Page 129 of Ten Mountain Men

I suck in a breath, awestruck, as I spin in a slow circle. This place is like an Alice in Wonderland fever dream designed by Salvador Dalí on ’shrooms. Wooden and metal sculptures are everywhere, peeking out from behind topiaries and nestled amongst intricately designed arches. Wildflowers of every color of the rainbow and some colors I didn’t even know existed climb trellises and sprout up in patches.

There’s even a gazebo, wild vines that drape over its weathered whitewashed beams and weave in and out of the latticework like festive garland at Christmastime.

Then there’s the stone fountain—a statue of a whale. From its spout arcs a stream of crystal-clear water that sparkles in the sunlight. I can’t believe I didn’t hear the calming splash of the water last night, but then again, we were probably overpowering that with our own sounds.

I turn, startled by a life-sized grizzly bear rearing up on its hind legs, its wooden claws looking sharp enough to draw blood. A family of deer are frozen mid-leap, their graceful forms captured in oak and maple. There’s even a collection of fantastical creatures that look like they escaped from a Guillermo del Toro film.

A low stone wall surrounds the perimeter, marking the large octagon-shaped area.

Without even thinking, I’m snapping pictures like a tourist at the Louvre, trying to capture every intricate detail of it all. There’s a gnome riding a snail that’s so lifelike, I half expect it to wink at me. I’m zooming in on the snail’s spiral shell when a gruff voice nearly makes me drop my phone, which, honestly, I don’t even remember picking up. We really are addicted to these things as a modern society, and a few days of detox was not enough to break me of the dependency.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

I whirl around to find Luke standing there, looking like a pissed-off lumberjack who’s just rolled out of bed—which, to be fair, he probably has. His long gray hair is a tangled mess, and his beard looks like it’s trying to eat his face.

“Hey,” I say, not really thinking anything of it, because we have a truce andWhat the hell do you think you’re doing?is a pretty standard question for Luke to ask, even when he’s in a good mood.

But he stomps over and yanks my phone out of my hands.

Oh, that’s right. I’d snatched it up without even thinking to use a plant-identification app I’d installed before hitting the road for this trip—well, not this trip, because I did not planthistrip—to keep me safely away from poison ivy and anything else that might cause a rash. Though I never had to use it for that, I’ve now learned that the star-shaped flowers in shades of blue and purple are Wild Aster, while the tall spikes of magenta flowers are Fireweed. I recognized the black-eyed Susans, but the spiky pink blooms next to them are Wild Bergamot, also called Bee Balm, which I did not know.

Yes, I’m slow and stupid from all the sex and, you know, being in love, and it takes a minute for me to realize I have done something very, very, wrong and Luke is very, very pissed.

“I thought this thing was broken,” he booms, waving the phone in my face.

“It was,” I say, holding out my hand, but he doesn’t give it back. “Ash fixed it for me.”

Then I press my finger to my lips, and nod toward where Ash and Ranger are still sleeping.

“These sculptures are all amazing. Did you make all of these?” I ask in a hushed voice.

Luke’s scowl deepens. He looks from me to my phone, then back to me. The last picture I snapped of the gnome is still visible on the screen.

“Are you fucking taking photographs back here?” he booms. Ash and Ranger don’t stir, but I imagine they’re exhausted and used to the booming.

“Yes, but—”

“What the hell are you even doing back here?”

I gesture at Ash and Ranger, this time with my hand, pointing clearly so he can’t miss it. “We spent the night out here. And let’s not wake them up, okay?”

“They brought you back here?” he demands. “Fuck not waking them up, I’m going to wake them up and kick their asses.”

Uh, so much for the truce? Maybe this place is like his attic, off-limits?

“I’m sure they didn’t mean any harm, Luke,” I say, reaching out to touch his arm, hoping to calm him—

“You really don’t want to fucking touch me right now, Goldilocks.”

“I think Ash just wanted someplace really romantic for us to make love. I swear, I—”

“You can make love on the damned moon for all I care, just not fucking here,” he grumbles. “No one is allowed back here. No one but me and my brothers.”

“But the sculptures are so beautiful,” I protest, because apparently stepping in doo-doo isn’t good enough for me. I need to do a fricking jig in it. “Don’t you want people to see your art? It is yours, right? You and the others made all of this?”

“If I wanted people to see this, I’d drag it all down to the foot of the damn mountain and put it out where all the looky-loos could get their drool on everything, ruining it all like they ruin every damn thing,” he grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement makes his biceps bulge.

Now is not the time to notice Luke’s biceps bulging. Or anything else. Though right now the only other things that seem to be bulging are his eyeballs, like they might pop right out of his head and roll down the mountain.

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