Page 105 of Ten Mountain Men

“It’s…just another room,” he mutters, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Goldie turns to look at us, her eyes imploring, regretful. She doesn’t ask whose room it was, because she’s probably already figured it out.

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat making it impossible to speak for a second. Buck and I exchange a look, and I know he’s waiting for me to say something.

“This was Ma and Pa’s room,” I finally say, my voice quiet.

Chapter 33

Goldie

Istare at the door for a moment, feeling the weight of my mistake sinking in. What the hell was I thinking, poking around in a place that’s not mine? Yes, Luke gave me permission to clean, asked me to clean, but I don’t think he meant for me to run around yanking open literal doors that were clearly meant to stay shut. I reverently close the door to their parents’ bedroom and spin around, my heart pounding.

They clearly hadn’t wanted me to open it, yet I’d bulldozed on.

Buck and Nash are both watching me, their eyes filled with a pain they have definitely not healed from. Grief. Seeing their hurt hurts me.

“Guys, I’m so sorry,” I blurt out, stepping away from the door. “I didn’t mean to push like that. I was just trying to help, but I’ve overstepped. Let’s just…put those boxes back where they were and cover the door back up, okay? I won’t mention it to any of the others. I won’t mention it ever again.”

“Thank you,” Buck says, and Nash just nods, though he looks a little guarded. Then again, I noticed that expression on his face before I made them move the boxes, before I opened the door. Buck goes on, “It’s just—”

I shake my head. “You don’t have to explain. Let’s put the boxes back where they were. But we’ve got to figure out what to do with the books in the living room.” I like that we got them organized, but I doubt any of the guys, especially Luke, will think them covering the tabletop and chairs is an improvement from them covering the floor.

I chew on my bottom lip, thinking. “How about this—until you can plan and build the drawers, let’s just stack the books under the beds? It’ll clear up the living room for now, and we can store them properly later.”

I can’t actually believe there’s nothing under their beds.

Nash’s lips twitch in the faintest hint of a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s not a bad idea, actually.”

“Thanks.” I nod, grateful for his agreement. “And again, I’m really sorry for pushing. I just want to help.”

Buck moves closer, his warm, comforting presence putting me at ease. “You don’t have to apologize, Goldie. We all make mistakes. We don’t have any closets, but we do each have a dresser.”

He gestures around, pointing at them. “They’re actually mostly empty. We aren’t really that good at folding.”

“Oh, okay. That’s good, about them being empty. We need to change that, then.” I nod.

But I still feel the need to make things right, to heal what I’ve hurt.

I step toward Nash first, opening my arms a little awkwardly. “Can I offer you a hug as a proper apology?”

Nash’s eyes widen for a second, caught off guard, but then his shoulders relax and he lets out a small chuckle. “Yeah, alright,” he says, his voice softening as he steps forward, wrapping his arms around me and lifting me off the ground. His embrace is solid, and as I press my cheek against his chest, the tension in my own body eases.

“Thanks,” I whisper, giving him a squeeze before he puts me down and I step back. I turn to Buck and hold out my arms again. “You too?”

He doesn’t hesitate, picking me up and pulling me into a warm, gentle hug that nearly makes me melt on the spot.

“No need to apologize, darlin’,” Buck murmurs into my hair. “You’re doin’ just fine.”

I hold on to him for a moment longer, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. When we finally part, I take a deep breath and nod. “Alright, let’s get the books moved.”

We work in silence, but it’s a comfortable one, more about the need to get the job done than anything else. Each of us grab stacks of books—obviously mine much smaller than theirs—and carefully arrange them under the beds. Nonfiction under the bunks, fiction under the individual beds, everything organized alphabetically. There’s something about the three of us working side by side that feels…right, despite my gigantic misstep.

As the living room starts to clear up, I can’t help but smile.

“This is looking a lot better already,” I say, satisfied. Of course, there are still tchotchkes aplenty and piles of paper and enough blankets to cover every float in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade…and clothes every damn where. But you can tell we’ve made a dent. A fairly significant one.

By the time I leave, this place will actually be livable, but I feel a pang, deep down. I don’t want to think about that. And there’s no reason to, now. Why spoil the present by thinking about two weeks from now? I need to live in the moment and…

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