Page 21 of Shared By the Mountain Men

“I don’t need…”

“Noah asked,” Ash cut in, voice soft and yet commanding. “Better for your ankle.” He shoved the bike another inch closer, impatient for me to take it. So I did.

He nodded, then got back in the truck and drove away.

Chuckling to myself, I began rolling the bike across the campsite to my cabin. I’d had some interesting interactions with men today.

And the day’s not over, I thought while walking past the main campsite cabin. Jack was sitting on the porch, his feet propped up on the railing and a bottle of Jim Beam on the table next to him. Two cats were lounging on the porch, a pair of tabbies, while two cats with darker coloring sat in the bushes down below. Jack’s eyes locked onto me when I came into view.

I should have walked on by, but I was in a weird mood after spending the day in town. I was more confident in myself. And the devil on my shoulder was insisting that I scratch this itch.

“You’ve got a lot of cats,” I said, resting the bike against the fence and climbing the porch like I’d been invited.

“They aren’t mine,” Jack growled, as if I had insulted him.

“Then why are they all around you?”

Jack’s eyes followed me as I sat in the open chair. “You try telling a cat what to do.”

I chuckled, then grabbed the bottle of liquor. The cap was off, and there weren’t any glasses, so I raised the bottle to my lips and took a very long pull.

Jack watched the entire thing silently, frozen in place except for his eyes following the bottle. As soon as I put it back down, he said, “Sorry for calling you a bitch at the clinic.”

The change of subject caught me off guard. “I think you called me an asshole.”

“Yeah,” Jack admitted, “but I wasthinkingbitch. I just didn’t want to say it out loud.”

“Congrats on the self-restraint.”

“Thanks,” he replied, as if my comment wasn’t sarcasm.

Feeling an opening, I said, “At the clinic… You were right. I was kind of being a bitch. I’d had a bad day. Sorry.”

Jack’s head swiveled so he could look directly at me. “That sounds like an apology.”

“If you make a big deal about it, I’ll take it back,” I warned.

He shrugged and raised the bottle. “Cheers. To the two of us acting like adults.”

“Emphasis onacting,” I replied, accepting the bottle from him so I could take my own sip.

“I’ve had a rough year,” Jack said.

“Tell me about it,” I murmured.

“My fiancée cheated on me last year.” He stared off at a campfire burning one site over. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure if you were asking rhetorically or genuinely.”

Everything that had pissed me off about this guy was now illuminated in a totally different context. The short conversations. His annoyed attitude. The way he rolled his eyes and bluntly told me that I needed his help or I would freeze on the path.

He was hurting, and trying his best to cover it up. Just like I’d been doing this past month.

“It was rhetorical. But too late to take it back now.” I softened my tone. “That sucks. I’m sorry.”

“Me too. I’ve been lashing out at everyone since it happened, even my friends.” He laughed bitterly. “I wonder how much of my bullshit they’ll tolerate before they leave me, too.”

I stared at Jack with new eyes. Why was he telling me this?

“That’s very self-aware of you,” I said carefully.

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