Finally A Bride - Colleen Charles Page 0,1

inside nod or ask me to pull up a chair which is fine by me. I’d probably stroke out if they did. My work automatically gives me the popularity of a flaming bag of dog shit with the locals. But after all these months, I’m used to it. So far, the guys have given me a wide berth, but without any signs of bullying or violence, thank God, even though I’ve gone places where I might have been greeted with a shotgun instead of a good morning.

But you’re still in one piece.

For now.

Blowing on my frigid hands, I slide into the worn pleather booth. The Minnesota wind chill is far below zero today. I’ve been working outside for the better part of six hours. My boots are caked with ice, my hands too numb to function and my stomach bitches about the fact that I’ve been ignoring it for hours. With a yank, I unzip my Carhartt parka and push the coat off my shoulders. Then I hear it. My ears perk up as my entire body tightens in response.

What the hell?

A voice. A feminine voice.

My eyes shoot up, searching for it.

There are women in Sweetheart Hills, just not many. The terrain is too rugged – the weather too harsh – the jobs too few and far between. We’re not far from the border of the USA and Canada but we might as well be in a polar vortex. The total population of this town isn’t more than a few hundred – less in the winter when a few snowbirds head south. Summer cottages and hunting cabins are empty this time of year, and even the timber industry shuts down when the trees are too frozen to cut through. Permanent residents are all known by name, rank and serial number. Loners. Survivalists. Bearded and gruff Duck Dynasty wannabes. Mostly people who march to their own drumbeat. There are zero lone women. All the women of Sweetheart Hills are claimed by someone because this is no damn place for a woman alone. She just wouldn’t be safe.

This particular female stands out like a rose in a bed of thorns. Maybe late twenties and petite with curves in all the right places. Long, platinum waves travel down the middle of her back and hit the top of a perfectly rounded ass. She’s a cross between a fifties pinup and a sexy Goldilocks. Her ski jump nose and crystal blue eyes complete the picture of a stunner. And lips – shit – those full lips pout into a cupid’s bow.

Kissable lips.

My body roars to life as I rub the circulation back into my icy hands, and I study the rest of her. Her clothes look like North Face – expensive as hell and completely unnecessary out here due to the town’s lack of fashion sense. They also look new with her jeans hugging that delectable rump and a man would have to be a monk not to notice the full tits pressing against her fleecy vest.

Who is she and what the hell is she doing here?

Maybe Len Summers, the owner of Cool Beans hired a new barista/server. I understand why he wants to hire help, just not why he hired help that might cause such a distraction instead of the many male high school kids that actually live here. As if on cue, she pours two steaming mugs of dark roast and meanders through the tables to deliver them.

Her clumsy juggling of the cups so as not to spill the scalding hot coffee suggests a total lack of experience as a server.

With both her hands full, Jess McGraw takes that opportunity to pinch her on the butt with a wink for the other dudes standing around him, making themselves pains in the ass over their bottomless mugs of the house blend. Blazes of angry fire light her cheekbones as a river of hot coffee starts to slosh over the side of the ceramic mug creating a mess on the hardwood floor and a trip and fall hazard.

I lift an eyebrow, waiting for something even worse to happen. Honing and fine-tuning my gut feelings for trouble are necessary in my line of work. Nothing about her distressed jeans and turtleneck sweater are overtly sexual, but these horndogs haven’t been exposed to something as beautiful as she is in the flesh for years – maybe even decades in some cases. Some of these guys never leave Sweetheart Hills and keep their television and social media