Page 14 of Ten Mountain Men

I update my mental file: Wiseass Clay with the Rapunzel hair.

I settle into the arms of the man holding me, experiencing an entirely new view of the forest from up here as we follow what must be a path they know well, though it doesn’t look like a trail. They plow through each wild tangle of brambles and step over fallen branches and logs as though there’s nothing in the way at all. I realize that I’ve never felt so comfortable or safe in my life. I’m truly at ease, as though my heart and body believe I’m exactly where I should be and have auto-relaxed for some unexplainable, chemical reason.

Definitely, absolutely, one-hundred-percent concussed.

They said they’re not going to kill me, but allowing them to carry me off with pretty much zero resistance, along with the way my body is reacting to them, is definitely not a good thing. Like, I know how predators attract their prey. I’ve read Twilight. And I’ve fallen into their trap. We’re in the middle of nowhere! I have no cell service. I have no cell phone!

But just as I start to struggle in Hunter’s arms, the snarling maze of forest breaks open, and I’m too stunned to do anything but stare at the clearing before us, containing a wild vegetable garden bursting in a rainbow of colors, and a sturdy enough–looking log cabin, the front door left wide open like an invitation.

From a purely professional standpoint, the house isn’t much. I mean, it’s certainly not big at all, especially considering the size of the brothers. I mean, there can’t be more than a room or two, a kitchen, a bathroom—hopefully, because I won’t be taking a bath if the tub is just sitting out in the open. Just because I’ve seen theirs doesn’t mean I’m showing them mine.

But even though it’s very small and isn’t the most charming dwelling I’ve ever seen by far, at least it doesn’t look like what I imagine a derelict murderer’s mountain sex cult hideout would look like.

“Here’s home,” Hunter rumbles into my entire body.

I can hear the beaming pride in his voice as he says it. I know the sound of it well after working on a home renovation show with ten men for nearly a decade. The way he says it tells me he must have built this cabin himself, or at least lent a hand as it was being built. Taking in the weathered logs that make up the walls, I can easily picture the brothers carrying entire trees over their shoulders as they worked on the build.

Strangely, it’s a very appealing image, all these burly men building a log cabin. I’ve never had a thing for builders—as far as I was concerned, all ten Hammer brothers, as hot as they all are, were always Winnie’s guys.

But these men…

It’s curiosity, that’s what it is, I tell myself. I just want to know who these mysterious men are. I’m just curious to know how they eat, where they sleep, why they all live together up on this mountain, how they spend their time in their tiny little cabin. I produce reality TV—or Idid, I remind myself. Past tense. Either way, it doesn’t mean anything that I wonder about their lives. Curiosity is natural. Normal.

And maybe I’m reluctant for Hunter to put me down, but that’s probably just because of my primal instinct to protect myself while injured. Lynx was right. If my ankle is broken, I shouldn’t be putting weight on it. There’s no other reason I tighten my arms around Hunter’s neck, because Lord knows I’m not the clingy type. It’s just not in me. I’m the opposite of my mother. She clings, I kick.

And apparently, I lick, because there’s one last droplet of water winking in the sunlight at me, and I want to clean him up with my tongue so damn bad.

Who even am I?

Lynx has been leading the way through the garden, which up close is rambling and disorderly with vines and stalks intertwining haphazardly and plants spilling over their beds. It’s lush and full of life, but obviously is not carefully curated or maintained with aesthetics in mind. Lynx bounds up the front walk, and reaches the door first. He calls out, his voice like a boom of thunder, “Hey, we’re back!”

Then he turns to me, flashing this lazy wildcat smile that would weaken my knees and cause my full collapse if I wasn’t already being held by Hunter, and says, “Ready?”

Hunter squeezes his arms around me, and a couple of the others run past, flashing me equally heart-melting—no, panty-dropping—smiles as they dash through the door.

Am I ready?

Ready for an orgy, my inner vixen thinks.

I tell her to shut the hell up, because 1) my brains are concussed and scrambled and 2) I’m pretty sure an orgy would not even make the top one-thousand of perfect—or even good—ways to lose your V-card.

“I’m ready,” I tell Hunter.

Chapter 5

Goldie

But it turns out that nope, I am absolutely not ready for what’s next, because what’s next turns out to be my idea of a personal nightmare.

It doesn’t start out that way. As Hunter carries me over the threshold, my senses are overwhelmed by the most incredible aroma of home cooking that fills the air. It’s a blend of spices and herbs so tantalizing my mouth actually begins to water.

But then my gaze snags on the sheer chaos overwhelming every inch of the small cabin, and my concussed and scrambled brain explodes.

This too-small cabin would be cramped even with just the nine giant residents and the necessary furniture in it. But nevertheless it’s filled to the brim with belongings everywhere I look. Every single surface is covered with stacks of books and piles of clothes—none of them folded. Assorted knickknacks spill out from every shelf and corner, suffocating me. Hunter couldn’t put me down even if he wanted to because the floor in the crowded entryway is too covered up bystuffto even see it.

I try not to let the distaste show on my face, but I definitely should’ve let Lynx take me back to my car, where I could drive myself to the nearest hospital, get checked out, and get my trip back on track.

There’s a grunting sound to our left. “Stew’s cold.”

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