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Rue
What in the world have I gotten myself into this time?
As my car chugs and groans, the carrier at my side lets out a small meow. Even Cheeto knows how bad of an idea this is.
Sure, this is no Mount Everest, but what kind of guy lives on a freaking mountain by choice? All secluded from the world with probably no one else to talk to is pretty weird.
Fairland is a pretty quaint town, small enough for everyone to know each other. Honestly, I kind of fell for it a bit at first sight. That is until I realized I won’t be living in town, but on the mountain attached.
“We’ve gotta be almost there,” I mutter under my breath. The GPS is hardly assisting as its signal wavers the higher I travel up the rough terrain. Hopefully, I don’t get lost. I’m already feeling squeamish at being in an unfamiliar area.
Do people seriously come up here for trips and vacations? I can’t see myself ever wanting to climb this place on either foot or by car. This is going to be a one-time trip, that’s for sure.
Maybe this whole mail-order bride thing isn’t going to work out after all. I’m a city girl at heart. Shifting to a life of nature might be a bit too much.
Though, I guess this beats sleeping in a different parking lot each night.
From the way my car spurs on the next turn, I’m starting to wonder if I’ll have to camp out tonight instead of getting the chance to meet my future husband.
Bryson Grant is a true mountain man by definition. The website might’ve let us share our hobbies with each other, but besides his career as a mountain rescue and his name, I don’t really have much on the guy. Good thing I’ve got a whole week to learn as much as possible.
A whole week to convince him that I am the perfect bride. Not because my bank account is dwindling, and I’ve been yearning for a bed to sleep on, but because I’m a lonely single woman who is ready to be tied down to a complete stranger. To experience a love story like no other.
What did I get myself into?
Eventually, I see my first sign of life in the form of a log cabin. Sure, it’s not the cabinIneed, but it’s proof that I’m not alone on this mountain after all. Then there’s a second one and I’m hopeful of finding my destination.
Taking another look at my phone, hoping that the signal would return, I huff out when seeing the map is frozen. Out of frustration, I toss it away. Squinting, I hope the cabins are numbered. Otherwise, finding my future home is going to be far more challenging than I’m prepared for.
Cheeto meows once more like he can sense my nerves. I’m all over the place. Not even a muttered apology on my end can make either of us feel better.
What if this whole thing is actually a scam? For all I know, I’m here driving toward my doom. After all, I couldn’t find any Bryson Grant on social media. None that fit the description I received. I don’t even know what the guy looks like.
What if he’s all old and demanding? I’m just a twenty-three year old trying her best to get by. I don’t want to settle down with someone who is going to be near their deathbed!
With a week to decide, I don’t have to agree to the marriage. Sure, it’s one of my last options, but I still have the choice to say no.
Spotting a truck coming down the opposite direction, I panic on the inside as I veer over toward the edge of the path. Here’s to hoping I don’t run over anything that can pop my tires.
I’m seriously not made for this lifestyle. If I settle, I’m never driving again.
Once I’m back to hogging up the whole path, I’m squinting all over again. More cabins, and even houses, pass by.
“Finally,” I groan out as I spot the number I’ve been hunting for. “About time.”
There’s a red truck parked on the side of the cabin with a logo painted on the side.Fairland Mountain Rescue.Yeah, I’ve definitely got the right cabin. Pulling up next to it, I shut the car off and try to prepare myself.
Even if the guy is the worst, I must make a good impression. I’ll give him a one-day minimum test run before I book it down the mountain and hunt for another possible husband.
Pushing the car door open, I’m greeted by the sounds of birds chirping and leaves shifting against the wind. The air is a bit thin. Though it’s quieter than I expected. An odd taste of peace I’m not quite used to. No sound of traffic or the constant chatter of groups of people walking on sidewalks.
Maybe I can get used to this kind of lifestyle.
I’ve got a piece of luggage ready in my trunk. Sure, the rest of my belongings are in there as well, but this Bryson guy doesn’t need to know all that information. With one hand occupied with my suitcase, the other grabs the carrier and I’m off toward the cabin.
Climbing the few creaking steps, the thumps of my luggage must draw attention because I don’t even make it to the door before it swings open.
I’m expecting a thirty-five year old male with a caveman complex. I can’t imagine someone living out here getting the chance to leave the mountain very often to be social enough.
