Page 16 of Ten Mountain Men

“Thank you,” I say.

They leave. Brooks (I think?) is last, and he shuts the door behind them, leaving me alone. I turn back to the bathtub. It really is the biggest thing in the house, so far as I’ve seen. Large enough to fit an entire one of the mountain men and still have room for me.

That image pops into my head so fast I don’t have a second to brace myself, and my whole body flushes as the space between my legs tingles. With a groan, I get up and take a peek in the cabinets to see if there’s anything I can use, but there’s nothing that belongs in a bathroom other than a box of toothbrushes and a half-empty bag of toilet paper rolls.

The spare tubes spill out onto the floor. It’s the straw that breaks this freaking camel’s back.

“What the hoarding woodrat-infested hell is up with the people in this town?” I exclaim, the words spilling out of my mouth before I can stop them.

But seriously, what the hell is up with all of their clutter? This place is even worse than the shelves of the overpacked general store. Is there something in the water in this freaking mountain town that brings out a need to surround your inner peace with outer pandemonium? Or are mountain dwellers more inclined to hoard any shiny thing, like dragons?

I realize I’m being bitchy and judgmental. But I can’t imagine how or why anyone would choose to live like this, because Ihavelived like this.

I better make sure I never mention this place to my mother. She’ll want to move right in. She has as many piles and bags of stuff spilling out everywhere in her house as she does ex-husbands. Moving out of that house was the escape I’d always dreamed of. I love Mother, but the thought of falling into a life like hers, full of messy relationships to match her messy piles of sentimental items she can’t bear to part with, gives me actual chills of apprehension.

I sigh, settling back on my heels in defeat. The thought of washing my hair without shampoo or conditioner gives me chills of apprehension too. The cabin is small, so I can’t imagine there’s another bathroom, but how do these guys live with no toiletries? At least they have a bar of unscented soap. That’s something.

But why, with all they don’t have—notably razors or shaving cream—do these uber-manly men have bubble bath that smells so damn glorious?

I take a deep breath through my nose. Perfection.

I want to know what’s in it. Hopefully it’s safe for natural curls like mine.

I start to open the bathroom door, but I’ve only opened it a mere crack when the sounds coming from the kitchen and dining area make me take a step back and close it again.

It’s like a bear foraging through a campsite, clattering and clanging, grunting and snuffling.

Someone lets out what might be considered a roar, and I flinch.

“Hunter? Lynx?” I call through the door crack.

There’s a clatter and then Brooks appears.

“You called?” he asks, with a raise of one bushy brow.

I don’t mean to be judgy, but his bushiness is out of control. No wonder I thought they were Sasquatches! His hair is wild, and his beard—the longest of the bunch—hangs down almost to his navel. Well, where I imagine his navel is. Such a hairy, hairy man. Long-Bearded Brooks.

His eyes are the most gorgeous, piercing green, and the corner of his mouth lifts in the cutest little smirk as he waits for my response. And freckles! I didn’t notice it before, but there’s a sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of his nose. I’ve always had a thing for freckles.

“You’re not her damned butler!” a voice so grumpy it has to be Luke’s shouts. Followed by a louder roar. “God, Ranger, could you use a damn spoon?”

My nose wrinkles up automatically, and I feel bad when Brooks notices my reaction.

“We’re a little rowdy, Ma’s always said,” he says with an apologetic shrug.

A little. That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard of one! It sounds like a toddler’s birthday party at the zoo during the lions’ mating season out there.

“Ranger sops his stew up with a hunk of bread and then drinks the rest straight out of the bowl,” Brooks explains. Then he lowers his voice, but it’s still not quite what I’d call a whisper. He has a very nice voice. “That’s how we all like to eat it, but it makes Luke cranky.”

“Is cranky not, like, his default state?”

Brooks laughs.

What a sexy laugh.

It gives me actual goosebumps. Swoooooooooooon.

I am so confused by the whiplash-inducing speed at which my mind oscillates from “how unappealing are these men and their environment” to “oooh, mama likes.”

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