Page 38 of Ten Mountain Men

Chapter 11

Lynx

Iwake up every morning in the pre-dawn hours. I get up, and I thump whichever one of my brothers is snoring loud enough to knock down the whole damn mountain on the forehead. I head outside to get a lungful of the fresh morning air while I take a piss, and then I go back inside and back to bed…

But not today.

Well, I do all of that, except the going back to bed part. Instead, I head to the living room—and I’m smiling. While I was outside, I found myself whistling some happy tune I can’t quite place.

I’m excited.

I shouldn’t be. I know I shouldn’t. A woman’s presence in our house is a once-in-a-lifetime temporary thing. It won’t ever be more than that. Still, knowing that Goldie is here, safe, and hopefully comfortable, makes me happy. Anything that changes up our routine makes me happy. But her, she makes me especially happy.

No matter how short her stay with us is, I’m going to enjoy every damn second of her company. Even if it just makes the daily grind harder once she’s gone.

But my smile falls right off my face when I see that the couch is empty. Did Goldie sneak out during the middle of the night? I hope to God not because her wandering around out there in the dark, not knowing where the hell she’s going—and injured, at that—would be so dangerous.

My heart does a littlethud thud thud, anxious in my chest.

I retrace my steps, trying to find my boots so I can go out and look for her, but when I swing my flashlight this way and that, I see something I didn’t see before, in the front bedroom.

There’s a lump in Buck’s bed. A Buck-sized lump. And then a smaller lump on top of that lump. A what-the-fuck-sized lump.

A distinctly blonde head of curly hair peeks out of the top of the covers. My happiness levels drop to the floor.

I could look at the bright side and be glad she didn’t leave.

No one stirs when I clear my throat. There are two sets of snores coming from Buck’s bed—one soft and cute, the other like a damn wild boar with sinusitis.

“That’s it,” I say loudly. “Today is the day I give you the ass-kicking you’ve been begging for, Buck Björnsson.”

Or…I want to say it. What I actually do is head to the kitchen, where no one did the supper dishes last night. Or the lunch dishes. Or the breakfast dishes.

Since there are no clean bowls, after I make oatmeal, I stand at the stove eating it straight out of the pot. I make it the way I like it—enough maple syrup to take a bath in, a couple handfuls of chopped walnuts, and a box of raisins.

“Good morning,” a sweet voice says and I jerk, stabbing myself in the neck with the serving spoon I was eating with.

I turn around and there she is, close enough to touch.

Lord have mercy, she is a sight to behold.

Also note to self—Goldie walks quietly.

None of us do anything quietly.

I try to return her greeting, but between my mouthful of oatmeal and the blow to my Adam’s apple, it comes out sounding like, “Accck, goof murdin.”

She smiles at me. Turning, she walks over to the nearest window, where the sun is just coming up. Even though she’s noticeably favoring her left foot, making her gait uneven, her hips sway like the tops of the trees just before a summer storm. Back and forth, back and forth, soothing and gentle before the breeze turns into a full-blown wind.

My body reacts accordingly. It’s biology, that’s all. Especially if she’s already chosen Buck. That bastard.

Can’t go down that road again.

“Hmm,” she says. “It didn’t snow after all, huh?”

“No, ma’am, it did not.”

And that’s fuckin’ weird, because Ash is never wrong about the weather. When he gets up and sees he was, he might just have an actual identity crisis.

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