Chapter 16Goldie

Chapter 16

Goldie

S ince it didn't snow, not even an inch, there's really no reason for me to claim I have to stay if Luke convinces Buck or any of the others I've got to go. So I decide it's best not to antagonize Luke. Maybe if I show him I can follow his orders, he'll mellow.

So I stay put on the couch.

Except for the ten minutes or so I don't.

I creep to my bag and retrieve the surveillance cameras from where I've carefully wrapped them in T-shirts. I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize that though my phone and high-speed camera are both dunzo, these are still exactly how I packed them. Totally unscathed. They're shaped like snails and stones and things, designed to be inconspicuous in the great outdoors, not inside a log cabin. But in this particular log cabin, stuffed to bursting with knickknacks and diddly-dos? I am pretty certain I can find places to sneak a few realistic ceramic snails and stones in amongst the fray where they'll go unnoticed.

Do I feel bad about it? Yes.

But my questions are getting me nowhere.

And it's not like I'm going to film them without their consent to show the world, or a single soul other than myself for that matter. No, the footage will just be for me.

It's still an invasion of privacy , my conscience hisses at me. A gross invasion of privacy and you know that!

I shush it.

This is for the greater good. Beyond that, it's the only way.

If the Bj?rnsson brothers are sons of my Sasquatch, they know where he is. It's not even about the documentary at this point. I just want to see him again. To thank him. To tell all the brothers that their father saved my life!

I have to admit to myself that none of my interviewing techniques are going to get my mountain men to tell me the truth. They're locked up like vaults. And I'm not going to use my feminine wiles to manipulate them. Especially not when Grumpy Luke apparently already thinks that's the type of person I am!

But…what makes reality television such a phenomenon is that when we're cooped up with people we even sort of trust—even if we so very much shouldn't—in a confined space, eventually, we say things we otherwise wouldn't.

I know for almost a fact the brothers are already covertly having the conversations I need to hear. But they're never going to let me be present to hear them.

So.

As quickly and carefully as possible, keeping my eyes and ears wide open, I hide the cameras in the main living area. Obviously, I'm not going to put them in the bathroom or bedrooms. That would be way over the line.

I'm careful—I can't risk getting caught and I'm so glad when the deed is done.

I'm not going to use any information I get to exploit them. Period. I won't even make any documentary taking place on this mountain without their unanimous permission and blessing, if it's true. But I have to find out. I have to know. If their father saved me, that would explain why I feel such an instantaneous connection with and attraction to these brothers!

I go back to the couch and keep casting glances in the locations where I tucked the snails and stones on the packed shelves, wondering if I'll even be able to find them again amongst the Bj?rnssons' overwhelming stash of bric-a-brac when I go back to get them later. Maybe I should draw myself a map. At any rate, there's no way they'll draw attention and lead any of the brothers to notice them. I hope. I triple-checked that there were no lights to indicate they were running or anything. They're totally inconspicuous.

I pop a couple of acetaminophen from my bag because I wasn't exactly careful on my ankle while I was rushing around trying not to get busted. Then I doze off.

I'm woken by a door slamming and Lynx calling out, "We're back!"

"With lots of fish!" Nash says.

The scent in the air confirms the announcement. My nose auto-scrunches. Unless it's sushi from a tried-and-true restaurant, I'm not really a seafood girl. I definitely don't need to see it in its original form before it becomes a meal.

"Everyone's outside," I tell them.

Lynx gives me a sweet smile but, yep, that white-hot desire is still there in his eyes. And I feel it in my groin.

"After we wash up, you want to finish what we started, darlin'?" Nash asks, his white-hot desire a less subtle variety.

"Um…" I hedge, thinking of his finger, right there, so close to being inside me. And also very aware that every moment of this exchange is being filmed. If we want to pick things up again, we'll definitely need to go to the bedroom because I'm not about to record my first time for posterity with a sex tape, nor am I going to make a sex tape with someone else without their explicit—no pun intended—consent.

"Let us let the others know we're back and pass off the haul for cleanin', then I'll wash up and check over your ankle," Lynx promises. "Did Luke treat you too bad?"

I shake my head, reminded that Luke doesn't want me starting any orgies and I don't want to piss Luke off, so I say to Nash, "My ankle really is bothering me, so…I'm probably not up to fooling around right now."

He looks disappointed but nods. "Well, if you get to feelin' better, you just holler," he says with a wink. "I'm pretty sure I'll always be up for foolin' around with you, pretty lady."

I give a nod I hope is noncommittal, but I'm thinking, Ohhh, I bet you could make me holler, big boy.

It's about ten minutes later that Lynx returns. He examines my ankle, rubbing it down in poultice again and rewrapping it, before taking a closer look at my forehead. My forehead is not a pretty sight.

