Page 8 of Eco-Activist's Mountain Men
I nod, wincing again as I ease my bandaged wrist from under the blanket. Flexing it sends another jolt of pain racing up my arm. Definitely not good.
I test my right foot next and immediately regret it.
"Ow. Yeah, the ankle’s worse."
"Told you," he says with a grin. "Luke says you’re lucky it wasn’t broken. Anyway, to finish the summary—there you were, passed out in the storm, soaked through. Southpaw either saw you fall or came along later, but he spotted you and alerted us.Luke carried you back, took off your wet clothes, patched you up, and put you to bed. Got it?"
"This Luke guy… he took off my clothes? Just like that? Without asking?"
"Look, lady… if you’re gonna climb into other people’s walkways in the middle of a thunderstorm, try to hang activist banners, fall, knock yourself unconscious, and then lie there drenched while rain and hail beat down on you… You’ve got to accept the consequences. He could’ve left you out there to die of hypothermia."
I nod, cheeks burning—half from imagining one or more of these loggers stripping me naked, half from knowing he’s right.
"You’re right. I’m sorry. I am grateful. It’s just… well, honestly, it’s humiliating."
"Wonderful. Thank you. That’ll be fifty bucks."
"What?" My head snaps up. Just when I think I’ve caught up with this conversation, he blindsides me again.
"Oh, it was a bet. Our resident scientist, Eric, said when you woke up and heard Luke took your clothes off, treated your wounds, and put you to bed, you’d go ballistic. He thought you’d accuse him of harassment or try to get us arrested. I said you’d have more sense than that, even if you do dye your hair neon pink and climb trees in a thunderstorm for fun." He grins again, smug and boyish.
I decide to let it slide, though I’m not thrilled about being the subject of a fifty-dollar wager. But I’ve got more pressing concerns.
"I need the bathroom."
"What?"
"I said, I need the bathroom. You know… I need to go."
"Oh, right. Sure. There’s one down the hall. Second door on the left."
I try moving my right leg. "Ow. Damn—how the hell am I supposed to get there?"
"You’ll be fine once you’re on your feet. Want a hand?"
"Yes… But I don’t think I’m wearing anything."
"Oh, I don’t mind." His grin widens, and I have to admit—his broad shoulders, the strong jaw, that easy confidence and sleek, almost pantherlike poise—it all makes me feel strange, traitorous things. Am I actually getting wet? Now? Seriously?
"Yes, but I mind."
"Spoilsport. Okay, okay." He raises his hands in mock surrender before I can snap at him. "Just joking. I’ve got a bathrobe. It’ll be a little big, but it’ll cover your… er… modesty. Wait here—I’ll be right back." He winks and disappears down the corridor.
As soon as he’s gone, I throw back the sheet to confirm what I already suspected. I’m stark naked. Completely bare from head to foot.
Shit. Best get upright before he comes back.
Carefully and slowly, I swing my legs out of the bed and sit up, pulling a sheet around me to protect my modesty. I’m not hugely well-endowed in the boob department, but still—better to already be upright before he comes back. Although… would I really mind if his eyes wandered over me? Or his hands, for that matter…
"I’m back."
"Shit! Ow!" Startled out of my skin, I jerk upright, jarring my ankle in the process. "Damn, that hurt."
"Sorry."
"Alright, it’s my fault. My mind was… elsewhere."
"Okay, well, here’s the robe. I’ll turn away. Promise not to peek."
