Page 41 of Ten Mountain Men

I snort. “You like Luke?”

“Weeeeeeeeeelll,” she says, drawing out the word, and then she laughs, which makes me laugh. “The jury is still out on Grumpy Luke, but he sure seems to have found me guilty on all accounts of everything.”

There’s a questioning note in her voice.

“Luke likes our life the way it is and doesn’t want things to change,” I say. “That’s all.”

That’s not all, but as comfortable as I feel with her, Goldie is practically a total stranger and she doesn’t need to know all of our business.

“And what about you?” From behind, she draws some of my hair back, tucking it behind my ear.

We’ve reached the slow-moving river. I could put her down now, but one of her arms is around my neck, hand resting on my chest, and both of her legs are still wrapped around me, squeezing tight.

“What does Lynx want?” she asks, and I can feel her breath, warm and wispy, against my earlobe.

I clear my throat and give her an appropriate response. “Uh. To catch some fish.”

What do I want?

I want to rip off all our clothes and take her into the river and thrust into her so damn hard every damn drop of the damn water sloshes out onto the bank.

But saying so wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me.

I put her down along with everything else I’m carrying. I set up the folding chair I brought along for her, then I turn around and…she’s kneeling, scratching in the hard ground with a stick.

“Sunshine, what are you doing?”

She looks up at me, her eyes wide and innocent. “I was trying to help. I thought I’d dig up some worms?”

“Not necessary,” I say with a smile. “But I appreciate your gumption.” I open up the tackle box and choose some bait. Once I’ve got the rod ready, I hand it to her. “Do you want me to show you how to cast? Or do you recall?”

She shakes her head, blonde curls flying back and forth—her hair really does look like it’s made of spun sunshine. “Do you mind if I just watch you?”

“You could watch me do anything, anytime, anyplace.”

She laughs but then closes her mouth fast.

“Do we need to be quiet?” she whispers after a moment, after she’s settled into the chair. “Or can we talk?”

“We can talk,” I tell her.

“So…did your dad teach you how to fish?”

Just like that, I wish I’d said this was a silent activity. Out of all the things she could ask, she asks that? Moving down a ways on the bank, I say, “He did.”

We don’t talk about Pa. Ever.

“So…you’ve lived on the mountain your whole life, then?”

“Most of it.”

In my peripheral vision, I see her nodding, curls bouncing.

“And what about your parents? Do they still live somewhere up here in the mountains too?”

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. “You sure ask a lot of questions.”

“That’s how you get to know people, right?”

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