"I can't believe you and Nash find me kiss-worthy looking like this," I say, touching the sore spot.

"Well," Lynx says. "Purple does happen to be my favorite color."

I smile. "My mom always said I was a unicorn, but…I hope that wasn't prophetic, because it looks like I'm about to sprout a horn!"

He smiles back at me, then with seriousness in those golden-green eyes, he asks if I'm experiencing any changes in my vision or sensitivity to light, do I still have a headache, am I nauseous or dizzy, and a few other questions.

"Am I gonna live, Doc?" I ask lightly.

"I'm not a doctor," he reminds me. "Just a…guy who can do minor first aid. But that bump will go down before you know it and the bruises will fade." He claps his hands on his knees. "So Luke decided we're going to be so late having lunch we might as well skip it and have an early supper instead. But if you're hungry, I can whip you up a sandwich or something?"

I tell him I'm okay. "I hope Luke's not too mad at me."

I wonder if this decision to skip lunch is part of Luke's master plan to sway his brothers over to his side, to make them believe it would be better if I was gone. A subliminal "If she's here, you're not getting fed" sort of message.

"He'll get over it," Lynx says. "Besides, it was as much mine and Nash's fault as yours, if not more. We should've known to stay on task. But you're one damn irresistible lady, Miss Goldie Locke, and I don't have a single regret."

"No?" I ask. "Not even that we were interrupted?"

He flashes that catlike grin at me. "Okay, yeah, maybe one regret then."

The brothers spend the vast majority of the afternoon outdoors, doing whatever it is that mountain men do, but there's frequent foot traffic as they come in the front door and exit out the back. With the exception of Grumpy Luke, whenever one of them passes through, they ask if I need anything. When I say I don't, they make various offerings anyway—more pillows, books, another glass of water, a hunk of meat.

That last one came from Nash, and I'm honestly not sure if he was offering to finish what we started down at the water again or legit asking if I wanted a steak.

Or a can of spam, but hopefully not that.

In any event, I'm losing my mind as I mostly stick to the couch, per Grumpy Luke's wishes. I'm bored and antsy. I could at least be cleaning this place up a little! I look around, surveying the various piles, moving things around in my head, organizing this, tossing that, dusting the hell out of everything. Their floor is basically a shelf, and I could get so much done in such a short amount of time if they'd let me!

But I stay put.

This is for the greater good, I tell myself again when guilt hits about the cameras. And, oh, it hits.

Then something interesting happens.

Clay comes in, asks me if I need anything, cracks a joke that's like a seven on the one-to-ten scale of appropriateness, but it makes me laugh anyway. Then. Then he leans over the back of the couch and says, "I see you're downright busy as a bee here, but could you squeeze in a li'l bit of time to make me over?"

I enthusiastically volunteer. After I'm done with the general manscaping like I did on Rusty and Buck, he surprises me by asking me for a legit haircut.

"I think I want to try it short," he says.

Stunned and a bit dismayed, I convince him to let's try a man bun instead, to see how he likes the feel of it being off his neck before we just hack it all off. I'm not sure he would look right without his Rapunzel-long hair, and if he takes care of it properly, it's actually really great hair.

He's blond like me, but his shade of blond is platinum with natural sun-kissed lowlights mixed in. Once I'm finished with it, it's thick and luxurious and wavy. I want to rake my fingers through it and kiss him hard on the mouth, but I resist. The twinkle in his crystal-blue eyes kind of lets me know he's maybe thinking about that too.

He agrees to think about it some before the major hairstyle change, but does insist on taking his beard short. Figuring it'll grow back much quicker, that doesn't seem as high stakes, so I agree. Cropped and shaped, his beard makes a perfect frame, accentuating his very kissable lips.

After I'm done with Clay, Brooks is waiting. We talk while I work on him, and after admiring his freckles—swooooon!—aloud, I actually manage to draw a little bit of info out of him. The brothers are each two years apart, almost exactly, with Grumpy Luke being the eldest at forty-two—he looks older, not in a bad way, but I won't be telling him that—and Rusty being the youngest at twenty. A baby! Brooks himself is thirty-eight.

I wonder if maybe the cameras were an extreme measure and unnecessary. Maybe patience was what I needed, and more time.

But I remind myself—I don't know how much time I have. And odds are very high Grumpy Luke's patience will wear out completely before mine will even get thin.

By the time everyone gathers for supper, I've made over everyone but Luke and I am thrilled. Thrilled and hornier than ever. But thrilled. The results are astounding, and I wish like hell I had before and after photos.

