Page 21 of Ten Mountain Men

He very much doesn’t want me to enjoy it. Yet his glare dares me not to try it, almost like he’ll be equally as offended if I don’t take the stew as he is by me taking it. He watches me until I finally pick up the spoon and take a bite, trying not to think of the backwash.

I nearly swoon. Holy Lord, it’s even better than it smells.

This is amazing! I start to tell Grumpy Luke what an incredible cook he is, but then I look from brother to brother, and I can’t do anything but stare. They’re digging into their stew so voraciously they’re back to resembling wild mountain things. What in the fresh Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs hell have I stumbled into? Or is this more Beauty and the Ten Beasts?

It’s appalling. But absolutely fascinating.

“Who wants another roll?” someone rumbles, snatching the basket of bread.

“Me!” four or five of them shout.

All of a sudden there are rolls flying through the air. One whizzes past my ear. I barely dodge it.

“Roll, Gold?” A man whose name I don’t know yet holds one of the rolls like he’s going to pitch it overhand right at me.

I do want one, but I’m also terrible at catching things. He doesn’t wait for my response before it’s flying through the air at me, about to smack me in the face.

Shutting my eyes, I brace myself for impact, hoping the rolls aren’t hard because my face has already taken enough damage today without a hard roll to the nose. But the expected hit doesn’t come. When I open my eyes again, Grumpy Luke is holding the roll, having caught it in midair.

I lean forward and take it from him. “Thanks.”

“Guys,” Luke says. “Whether I like it or not, we have company. If you could not behave like pigs at the trough for once, I would appreciate it even if she doesn’t.” He gestures at me with a fork in a way that says he kind of wants to stab me with it.

I’m not sure how to respond, so I try buttering my roll. I don’t see any butter knives, so I just kind of press the roll against the butter and rub it. I take a bite. It’s just as heavenly as the stew. It practically melts on my tongue, and the butter has the slightest hint of honey. Sweet Lord, the only time I’ve had bread this scrumptious was pre-Covid, when Chez Sophia, a tiny French patisserie, was open a block from my apartment.

“This is amazing,” I tell them earnestly as soon as I’ve swallowed my first mouthful. “Does the butter have honey in it? It’s so good! Which one of you made these rolls? They’re definitely not store-bought!”

“Luke,” someone says, and the others murmur something that sounds like an agreement. “He makes them from scratch.”

“That’s the only way to make anything,” Grumpy Luke says.

“Well, they’re heavenly, really and truly. I could eat these and nothing else for the rest of my life!”

Grumpy Luke is glaring at me hard, apparently not a fan of even my compliments, so I take another bite and study the other brothers, unable to contain my curiosity.

“Who are you guys?” I finally wonder aloud.

They all jump in, talking at once.

“Quiet!” Grumpy Luke barks.

The brothers all listen to him, and watch him, waiting to see what he will do or say next. It was clear from the start that he’s the pack leader. The Alpha-Bigfoot. Which is why my heart sinks when Grumpy Luke shakes his head at me. “You’re just passing through, Gold. You don’t need to know anything about us.”

He bites into his roll without taking his eyes off mine. Challenging.

“Except we definitely could be a sex cult, if you want us to be,” Clay cracks.

“That’s not very polite, though, is it, big brother?” Lynx asks Grumpy Luke, his cat eyes flashing. “You’re the one always reminding us that we’re not wild animals in the woods, and yet you’re being a…what do you like to say? An uncouth swine?”

I burst out laughing, and a few of the other guys chuckle under their breath, but Grumpy Luke turns his stabby glare on Lynx, not at all amused.

“Fine,” Grumpy Luke says, more annoyed than ever before, clearly, but settling into his chair. “I suppose we could do introductions—”

“Introductions, finally,” the guy called Rusty says. “I wondered when you were going to address the elephant in the room.”

“Rusty, you fucking jackass!” Hunter says. “Don’t call her an elephant.”

“Watch your language, Hunter,” Long-Bearded Brooks interjects. “It isn’t polite to swear in front of a lady, that I know. And it’s rude as hell to call her an elephant, Rusty. I think big-boned is what you’re supposed to say.”

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