Page 119 of Ten Mountain Men

“Anytime, Goldie.” He gives me a smile and a sweet kiss.

And with that, he turns and heads for the door, leaving me alone with my thoughts—and with the cameras still very much in place.

The sound of the door closing behind Hunter fades, and for the first time since I woke up, I’m alone. Finally.

I glance around, making sure no one else is lurking nearby. The brothers are outside doing their morning chores, the clatter of dishes is done, and it’s just me and the quiet hum of the cabin. Perfect.

I wipe my hands on a towel, my heart thudding in my chest as I make my way toward the living room. My eyes scan the cluttered shelves, seeking out the specific items that are so easy to overlook if you don’t know what you’re looking for. But I know. I spot one of the cameras almost immediately—a snail sculpture, camouflaged perfectly to blend in with the great outdoors…and the many, many knickknacks in the cabin.

Without wasting any time, I reach for it, my fingers closing around the cool stone surface. The weight of it in my hand is heavier than I remembered, and for a brief moment, I wonder if this is one of the cameras or just a tiny snail sculpture that was already in the cabin.

Focus, Goldie.I turn the snail over in my hand. This has to be one of them.

But just as I take a step toward the door, a voice cuts through the quiet, freezing me in place.

“What’ve you got there?”

My heart lurches into my throat. I turn slowly, trying to keep my expression neutral as Brooks steps into the room. His eyes are on the camera—or rather, what I hope he thinks is just a knickknack in my hand.

“Oh, this?” I say, trying to sound casual. “Just something I saw on the shelf when I was about to start dusting. It looked cute, so I picked it up to, you know, admire it.”

Brooks’s gaze lingers on me longer than necessary, his lips curling into a small smile. He comes closer and I think I’m about to get some of that good Brooks lovin’. Then I about die when he extracts the snail from my fingers.

“This doesn’t look familiar,” he murmurs, turning it over in his hand, studying it from every angle. I swallow hard, my heart racing faster now.

My brain scrambles for an answer, trying to keep cool. “It was tucked behind a few things,” I say, my voice a little shaky, but I hope not noticeably so. “That’s why I want to help get this place all cleaned up. So you guys will know what you have!”

Brooks steps even closer, and this time he puts the snail back in my hand, closing my fingers over it. “If you like this one, you can keep it, snapdragon. We’re not gonna miss it.”

The touch lingers, and I don’t pull away. His thumb brushes against my wrist, and I have to focus hard to keep my breathing even.

“But what you said is true,” he says quietly, his eyes flicking up to meet mine. “Half the stuff in this cabin has been here forever. I can’t believe that cheap little snail figurine caught your eye. Doesn’t strike me as your style. It’s not pink or shiny.”

There’s a light teasing in his voice now, but it’s laced with affection.

I offer a small shrug, trying to play it off. “I have eclectic taste.”

Brooks chuckles, that rumbly deep sound that always makes my stomach flip. “That you do. You seem to like your mountain men in all varieties,” he teases. “Brown-haired ones, black-haired ones, blond ones, Rusty ones.”

I exhale slowly, relief flooding through me. “Exactly,” I say, flashing him a smile.

Brooks lets the moment linger a second longer before stepping back, giving me some space. “I’ll be outside,” he says, his voice low. “If you need anything.”

There’s no teasing in his voice now. It’s just warm. Sincere. He gives me the kind of look that makes my heart stutter in my chest. I don’t know how to respond, so I just smile, hoping it’s enough.

He crosses the room to the back door in several long strides.

I glance down at the camera, just about to slip it into my pocket, when Brooks turns back. Before I can even react, he’s right in front of me again. I look up, startled, but there’s no time to say anything before he’s pulling me into his arms, lifting me clean off my feet. My breath catches as his lips press against mine, firm and unyielding, but so full of affection that it takes my breath away.

For a moment, I forget about everything—the cameras, the lies, the fact that I’m here for reasons he doesn’t know. Goodness, these men all have that affect on me, because I’ve been constantly forgetting those things. All I can feel is the strength in his arms and the way my heart skips a beat when he deepens the kiss.

When he pulls back, his face is still close, his breath warm against my skin. “I’m glad you’re here,” he murmurs, his voice soft but filled with so much sincerity it twists my heart in my chest. “You don’t know how much.”

Guilt washes over me, sharp and sudden. I should tell him the truth—about the documentary, about the cameras, about everything. But the words stick in my throat, tangled up with the warmth of his embrace and the bond we’ve been building, still new, still fragile, still with the potential to grow into…

Two weeks. Friendship. Sex. That’s it.

“Brooks,” I say, but I swallow the rest. I can’t do it. Not now. It would shatter everything. When I leave, at least I’ll be leaving good memories behind. There’s no point in ruining that.

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