over, my fingers scratching between the dog’s ears. “Neville? Is that who I’m working for?” I look up but keep contact with the dog.
“No. The dog. His name is Neville. Nev for short. Mine’s Felix.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Straightening, I hold out my hand, forgetting he’s got his hands full of bags. “Riley. I’m Riley Rose.”
“I know.” He easily shifts all the bags to his left hand and grips mine with his large, warm one.
“Yes, yes. Of course you do.” I remove my hand from his grip and take a deep breath. This is the weirdest conversation. Not that I’ve had many in recent years. Aunt Bethany shouting demands can’t be called conversation. Hopefully my new employer isn’t as demanding as she was. Or at least nicer about their requests.
No time like the present to find out. Nodding at the cabin, I say, “Should we go inside?”
“Yes. Before it starts raining…” His head tilts slightly as his eyes narrow on my body. “Are your clothes wet?”
With a sigh, my shoulders slump. “Yes. I got caught in the rain on my way home from the grocery store this morning and I didn’t have time to change before Warren drove me up here.” I don’t mention I have no idea which trash bag my clothes are in.
“I’ll put another log on the fire.” He doesn’t explain further. Just turns on his heel and heads to the small porch that runs the length of this side of the cabin.
