Page 30 of Ten Mountain Men

Besides, me agreeing to a makeover would be me making a decision without my brothers, and I didn’t like it when they did that to me so saying no is definitely the right thing to do…

But she sure is pretty.

“You’d be surprised what a difference even a couple of hours could make,” she says, her voice soft as she looks me over. “After all, it’s not like I want to change everything about you. Just some minor enhancements.”

What harm could there be in some minor enhancements?

“Well,” I say, “if you’re offering, I’m not gonna turn you down. Just a little bit of cleaning me up, you said?”

Rose-Gold lights up at that, making a sweet little sound of happiness that’s a cross between a squeak and a squeal.

“Good,” she says with a grin, “because I’ve got a few ideas for you in mind already.”

And I should be worried, probably, but I can’t help but laugh, because maybe, just maybe, even if only for one night, this little spitfire andherfancy, feminine touch is exactly what we need around this place.

Chapter 9

Goldie

Irummage through my toiletries bag, thrilled and delighted that Rusty’s going to let me work my magic on him. I’m pretty sure I alienated all the others with my brilliant makeover idea, but I swear I didn’t mean any harm. I see the potential in them, even if they don’t. Even if they say they don’t care.

Ha! Everybody cares. Everybody wants to look their best, they’re just worried deep down that their best isn’t good enough. That’s what I believe, anyway, but I think anyone can be beautiful if they play up their strengths to minimize their flaws.

Maybe once I show them, via Rusty’s makeover, the others will see the light. Societal standards suck, but they are what they are. We can’t do anything about their size—and I sure as hell wouldn’t want to! You deserve every inch of space you take up in this world, I’m a firm believer in that. But if tweezing their eyebrows and trimming their beards and hair will help keep anyone else from mistaking them for Sasquatches, I think they’ll all agree it’s worth it. Don’t any of them want love? They must.

And maybe, after they’re all made over, I can suggest they let me organize their cabin…

Settle down, Goldie, I tell myself. That feat would take a couple years, and you’ve got one night.

I’m definitely getting ahead of myself. But it’s hard not to get carried away. The potential I see in them is like nothing I’ve seen before. I’m talking about the kind of potential that makes me genuinely sad I didn’t meet them in a different circumstance. A different time, a different place.

But, I refuse to give up my principles, even if my libido is easily swayed by their beautiful eyes, and those bodies, sweet Lord, those cocks. I know a li’l makeover won’t be enough to subdue the kind of mess these men would make of my life. Not just in their substandard grooming, the Junkstore Cottage Core and their, um, not exactly civilized mealtimes, but I can already see now that I would end up desiring every single one of them. How would that work when Grumpy Luke doesn’t even like me?

I’m glad I’ve finally won over Rusty, though. Nine out of ten of these men thinking I’m worth smiling at—and checking out—isn’t bad.

But it isn’t perfect.

I know how I sound, but I’m not just a high-maintenance girlfriend-zilla, I swear. I just know what I want, I know what I deserve…and I know what my idea of perfection is. Ten gorgeous men fawning over me might sound perfect in theory, but in reality, all I can see is the chaos. Yeah, Win and the Hammer bros are making it work, but that’s the exception not the rule.

Fantasy is one thing, but in reality, I’m a one-guy girl—and whoever that guy is, well, he’s going to have to be one of a kind, not ten.

As I rummage through my toiletries for the travel-sized bottles of shampoo and conditioner, memories of Mother flood my mind. She’s a whirlwind of chaos. Her life is all messy relationships for her and broken promises for me. With each new husband came a whole new wave of instability, and I spent my entire childhood feeling adrift, like I was floating in a sea of domestic uncertainty, waiting to sink.

One particular memory stands out vividly in my mind.

I was just a kid, eagerly anticipating my eleventh birthday, which my mother had promised would be perfect. All I wanted was a trendy outfit from the coolest store in the mall, Blue Roses, the shop all the popular girls got their clothes from. Mother promised a trip to the hairdresser too, to finally get my golden hair, which was always kept in a long ratty braid down my spine, into a mane worthy of a princess.

But as the day approached, her latest husband ruined it, as usual, making the day all about himself and leaving my mother in tears, locked up in her room with a headache from crying. And I was left alone on my birthday after that awful stepfather of mine told me Blue Roses was too expensive, that I was too fat and ugly and didn’t deserve to shop there anyway. I cannot imagine calling a child ugly.

That was the day I realized I couldn’t control the actions of others, but I could control myself. And I could sure as hell prove everyone wrong. Not only was I not ugly, I was smart and determined. I worked tirelessly to achieve top grades in school, and when I received my final report card, adorned with straight A’s, my mother barely glanced at it, too wrapped up in another bit of drama regarding another messy relationship.

I didn’t even care—I had done the best I could do. I was valedictorian. And I was off to LA, ready to make my own way in the world, and looking pretty damn fabulous all on my own. Until I was grown, I’d never been able to afford anything as expensive as Blue Roses, but as I grew into my curves, I learned how to dress cute on the cheap and do my own hair almost as good as a salon could.

With each memory, I feel a pang of longing for the stability and happiness that always seems just out of reach, even now, but I push it aside and prepare for the task at hand. I grab the detangling spray and a wide-toothed comb. Thankfully I have a backup in case this first one snaps in one of Rusty’s knots.

I can’t control the situation I have literally fallen into, or the men around me, or whether or not Grumpy Luke hates me, for that matter. But I can find joy in making someone else feel beautiful. And that’s my new official mission—make Rusty feel just as freaking gorgeous as I know he is under all that hair. I think he might have dimples, and those should be displayed for the world to see.

With any luck, the others will want to feel freaking gorgeous too.

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