Page 15 of Two Times the Mountain Men
Chapter 6
Genevieve
I’m not sure what was going on, but things were beginning to move in my head. I wasn’t in a writing whirlwind like I’d hoped to be, but something had definitely sparked for me. I never plotted my stories and that may be part of my problem, I liked to just go where the creative juices took me.
But despite my minor breakthrough, after pounding out a couple of chapters throughout the day and well into the evening as the guys worked, I was depleted and needed to take a breather. What the boys had been working on I was unsure; they were in and out of the cabin most of the day. I had to give them credit, they were true to their word and left me to work away and both were already sound to sleep.
And to add to it my stomach was growling. I needed something to eat. I wasn’t sure what they had for snacks, but they were guys; surely they had jerky or something on hand.
Getting up from the computer, I shut it down and closed the lid. That was it for the night. Looking down at my watch I was surprised to find that it was past 2am.
“Wow. Guess I’m a trooper today,” I muttered to myself, though considering I’d been plugging away all day and into the night I’d have hoped I’d have been able to get more accomplished then just two chapters.
Leaving my room, I tried to be quiet so as to not wake Brock, who had insisted on giving up his bed again tonight for Tyler. As much as he was could be a dick and seemed to like pushing my buttons he did seem like a genuine guy. That revelation didn’t make me happy, because it made me like him. And liking either of them was dangerous. I didn’t want to get involved with men who would hurt me and I had a sinking suspicion they were, indeed, men who would hurt me. There was also the logistics problem. They lived across the country for God’s sake. So even if something did happen it wasn’t as though we could ever explore anything other than sex. And one thing I wasn’t into was no-strings-attached sex. No way. No thank you.
A couple of the floorboards squeaked as I tiptoed to the kitchen area. With each squeak I’d stop and turn to look at the sleeping Brock. He was shirtless on the sofa, wearing a pair of red flannel pajama bottoms. The quilt he’d had over him was half off his body and onto the floor. If the fire went out in the stove and fireplace, he’d be pretty damned cold. I looked down at my pajama bottoms; tonight was all about the Transformers. And truthfully, my black tank top wouldn’t give me much protection from the cold. But Tyler’s bed had some awesome down-filled bedding. It was a hard bed, but the down-filled comforter and pillows were a dream.
It took a few minutes to reach the pantry and another few to find an unopened bottle of white wine, a wine glass and, as anticipated, some jerky—a half a dozen or so bags to be exact. I inspected the Ziploc bag it was in and wondered if it was homemade.
Hmmm. With the wine in one hand and the jerky in the other I made my way to the living-room area. This was tricky business, entering the living room where Brock was sleeping, but as long as I was careful he’d be none the wiser.
Slipping into the rocker recliner across from the sofa, I placed the bottle of wine on the end table next to the chair and opened the Ziploc bag containing the jerky. Grabbing a piece, I resealed the baggie and placed it on the end table while taking a bite from the jerky. It was pretty freaking good, with a distinct smoky taste. I’d go as far as to say that it was the best I’d ever had.
Opening the bottle, I poured myself a glass and closed my eyes as I tilted the glass up and began to swallow the liquid. It had a fruity taste and burned ever so slightly as it went down. The taste was nice, and it was a good burn. Before I knew it, I was three glasses in and feeling slightly buzzed.
~*~ TT ~*~
Brock
Do you ever get the feeling that you’re not alone? It’s so intense it pulls you from a deep, albeit, not-all-that-satisfying sleep. That’s how I was feeling. Slowly, I opened one eye and then the other to reveal Genevieve sitting on the rocking recliner across from me, sipping on a glass of wine. Looking over her shoulder I sought out the clock behind her; it was nearly 3am. What in the hell was she doing up so early, or late, whichever way you wanted to look at it?
Three am. The fire must be nearly out. I groaned inwardly as I slowly sat up, rubbing my eyes as I adjusted.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Despite her words there was a smile on her lips and a flush in her cheeks. My eyes shifted and my gaze settled on the nearly half-empty wine bottle next to her.
“You didn’t wake me. I need to keep the fire going anyhow.” Looking over at the fire I was surprised to see that it was still raging.
“I’ve been taking care of it.”
I looked back at her. “Thank you.” I grinned. “I gotta say I’m impressed.”
She laughed. “Because I’m city folk.”
“Perhaps. No offense.”
“None taken. My folks had a cabin in Maine when I was young. We’d spend long weekends there.”
“You don’t say. Did you fish and hunt and all that?”
“My dad did. I couldn’t bring myself to hurt a living creature.”
I cocked a brow up at her. “Yet, you insisted you’d be fine killing one of those convicts if they broke into your cabin.”
She cocked her head at me and pulled her lower lip between her teeth, drawing my gaze to her lush lips. Bet they tasted of wine. The hard-on I woke up with demanded I find out.
Taking another long sip of the wine in her glass she finished it off. “Well, there’s a difference between killing an innocent animal—just because—and killing someone who has every intention of killing you, or worse, then killing you. Survival of the fittest. Fight or flight, I choose fight.”
“Hmm. Fair enough. But thinking you can kill someone and actually doing it is a very different thing.”
