Page 17 of Ten Mountain Men

Up goes his bushy brow again. “You wanted something?”

“Oh. Yes. Two things, actually. I forgot I’ll need something to put on after the bath. You know, clothes.”

“You can borrow one of my flannels,” he offers without skipping a beat.

“That would be great.”

“Be right back.”

He returns a moment later with what I at first think is a flannel blanket. But then I realize, no, it is indeed a shirt. Have I mentioned they’re giants? They are. But I’ll make it work.

“The other thing?”

I’m really starting to like his bushy brows, I realize, as one rises again. They have character.

“The bubble bath—is it good to use in curly hair?”

“The raspberries and cream stuff, you mean?” He grins. “I don’t see why it wouldn’t be. Smells good, don’t it?”

“It smells great. Thank you.”

Relieved, I close the door after him and realize…there’s no lock.

Well, frrr-ICK.

Rose-Gold!I can hear my mother’s voice.Are you out of your mind? You cannot get naked and take a bath in the home of nine strange men who could barge right through that unlocked door and do God only knows what to you!

Yeah. It’s not a smart decision, on the surface. But I’ve always trusted my gut, always, and I know deep down somehow, as rowdy as they may be and as slobby as they might be, none of these guys would hurt a fly.

I undress and fold up my disgusting mud-soaked clothes, setting them in a neat pile on the floor before I get into the tub. I hesitate, wondering when it was last scrubbed. If it’s ever been scrubbed. I shake the thought off. That table was gleaming. I’m sure the tub has been scrubbed.

The bubbles rise as my body sinks into the hot, silky water that covers me all the way up to my chin. I can barely see over the bubbles.

Well! My day certainly took a turn I hadn’t been expecting. But I’ll get cleaned up, run to the closest ER if I must, then head back to my campsite and get back on track. I’ve got a documentary to make!

I close my eyes and feel the warmth envelop my body, melting the ache and exhaustion from my hike right out of my bones. The bubbles do smell amazing, and I let my hair soak them up. I’m sure it’ll be fine.

I’m wondering if I should move to a different location once I’m back at my car and campsite. Grumpy Luke called this his mountain. What if I’m trespassing on his property? They could make me leave. That would be within their rights.

I bite my lip. If they force me to leave, I’ll lose my chance to find the real Bigfoot.

But…if my Bigfoot really lives this close to their home…these guys would definitely have spotted him at some point. Right? They would know.

I need to do my producer thing and get some dirt. Well. Not dirt. I’ve had quite enough of that, I think. But some intel. I need to get some intel from them. And permission to stay on their property.

If I am on their property.

Crap. If I am, I’ll need them to sign a release to let me film here.

Can someone really own a whole freaking mountain?

I admit to myself that maybe I should’ve done some more research. It was naive of me to think nature just sort of belonged to everyone. It was shortsighted, foolish, and so not me.

“Only through meticulous research can a project rise to the peak of excellence, where every detail comes together with true cohesion and understanding,” I recite. “Evelyn Hartley, philosopher and poet.”

Closing my eyes, I breathe in the delicious raspberries and cream scent. I have to get the brand name before I leave. But for now, I need to relax, clear my head for a minute. Then I’ll come up with a plan.

I wince as pain shoots through my ankle when I shift positions. I definitely did some damage, but I don’t think it’s that bad. It’ll be tender, maybe bruised, for sure. But it can’t be broken. That would be such a setback. No way can I film a documentary on crutches!

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