Page 25 of Ten Mountain Men

Rusty crosses his arms. I can hardly see his skin peeking through the hair on them. “The whole mountain is ours.”

“Oh.” I press my lips together. And I wonder if this is it—if my time with them, my time on the mountain, is up. If my documentary is dead in the water before I even had a chance to get going with it. I haven’t found out anything about anything yet.

I wipe my mouth with my napkin, about to debate my options when Grumpy Luke says, “Lynx will help you take down your tent and pack up before he walks you back to your car. If you want to camp alone and get eaten by a bear, it’s your funeral, but you can’t stay on this mountain.”

I don’t even have my tent up yet, but they don’t need to know that. I narrow my eyes, ready for a challenge. “So…if I went to, say, the clerk’s office for whatever county has jurisdiction over this area, I would find property records to verify that this mountain—or at least some of it—is not, in fact, public land.”

The way Grumpy Luke’s eyes narrow tells me that I, in fact, would not find those records.

“Listen,” I tell him, “I’ll respect your privacy and I’ll stay off whatever part of the mountain is yours, if you’ll just show me where the property lines are, but as far as I’m concerned, unless proven otherwise, the rest of the mountain belongs to the people and I’m not trespassing or doing anything illegal by camping on it.”

“And no more peeking on us while we bathe?” Ash—or is it Nash?—asks. The two don’t look anything alike, other than the beardiness and burliness and long hair—I just missed who Grumpy Luke pointed at when he said Ash and who he pointed at when he said Nash since they’re sitting side by side.

Once again, my cheeks are flaming. “That was an accident. And it was your choice to run after me in your birthday suits. And it’s not like my own modesty has been completely spared. If you haven’t forgotten, Rusty has seen me in nothing but a pile of bubbles.”

Rusty is the one with the flaming cheeks this time. “I didn’t see anything but bubbles!” he sputters. “You saw me in my underwear.”

“You have a very nice butt,” I say sweetly.

“As do you,” Clay says to me with a playful wink, pulling a grin out of me even though any other guy would have gotten my iciest stare for all of his unsolicited body comments. I tell myself it’s only because it would be hypocritical of me to be annoyed with Clay for vocalizing appreciation of my ass when I started it by bringing up Rusty’s.

“As do you,” I echo, returning his wink, because though I haven’t really gotten a good look at his backside, I’m sure it’s true.

“Would y’all like us to just push everything off the table onto the floor so you can mate right here and get it over with?” Luke demands. He gets up. “I’m having dessert.”

I mean, if I had prior sexual experience and wasn’t saving my V-card for Mr. Perfect and the Perfect First Time, I’d be inclined to say, yes, let’s do that.

“Here’s the deal, Gold,” Hunter says. “This is not the first time someone has come up here, nosing around, trying to get a blurry picture of us to sell, claiming they’ve spotted a real, live Sasquatch. We live the way we live because we like the peace and we like the quiet and we generally like being left alone and we definitely like not being exploited. So if you’re just another looky-loo out to make a buck off our size and appearance, please leave. We’re humans, not some freak-of-nature sideshow.”

There’s a hurt in his hazel eyes that hurts me.

I shake my head again. “No, it’s not like that. At all.”

How can I explain? I struggle for the words as he pulls a rubber band—a plain, elastic, office-supply store rubber band—off his wrist and wrangles his sandy-blond mass of locks back into a ponytail. I shake my head, because now is not the time to focus on how much damage that is causing to his hair!

I clear my throat. “I didn’t even know anyone lived up here. I heard a noise. Lots of noises—you’re hardly quiet. I had my phone because I live in modern times, I get calls, I get texts…” I give an uneasy laugh. “My phone is like an extension of my arm. And I had the camera to take pictures and videos of the scenery. I’m not just another looky-loo. I would never exploit anyone that way. That’s horrible.”

And it’s why I don’t want to work for any of the salacious shows I’m getting offers for, the trashy ones that do just that.

They’re all exchanging looks and I know it means they’re having some silent discussion on whether or not to kick me out.

Finally, it’s Rusty who speaks up. He sighs a real deep sigh first, as if he’s having some kind of massive internal conflict. “It’s going to be real cold tonight up this high. You know how to build a fire?”

I smile, feeling a small wave of relief for some reason, that he still seems to care even though hisget out, get awayvibes were initially just as strong as Grumpy Luke’s. I nod. “I watched some videos online and practiced a couple of times. I can manage.”

Grumpy Luke has returned with a pie. A whole pie. He’s standing, holding it in both hands, eating it like it’s a hamburger, his beard catching all the crumbs. So many crumbs. So much beard. Such gorgeous intense gray eyes.

Quite frankly, I don’t think I’ve ever been so confused in my entire life. I turn my attention back to Buck, who’s speaking.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Might be better if you stay here at the cabin tonight. Especially since you’re hurt. We can go fetch your things and bring them back here. In the morning, we can either take you to your car so you can go to the hospital, or back to your campsite. It’s supposed to be warmer for the rest of the week, right, Ash?”

“Yes.”

A-ha! Now I know which one is Ash—black hair like Lynx and Brooks, and he looks younger than Nash, who has chestnut-brown hair, by at least five years or so, maybe more.

“Um…” I say. The thought of getting to spend the night here, getting to know these men, talking to them more, getting to know their story…it’s intriguing.

Mother would have a fit if she knew, which makes it even more enticing.

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