Page 1 of Mountain Man's Mail Order Mix-Up
1
MACKENZIE
If you handed me a list of the top stressors, I’d check off every one.
Death of a loved one? Check.
Moving? Check.
Job loss? Check.
Arriving in a strange town in a wedding gown to marry a man I’d never met? Check, check, check.
Okay, that last one had to be one of the biggest stressors of all.
I’d seen a picture of my future husband, and I assumed he’d seen one of me. But we never actually spoke, not even on the phone. We hadn’t even really chatted much in the app that matched single guys with their future wives. Or maybe it was the other way around. It matched me with my future husband.
At one time, they would’ve called that a mail-order bride situation. But it had all been done over the internet, so did it really qualify? Was there such a thing as an email-order bride?
“This is it,” I told the driver as he pulled into the parking lot of the Wildwood Valley Inn. My fiancé instructed me to check in here and said he’d handle paying for the room until we gotmarried, which was happening in only two days. I had no idea when I’d finally get to meet him in person.
“Tips appreciated,” the rideshare driver said as I reached for the handle.
I froze, staring at my phone. I’d ordered this through the app. I never carried cash, and I was short on money altogether. I hated the idea of using even more of my shrinking bank account, but I couldn’t, in good conscience, not tip him. I tapped on the screen and tipped him a couple of bucks.
“I have luggage in the back,” I said.
“Oh, right.”
I expected him to reach for the door handle. Instead, he popped the trunk and pressed play to resume the obnoxious financial podcast he’d been listening to the entire ride. Apparently, the guy was trying very hard to get rich quick. Join the club.
I stepped out of the car and started to shut the door, but I realized it wouldn’t surprise me if he just drove off, luggage and all. So I left the door open until I had my suitcase out of the trunk. Then I shut it without saying goodbye and extended the retractable handle on my suitcase.
I’d barely taken two steps toward the inn entrance when the driver sped off, hopping onto the interstate. No doubt rushing the thirty-plus miles back to the airport to get his next sucker—er,fare.
The building in front of me wasn’t at all what I expected. It was charming, with an English Tudor façade that matched the sign on the pancake restaurant next door. The fonts on the signs were identical. They must be owned by the same company.
Only one car sat in the parking lot, and the lot next door was completely empty. Not surprising, considering it was early afternoon. Plus, no cars didn’t equal no people. Maybe everyone,like me, had taken a rideshare to get here. Probably the same guy who’d just deposited me in front of the inn.
With a sigh, I grabbed the handle of the rolling suitcase I’d had since high school and started toward the front door. The bright, sunny day made it impossible to see through the glass. But as soon as I pulled it open, I was face-to-face with an older woman, her thick hair styled into a bob and her bright green eyeglasses clashing perfectly with her hot pink shirt.
I couldn’t help but smile as I took her in. Did she always wear green, or did she have a pair of glasses for every outfit?
“Good morning,” the woman said, then laughed. “Or I guess it’s afternoon now. You must be Bridget.”
I froze just inside the door. I was trying to maneuver my suitcase through it as she spoke, but her words stopped me, and the door slammed into both my butt and my suitcase, sending it rolling forward. I rushed to stand beside it, grateful the place was empty. I’d be mortified if more than one person had seen that.
“I’m not Bridget,” I said.
Was I in the wrong place? No, this was definitely the Wildwood Valley Inn. Were there two Wildwood Valley Inns? It was all absurd, but that was exactly how my mind worked when something didn’t go as expected.
The woman’s smile fell—not completely, but enough to make my stomach clench. “Oh dear. I swore you were her. Do you have a reservation?”
I rolled my suitcase to the counter and summoned what little confidence I had left. “I’m Mackenzie Hawkins. I was told I’d have a place to stay. I’m here to marry Reilly Clark.”
Now her smile really fell. Her mouth formed an O. She glanced at the computer screen, then finally moved toward it and began typing.
Tap, tap, tap.
