Page 9 of Her Silver Fox Mountain Men

“I counted four last night,” James replies. “One large female, possibly an older cub, and two younglings.”

“Yeah, that tracks. I think we’re familiar with this particular family,” Porter replies. “They’ve had run-ins with other Rustic locals over the past few weeks. Someone fed the cubs, and now they’ve gotten a little too comfortable around humans, hence why they’re coming down the mountain more frequently.”

“What can we do?” I ask.

James exhales sharply. “I reckon we’re going to have to get some dogs.”

“That will help scare the cats away,” Johnson agrees. “There’s a particular breed of mountain shepherd dogs from Eastern Europe that might fit in beautifully out here. I can give you a website. You can look ’em up and talk to them.”

“Oh, yeah, the Romanian Carpathian Shepherds!” Porter exclaims, smiling. “Resilient, fearless, and good with kids. Great dogs.”

“Okay but until we can get the dogs, what else can we do?” I ask.

Porter looks at James. “You said Miss Morris is staying at your house for the time being?”

“Yes, sir.”

“As she should,” Porter sighs. “I’ll issue old man Ronald a warning regarding the state of this place. The sheriff will back me up on that. He needs to do a better job of securing the windows and the door.”

“Jesus, I’ve been living this close to disaster for a year? Is securing the windows and doors all we can do? Should I crash at their place until it’s sorted?” My mind is racing with question after question.

Johnson sighs deeply. “Ma’am, it’s the best we can do right now. We’ll see if we can push the cats farther up the ridge. We’ll drop some fresh animal carcasses closer to the peak. That’ll keep them away for a little while but it’s only a matter of time before they’ll be tempted to come down again, searching for food.”

“Welcome to the Rocky Mountains,” James scoffs.

What the hell am I going to do? I thought it would be weird sharing a house with three stupidly hot men, but after what just happened with James, my concern meter just shot through the roof. I’m in for a heap of trouble. The spicy, rowdy, sexy, potentially devastating kind of trouble.

“I guess you’re stuck with us for a while,” James says to me, a playful flicker dancing in his eyes. “Not that I mind.”

Deep down, I don’t mind it either. It’s the voice in my head that minds; it keeps announcing the trainwreck that I’m about to step into.

All I can do is brace myself.

5

Elise

By the time Mr. Ronald arrives at the cabin, the Wildlife Service offices have left and Oliver and Roman have joined us.

We sit in the living room, surrounded by the chaos left behind by the animals.

I’m in the armchair, clutching my ravaged blanket, a bag packed at my feet. James, Oliver, and Roman have taken the couch while Mr. Ronald stands, rather than risk sitting on a crumbling wooden stool.

“I’m sorry this happened to you, Miss Morris,” Mr. Ronald says, clearly not that eager to be here. He can barely look me in the eyes. “I’m afraid it comes along with living in these parts.”

James gives him a cold glare. “I don’t know about that. I’ve never had a mountain lion come into my kitchen.”

“Well, it’s an old place. I warned her when she first moved in,” the older man says. Mr. Ronald is in his mid-sixties and a widower of ten years. He’s got an apartment in town and rents out the cabin for long-term leases. His health doesn’t allow himto live in the mountains anymore. Too many accident risks for a man in his condition. “It’s not for the faint of heart.”

“Mr. Ronald, we all know you could’ve done better as a landlord,” Oliver cuts in, while James and Roman occasionally steal glances at me. “This whole incident could’ve been avoided if you’d heeded Elise’s request for a few repairs.”

“You’re right,” Mr. Ronald agrees. “I’ll change the latches and the door lock today. I’ll drive into town myself and get the parts.”

Oliver shakes his head. “Oh, I think you’re going to be doing a whole lot more than that.”

Mr. Ronald is getting irritated and defensive. “Hey, I own this place. I’ll run it as I see fit.”

“You can do that. Or I can just call the mayor and explain what sort of lease practices you’ve got going up here,” Oliver shoots back. “We’re frequent attendees at the monthly town hall meetings. I’m sure I’ve heard your name mentioned once or twice from previous disgruntled tenants complaining about a violation or ten. You’re no stranger to it, and most of Rustic is well aware.”

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