Mail-Order Brides For Christmas - Frankie Love Page 0,20

drive carefully. He did carry my luggage. And now, as we park in front of a cabin that is nestled in the mountains of Snow Valley, I try to muster up courage. Kind heart, fierce mind, brave spirit. I can do this. I can figure out who Hartley is.

He sets down my luggage and walks straight to the wood stove in the corner.

“Do you need any help?” I ask, stepping toward him.

He just grunts back. “No, I got it.”

“Okay,” I say, looking around, trying not to take his short tone personally. He adds kindling and a few logs to the fire. He is focused, strong, and looks like a man who was carved from the mountain. The fire catches and he closes the stove’s door.

“It’ll warm up quick,” he says, looking at the watch on his wrist. “The pastor should be here in a little under an hour. With that snow, it took longer than I expected to get back from the airport.”

“Oh, really?” I smile. It’s December 1st. Everything is going as planned. “Perfect.”

“You hungry?”

“Very,” I admit, following him into the kitchen. The cabin is cozy, and I try to take it all in, wishing Hartley would offer to give me a tour. I don’t want to pry or be annoying, but I also want to know a little more about him before I say I do.

“Chili?” He pulls a few cans from the cupboard.

I give him a tight smile. I just flew hundreds of miles and he welcomes me with canned chili. I swallow, trying to be open-minded. “That’s fine,” I say. “Not much of a cook?”

“No.” He opens the cans into a pot and turns on the burner with his back to me.

I turn in a circle, anxious about everything. Did I just make a massive mistake? He acts like he doesn’t want me here.

“Do you mind if I look around?” I ask.

“Have at it,” he says, not even looking my way.

Determined to be positive, I decide to poke around his home and try to get clues about his personality. In the living room I notice framed family photos. In one, he’s in front of a Christmas tree, all lit up, with an older couple and five other men. His brothers? And in another, he is in a work apron with a man who looks just like him in front of a store that has a sign reading Mistletoe Hardware. By the fireplace there is a leather caddy filled with woodworking knives and whittling wood. I smile, thinking of Grandad. He would sit by the fire and carve spoons in the evening while Grandma embroidered and I read.

The furniture is masculine, and woodsy. But there is no Christmas tree set up or any indication that the holiday is only 25 days away. I walk down the small hall and find a bathroom with a river rock shower, and modern matte black fixtures. In the medicine cabinet there is beard oil and organic toothpaste. Nothing out of the ordinary. It’s neat, tidy, minimal.

Same with the bedroom. And while I wonder if he actually wants me here, I am relieved to see half the closet has been cleared out and the drawers in one of the two dressers are completely empty. I look over the bed, imagining coming in with Hartley. And while he might be reserved, I’d be lying if I said the idea of joining him in this bed tonight didn’t get me excited. He is so attractive… handsome and strong, a real man’s man… and I can only imagine the way it would feel to have his calloused hands on my naked body. My pussy gets wet at the thought and I force myself out of the bedroom before I get all worked up.

There is another room, mostly empty except for a few cardboard boxes, and there’s a ladder leading to a loft above the living room with a small desk and comfortable chairs. Nothing about his cabin gives off red flags, and for that I’m relieved. Still, I want to know who he is. Why he wanted me here. I want to know how I might fit into his life.

Though, smelling the chili on the stove, I know one way I can contribute — home-cooked meals. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten dinner from a can in my life.

The food is dished up in bowls by the time I return to the kitchen, and he asks if I’d like beer or wine. “Neither, thank you,”