Page 26 of The Mountain Man's Mail-Order Mafia Princess

Mabel nodded. “It’s a highly advanced system.”

“And this is a loan,” I said.

“Yes.”

“No favors, no domestic expectations, and no vague future discussion about what I owe you.”

Jonah’s expression changed. The amusement disappeared, but he didn’t look insulted.

“It’s money,” he said. “You’ll repay the money. That’s all.”

“Fine.”

Mabel picked up the boots’ empty box. “Good. Now let’s find you underwear before you negotiate a repayment schedule for toothpaste.”

The clothing rack held more options than I’d expected and fewer than I deserved.

There were dark jeans that hugged my hips after I rejected two pairs with so much extra fabric they could shelter a family. Denim shorts fit closely and remained decent. The fitted tanks came in black, white, and red. A cropped black T-shirt ended just above my waist.

Mabel watched me choose each item and never suggested I cover more skin.

“You don’t carry leopard print?” I asked.

“I did once. It sold out in an hour.”

“I knew this town had potential.”

Jonah returned from the grocery aisle with bread, cheese, fruit, tomatoes, pasta, canned sauce, ground beef, onions, garlic, and several other items that suggested he’d remembered food could involve more than assembling a sandwich.

I lifted a jar from the basket.

“This sauce has sugar in it.”

“It was on the shelf.”

“That doesn’t excuse it.”

“I didn’t make it.”

“You were prepared to buy it.”

“I was prepared to feed us.”

Mabel leaned closer to me. “He thinks salt is a complete seasoning.”

Jonah looked at her. “You sell me the food.”

“I’m not responsible for what you do after it leaves.”

I put the sauce back and chose canned tomatoes instead. Then I added fresh basil from a cooler near the produce, dried oregano, parmesan, and another head of garlic.

Jonah glanced into the basket. “Are you cooking?”

“I’m preventing a crime.”

“I thought the sauce was legal.”

“Not in my grandmother’s kitchen.”