Page 66 of Claimed By 3 Mountain Men

As for Ben, he’s the only one who’s been civil, bringing me meals, helping me to the shower and talking to me to ebb the boredom. His deep, soothing voice, a balm to my frayed nerves.

Today, however, is different.

Today, I can stand on my own two feet, albeit with a crutch, and I can feel the itch to get back out there, to finish the job that had brought me here in the first place.

I need to get out of this house and away from them.

I’m getting dressed in some of JT’s old clothes—flannels and sweats, doubled tied and rolled over to stay up but they’ll do—when Ben knocks on the door.

“You decent?” he calls out.

“Yup,” I say, winding the last pieces of my braid.

The door creaks open, and Ben peers inside, eyes wide. He’s got a thin, old t-shirt on that does little to hide the fine lines of muscle and meat on his massive frame. His work pants hang at his waist, cinched by a tool belt. He fixes the backwards baseball hat on his head.

“You’re up and moving.”

“Sort of,” I mutter, ignoring the dull ache.

“And where are you headed off to?”

“Out,” I say, waving my hand vaguely.

”You’re not supposed to be on your feet, Mac.”

“I’m fine, Ben. I just need some air, alright?”

“Alright, alright. But if JT finds out?—”

“He won’t find out.”

“You sure about that?” he shoots me a look.

“Am I being held prisoner?”

“No,” he holds up his hands defensively. “But you are a terrible liar, and we don’t trust you to just leave. We need to figure out who set the trap before you run off to the conservatory and tell them what happened.”

I ignore him, limp my way down the stairs, and out the front door.

The crisp mountain air hits me like a slap, and I close my eyes, inhaling the scent of pine, and of the forest, feeling more alive than I have in days.

And that’s when I see him, JT, coming out of the barn, shirtless, abs rippling under the morning, autumn light. My breath catches in my throat, and I swear under my breath.

Why are they all built like Greek statues?

“Morning, sunshine,” he drawls, smirking as he rakes his eyes over me.

“Morning, JT,” I mumble, averting my gaze.

“Thought I told you to rest.”

“I am resting. Outside.”

He crosses his arms over his broad chest, a sardonic eyebrow raised.

“You’re not ready to be out there alone.”

“I never said I was going alone,” I retort back.

---