Page 2 of Her Silver Fox Mountain Men

“I am.”

He hangs up.

I freeze, my mind blanking out.

What the hell?

A gasp escapes my throat as the scratching sound intensifies. It is now accompanied by an increasing rattle—the window frame is giving in to the repeated clawing motions. Dread washes over me, an icy sensation running up my spine.

I look around, holding my breath, waiting for something to happen, though I’m not sure what I’m expecting exactly.

Then I hear a gunshot.BANG!

I scream as the front door bursts wide open and in walks James McTierney. He’s shirtless, his grey pajama pants hanging low on his chiseled hips, a walkie-talkie clipped to his pocket. He’s a tall mountain man with broad shoulders and rippling pecs, his messy brown hair and matching beard sport specks of silver. But it’s his wide green eyes that have me hypnotized.

“What are you doing here?” I manage, out of breath. Without a word, he crosses the room and picks me up as if I weigh no more than a feather. I try to wriggle myself free, but his grip is tight, unyielding, as he holds me close.

“I just needed some help with the scratching,” I start babbling, my mouth moving independently from my brain. I can’t look away from this massive man.

“I can’t protect you and my twins in separate houses, so you’re coming with me,” he explains then proceeds to carry me out into the cool summer night.

“Hold on,” I say. “I need my things! I think the mountain lion is gone now.”

“It isn’t, and there’s more than one. I spotted them on my way in,” James says, looking straight ahead. He moves fast down the stony pathway connecting my cabin to the side road that leads right to his gates. “The only reason they stopped scratching at your window is because they heard me coming. You’re not staying here tonight.”

Dread finds me again as I summon the courage to look over his shoulder. It’s too dark for me to see anything but I can hear them.

The sound of heavy paws on the porch, the low growls, the sniffing, the window rattling again. My God, James is right; it’s almost as if we’re surrounded. I will be giving Mr. Ronald an earful as soon as I can get ahold of him over the phone. He could have warned me about the seriousness of the mountain lion issue. I don’t work my ass off at Laurie’s diner to pay this guy rent only to be on the dinner menu for the local wildlife.

We’re soon moving through the front gates of James McTierney’s mountainside property. Grey rocks jut out of the mossy ground, some illuminated by the moon that has finally emerged through a thick blanket of clouds. James carries me up a set of stone steps before setting me down.

I’m staring at an oversized cabin built on two levels with a sturdy river-rock foundation rising a few feet above tall wild grass. Outdoor lights are mounted above the front porch and at every corner of the house.

Oddly enough, I’m no longer afraid, and I realize I haven’t been since James first picked me up.

As we enter the cabin, I find myself standing in the middle of a spacious yet cozy living room. There’s a fire blazing in the stone fireplace, orange flames crackling as they devour the wood, and I welcome the warmth it exudes before I notice that we’re not alone.

“Oh,” I mutter at the sight of two other men.

James steps over to lock the front door then returns with a heavy sigh. “You’re better off staying here, Elise,” he says.

“Elise,” a blonde-haired man greets me, my name rolling warmly off his tongue as he gets up from an armchair and sets his book aside. “I’m Oliver,” he adds with a wry smile. He’s almost as tall as James and built like a linebacker, his grey loungewear doing little to hide his strong frame. “And this is Roman,” Oliver points to the second gentleman.

“Hi,” Roman says, his cool blue eyes scanning me from head to toe.

I need a minute to catch my breath and get my last two brain cells working in tandem again. “Sorry for the intrusion,” I say. “It’s just—”

“Mountain lions,” James cuts in. “This is Elise, our next-door neighbor.”

“Right, right,” Oliver replies. “I’ve seen you around. You work at the diner.”

“Yeah.”

My temperature is spiking under their persistent gaze, though I can’t look away from them. They’re all in their early forties, each one memorable in his own way. James is the tallest. I’m guessing he comes from an Irish background with his reddish-brown hair and green eyes. My fingertips suddenly itch with a need to touch his face, feel the coarseness of his beard, the tickle against my lips…

Oliver’s appearance reminds me of the stereotypical all-American jock, though his dark blonde hair and beard suggest he’s adjusted to the Colorado Rockies scene. Roman strikes me as the ultimate city guy who most likely moved out here for the peace and quiet. He has short black hair and a closely trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. He also looks like he hits the gym everyday—his black sweater and jeans stretching over a bulking, rock-hard figure.

“This is awkward, maybe I should just call the sheriff,” I suggest but Oliver won’t hear of it.

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