Page 62 of My Three Mountain Men

“Not if they can avoid it,” I replied, steering the vehicle downhill.

“It’s surreal how much they like the seclusion. Don’t you miss people?”

I shrugged. “You weren’t there in the aftermath of the plane crash, so I can’t really explain it to you, but we really did see the worst of humanity—if you can call it that. It was sick, what people would do for literal crumbs of wealth. They had no problem exploiting kids to get what they wanted, and if not for Ryder, Knox and I probably would have fallen victim to it all. So no, I don’t miss the ugliness that’s out there. I can come to Loganville anytime. We still have contact with the residents. We’re not trapped. We do the good that we can where we can but on our own terms.”

I took a breath, realizing I’d gone off on a little bit of a tirade, and gave her a sheepish look. “What about you? Don’t you ever get sick of posting your whole life online?”

Simone tittered. “I only post what I want people to see,” she replied.

“So you lie to people, anyway,” I said without thinking.

Simone gaped at me. “I don’t lie! I’m just selective about what my followers see. It’s really no different from what happens when you meet someone face to face. You don’t tell them everything. You withhold certain parts of yourself, don’t you?”

I snickered. “You’re asking the wrong person,” I reminded her, pulling onto a proper road. Simone sat forward, her eyes widening in awe.

“Are we here?”

I laughed again, genuinely amused by her reaction. “Aren’t you from Los Angeles?”

“So?”

“So I don’t think Loganville is going to impress you all that much,” I replied, turning the corner to show her what I meant.

The ancient gas station appeared first, the pumps from the fifties passing by as I steered toward the oddly out-of-place general store that had been recently renovated by the Svensons when they bought it from the Carlton family, who had owned it for three generations before.

Pulling into the tiny, six-car lot, I hurried around to open Simone’s door and helped her down as she navigated Knox’s oversized boots.

“I can’t wait to get shoes that fit,” she muttered, shuffling awkwardly toward the store. “Maybe I should just wait in the car until you bring me a pair.”

“I can,” I offered, but before she could agree, I heard someone call my name.

“As I live and breathe, Brooks Millan.”

Grimacing, I turned, Mrs. Whalen making her way toward me with her twins flanking her on either side. “How did you all survive the winter, honey?”

“We’re all still standing, Mrs. Whalen,” I reassured her nervously, casting Simone a warning look. We hadn’t discussed her backstory, but to my relief, Mrs. Whalen didn’t ask about Simone. She merely offered the blonde a polite smile and nodded pleasantly.

“Send your kin my love, will you now?” Mrs. Whalen asked. She leaned in to lower her voice confidentially. “There ain’t been hair nor hide of Winston since I sent for you.”

“And there won’t be,” I promised her, my jaw tightening at the memory of her abusive ex-husband.

“Come along boys,” she told her sons, waving as she made her way into the store, leaving us behind.

“Oh, she’s just a local we helped out once,” I replied evasively.

Simone’s brow raised. “You really weren’t joking about that stuff!”

I shrugged and offered her my arm.

She eyed it reluctantly. “Aren’t you worried that people are going to talk?” she asked, and I loved her for the concern.

“You don’t have to worry about anyone around here,” I reassured her. “Didn’t you see that Mrs. Whalen barely acknowledged you?”

“I did. I wasn’t sure if I should be offended or not.”

“Not,” I replied, taking her hand to scoop around my forearm. “Trust me. You don’t want nosy locals. And you need my help walking. First stop, footwear.”

We made our way into the store, Simone stumbling every two feet, smothering her giggles as I nodded at the residents.

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