Page 33 of Eco-Activist's Mountain Men
“What do you mean, different?”
“I mean… the others were nice. Fun. No regrets. Well—maybe one. But that’s not important now. Jesus, this is hard. I’m not good with words, Luna. Not for stuff like this.”
“Who is?”
“Yeah. True.” He shakes his head. “Okay… I guess I’m trying to say that with you, it feels different. Sure, there’s the sex. I won’t lie about that.”
I nod again, my heart pounding.
“But it’s more than that. I feel like we’re friends. Like we actually know each other. Not just physically, but… really. I enjoy being around you. You make me laugh. I like your wit and your weird little rants. I like teasing you and watching you pretend to get mad. It’s fun. And I don’t get tired of it. That’s new for me.”
He leans closer, eyes soft now.
“So yeah. It’s early days, Luna. But yes—you already mean a lot to me.”
He pauses, gaze steady, almost searching.
“And I’m guessing… I’m not the only one.”
It’s two in the morning when my phone flickers to life, buzzing and beeping, announcing a backlog of missed calls and texts.
Finally. A signal. About fucking time.
I yawn and reach for it, knocking the phone off the nightstand in my haste. Half-asleep, I grope blindly, but instead of cool plastic, my fingers land on something furry.
A tail. It twitches indignantly out of my grasp.
That motherfucking wolf again.
I flick on the bedside lamp. Sure enough, Southpaw is sprawled under my bed, just waiting for me to trip over him if I’d gotten up in the dark.
“Get away. Go on. Shoo.”
He doesn’t move. Just gives me a look—vaguely superior, faintly amused—then starts licking his paw like I’m not even worth the effort of being annoyed.
I sigh, swing my legs out, and drop to my knees. My ankle twinges—healing, but still tender—as I stretch flat under the bed until my fingertips snag the phone. No thanks to the hairy doormat now grooming himself with exaggerated smugness.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I check the screen. One bar of signal. Maybe I’ll get better reception outside. Wide awake now anyway. Fresh air might help.
I grab Toby’s gray toweling robe and pull it over the oversized T-shirt Eric lent me. Not exactly my style, but clean. My options are limited—I’ve only got two pairs of panties, two pairs of socks, and my hiking boots. I tried Eric’s sneakers once, but I’m a size five and he’s a ten. Felt like walking in flippers. I didn’t even bother asking the others. They’re all giants.
The night outside is fine and clear, the moon full enough to turn the lodge and yard silver. Everything looks softer, more magical in moonlight than in the harsh brightness of day.
And, of course, Southpaw follows me out.
Great. Stalked by a filthy, arrogant wolf.
With Luke’s crutch to steady me, I limp across to the homemade bench and sit. Southpaw yawns, stretches, and resumes washing. Somehow, he manages to radiate disapproval, like he’s the one babysitting me.
I shrug. Tough shit. I didn’t ask you to follow me.
Two bars. Better.
Texts flood in from Mom and Dad, worried but vague—they didn’t know I was heading to Mount Hood, so they have no clue I’ve been stuck in a storm, cut off from the world, limping around a logging camp with a sprained ankle and an insufferable wolf as a shadow. I type a quick group reply: I’m fine. Stuck in the middle of nowhere with no signal. Will call when I can. Send.
More texts from friends: Where are you? WTF? You alive? Same reply.
Then voicemail. Mostly the same—Mom again, friends. I skip through them until I hit one from Tim, our fearless Kill Climate Change leader. Curious, I put the phone on speaker so I don’t have to hold it up to my ear.
