Page 20 of Ten Mountain Men

I’m fucking ravenous, but it’s not their job to feed me.

I limp over and climb into the empty chair. It’s oversized, like the brothers, so I almost need a step stool. As I settle into my seat, my stomach growls, calling out my lie. Ugh. Embarrassing. Not to mention, my feet dangle, my toes not even brushing against the floor when I stretch my legs.

Why is there an empty chair? Why do they have an extra? Is there another brother somewhere who hasn’t appeared yet?

“You can have the rest of my stew,” Clay offers, sliding his bowl in my direction. “I do like a lot of hot sauce in it, though.”

So much that his stew is a violent red. Even if I could eat stew that has a total stranger’s backwash in it, this would not be the stew I’d choose. “Thanks, but that might be too hot for me.”

Clay grins and takes a huge bite. His unruly beard isn’t in the bowl, but it’s definitely in the danger zone.

The longer I spend in their company, the more baffled I am by these guys. There are great products for facial hair these days. Why aren’t they using them? Their beards could be glorious, things of beauty rather than overgrown, untended chin bushes.

“She should have the rest of Luke’s bowl, then,” Rusty says, apparently no longer salty about me stealing his bath. “He’s had enough.”

“She’s not having mine,” Grumpy Luke grumbles. “And it’s not for you to decide when I’ve had enough, Rusty.”

“Then the least you can do is fetch Gold some of the rolls,” Lynx says.

I open my mouth to object, to declare again that I’m fine, and that my name is actually Goldie not Gold, but before I can, Grumpy Luke gets up, with an eye roll and an exaggerated sigh, shoving his chair back. He goes to the kitchen.

From a cabinet I couldn’t reach with a full-blown ladder, he procures a basket and dumps the tray of rolls into it. Slamming it down in the middle of the table, he looks at me hard, his eyes catching me like a deer in headlights, and grunts, “Butter?”

“Um…”

“We churn it ourselves, Gold,” Hunter says. “You’ll never have better butter.”

“Well then, yes, please, on the butter.”

Luke drops a saucer with five pats of butter on it in front of me. Well, I don’t know if pats is an accurate way of describing it. Blocks? Bricks? I’m not planning on eating that many rolls. In my entire life.

“Thank you.”

He grunts again. I assume this one meansyou’re welcome.

Then he surprises me by asking, “You drinking sweet tea or ice water?”

How downright hospitable of you, Grumpy Luke!

“Um…”

Why can’t I say anything other than “Um…”? Especially since I never had anything to drink after hiking up the whole-ass mountain and my mouth is now dryer than a whole-ass desert.

Apparently assuming my um is a yes, Grumpy Luke goes off to the kitchen again. As soon as his back is turned, Lynx slides his brother’s bowl of thirds toward me.

“Here, Gold. This portion is rightly yours.”

I stare at the bowl and then at Lynx in unveiled horror, but he just smiles this lazy wildcat smile at me.

“Well? Aren’t you going to try it?” His golden-green eyes are so earnest and concerned, like he actually cares about my well-being and hunger.

“No, it’s really okay,” I insist. My traitorous stomach growls again.

A moment later, Grumpy Luke thuds a glass of sweet tea down in front of me with a splash.

“There you go, stranger,” he says to me, and then he slides into his seat and glares hard at his brothers. “Looks like Gold is all set, so the rest of you better dig in.”

Then he looks at me, again, and I’m not sure if he’s smiling or grimacing as he says, “Hope you enjoy that bowl of stew.”

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