We dine on fried fish, cornbread, and baked beans. As if their appearance affects their table manners, supper seems to be way less chaotic than our previous meals. Civilized, even. Luke has three helpings of the beans but none of the others touch them, which I find adorable and thoughtful. Obviously they're avoiding the beans because they don't want to get gassy and fart in my presence. Very considerate. I stick to the fish and cornbread too. The fish is sooooooooooooo delicious, mouthwateringly so, which is a thought I've never had about fish, ever.

I tell Grumpy Luke he's an excellent cook and he mutters, "I know," around a mouthful of cornbread, but other than that, he pretty much ignores me. I consider it progress.

To my dismay, they all leave the table, one by one as they finish eating, and return to the same spots they occupied last night, book in hand.

My mouth twists as I try to figure out this dilemma.

As picky as Grumpy Luke was last night about not talking while they read, I seriously doubt there's going to be any deep and revealing conversation tonight. Ugh, I hadn't considered that at all.

I also don't know if I was just stupid with lust or what, but…during reading time or not, how will they ever have any deep and revealing conversation in the living room for me to catch on camera…if I'm always in the living room with them?

Ugh.

I could take a bath!

But that might not give them long enough to get to talking.

Hmm…

What to do, what to do…

When in doubt, fake it!

That's what Dr. Mara Levine advised on that one episode of her ill-fated series GOOD SEX! With Dr. Mara Levine.

She was talking about orgasms of course, but let's be honest. Sex with these guys? I wouldn't have to fake jack. They could probably make me come by staring at me hard enough.

But…

There is something else I could fake, that would get me out of the room. Well, there are several things, including explosive diarrhea, but thank God that's not the route I'm going to have to take.

"Ow!" I cry as I get up from the table.

Three or four of the brothers are up and rushing over to me, offering assistance.

"Are you okay?" Brooks asks. He looks so hot with his beard a reasonable length.

"Oh, I don't know…" I grab onto his shoulder, like I need his help just to remain upright. "It hurts real bad. I think I might just want to take some pain pills I have and maybe go to sleep? But…since I sleep on the couch and I certainly don't want to displace all of you, or interrupt your routine—"

"But you don't sleep on the couch," Buck says. "You sleep in my bed."

"She slept in your bed last night," Lynx says. "But that doesn't mean she's going to sleep in your bed every night. The rest of us have beds. She might want to try one of ours."

"Here we go," Luke remarks, without looking up from the book of quotations. We really do have common ground there, if he would just let me in a little!

Lynx shakes his head, then nods, as if having an internal debate. "She would be more comfortable in one of the single beds than one of the bunks. Put her in your bed, Buck."

"I can sleep with you tomorrow," I offer Lynx. "I mean, if I'm still here," I add quickly.

"Tomorrow it is," he says with that catlike smile, those golden-green eyes dazzling as he winks one of them at me.

"Is it okay with you if I tuck her in?" Brooks asks Buck.

"Well, that's up to her," Buck says. "But I don't have a problem with it at all."

Luke harrumphs, as if Buck was speaking to him.

So after I change into my pajamas and brush my teeth and do the rest of my nightly skincare routine, Brooks carries me bridegroom-style and settles me in Buck's bed. He pulls up the covers around me, carefully tucking them around my chin.

Then he says, "Be right back."

When he returns, he has two glasses of water.

"Oh, thank you. But really, one will suffice…"

"Be right back," he says again, placing both glasses on the bedside table.

When he returns this time, he has the most beautiful bouquet of wildflowers I've ever seen.

"I picked these for you just before supper," he says, putting them in the extra glass of water.

My heart does a thing.

"No man has ever given me flowers before," I admit.

He looks at me, his face solemn. "That's a damn shame, and it's an honor to be the first." Then he lights up. "Say…I don't suppose you'd want a lullaby?"

"You sing?" I ask, surprised.

He nods. "A little bit."

Who in their right mind would say no? "Please. I'd like that a lot."

But when he opens his mouth and starts to sing, a capella, a song I've never heard before, my mouth drops open and hangs there. This man doesn't sing a little bit . This man has one of the most gorgeous voices I've ever heard in my life. Swoon, swoon, swooooooooooooon.

When he finishes, I'm so moved there are tears in my eyes. "That was beautiful, Brooks. You…you're so talented. Thank you for singing to me."

He shrugs modestly.

"You're very welcome, snapdragon," he says. "I'm happy to oblige, anytime."

"Snapdragon?" I ask.

"They're my favorite flower," he says, nodding at the bouquet. "Those yellow ones there remind me of you."

Then he bends and very gently presses his lips against my forehead.

"You sleep well, Gold. Have sweet dreams and if you need anything at all, holler and at least one of us will come running."