Chapter 36Goldie

Chapter 36

Goldie

A fter lunch, Buck and Nash and I spent the afternoon doing more cleaning, while Luke made pies with the Moonspice apples. Will I ever be able to eat another apple without thinking of orchard sex with Clay? Will I ever be able to go to the doctor again without thinking about Lynx's emergency cunnilingus therapy? Will I ever get five minutes alone in this damn living area to take the damn cameras down? If I had a Magic 8 Ball handy, I have a strong suspicion it would say Better not tell you now or Outlook not so good.

I was expecting that we'd be eating fish for, you know, every meal I didn't make myself for the next two weeks, and I'd resigned myself to developing a taste for it. But apparently, they cleaned and froze that haul for the winter.

For supper, after making the pies, Luke made spaghetti and meatballs. I didn't even think to ask what the meatballs were made of, though they tasted like chicken, so they could've been anything. I decided it was best not to think about it and focus on the fact that, like everything Luke cooked, they were delicious.

For dessert, everyone got their own pie, which the guys picked up and ate with their hands like hamburgers. I didn't want to offend them by cutting a slice of mine and putting the rest in the refrigerator, so I chose the when-in-Rome-do-as-the-Romans-do route and ate my pie the same way they did. Of course, unlike them, I didn't eat the whole pie. But there was something oddly freeing about just hefting it up and taking big bites out of it. And it was the best pie I'd ever tasted in my life.

Then it was time for reading and then bed by nine-thirty.

The old Goldie probably would've found this day-in-day-out routine mind-numbingly boring and a bit of a drag. But I find it oddly comforting.

It rained again and there were no leaks, so everyone was in a pretty good mood and there were no arguments about where I would sleep. The bed was set up for the three of us, so I just settled into my spot between Clay and Buck and drifted off into a blissful, dreamless sleep. An active sex life with multiple mountain men really wears a girl out, apparently.

The next morning, I wake up early, because we're supposed to start cleaning again right after breakfast—which is the one everyone-for-themselves meal around here.

"Good morning," I say, spotting Buck and Nash already at the table. They each have a pie. I grab an apple and some sunflower seed butter and join them.

"Morning, Goldie," Nash says. "Sleep well?"

"Like a rock," I reply. "You two ready to clean?"

Buck glances at Nash, then back at me. "We have to tend to the chickens first," he says. "You can join us if you want."

I blink. Tending to chickens? Somehow, that never made it onto my mental list of things these mountain men do.

"You have chickens?" I think of the meatballs last night. That tasted like chicken.

Nash laughs. "Just for eggs, yeah. You haven't heard the rooster?"

"They're way out back," Buck says. "So you might not have."

"I'd love to help," I say, surprising myself, because I'm not really an animal-tending-to type of girl. Animals are inherently messy as hell, and helpless to clean up after themselves. But chickens. Why not? After gardening and apple-picking, I'm basically an off-the-grid pro at this point, right?

By the time the others start rolling into the kitchen—and I take time to admire each and every one of the men, all still shirtless and in their underwear—Buck's already halfway out the door, making it clear he's ready to get to work. I give everyone other than Luke a good-morning peck on the cheek, then fall into step with Nash, who walks a little slower, his arm brushing mine as we make our way down a narrow path that winds further into the woods than I'd realized their property stretched.

"Careful, darlin'," Nash says, reaching out to steady me as my foot catches on a tree root. "You want me to carry you for safety purposes?"

"I think I can make it," I tell him.

"Well, if you feel the need to stop for a rest, we can duck behind a tree and do a little smooching," he offers. And a very tempting offer it is.

"Duly noted," I say.

"Work first, play later?" he guesses.

I nod. I wouldn't say Luke is exactly enjoying my presence yet, but I'm also not sure he'd protest too much if I wanted to extend my stay a day or two or five. I don't want to rock the proverbial boat.

By the time we reach the chicken coop, Buck is already at work, focused and precise as he fills up the feed containers. The coop itself is nestled in a small clearing, surrounded by tall trees, because everything on this mountain seems to be surrounded by tall trees. Maybe I should learn what some of these trees are.

"You'll want to keep your distance until they know you," Buck says as he gestures toward the chickens. "They can be temperamental."

"Kind of like you," Nash says, elbowing his brother playfully.

Buck gives him a sideways glance but doesn't respond. He's too focused on showing me the ropes—how to scatter the feed evenly, how to collect the eggs without startling the hens. I try to follow his instructions.

"Careful, Goldie," Nash warns. "That one's got a temper. Bit Buck once, and he could barely hold back tears."

"I did not hold back the tears," Buck says. "That shit hurt."

I laugh, almost dropping the egg I'm holding. Then I do drop it as a chicken squawks loudly in my direction, making me jump.

Nash's laugh is low, warm. He steps up behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat of his body, and leans in to murmur near my ear, "Careful, Goldie. They can smell fear."

I swallow hard, the proximity doing things to me I don't want to admit out loud. "I'm not scared," I say, though my voice isn't as steady as I'd like.

Then, before I know it, his arms are around my waist in a casual but undeniably intimate hug from behind, his chin resting lightly on my shoulder. "Oh, well, they can smell arousal too. Are you aroused? And if not, is there anything I can do to help with that?"

"Hey, buddy, you're supposed to be helping with the chickens, not distracting me."

"I'm multi-tasking," Nash replies, his smile evident in his tone.

Buck straightens, eyeing the two of us with a raised brow. "There are plenty of other places you can multi-task," Buck says. "You're getting the chickens all riled up."

Nash only grins wider, giving me one last gentle squeeze before stepping away. He winks at me as he moves to the other side of the coop, though the loss of his warmth leaves a surprising emptiness in his wake. "I think it's your feathers gettin' ruffled, Bucky."

"My feathers are just fine, thank you very much," Buck says. "But you just stepped in chicken shit."

We continue on, Buck and Nash unable to go two minutes without some good-natured ribbing between them. There's never any heat or malice behind it and I have to say it's quite entertaining. Sibling dynamics have always been fascinating to me.

"You're doing good," Buck says after a moment, his eyes on mine. "For someone who's never handled chickens before."

"I had good teachers," I reply, glancing between him and Nash. Then I tease, "Well, one good teacher, anyway."

I stick out my tongue at Nash and he says, "Oh, baby, don't put the goods out front if they're not for sale."

"What the hell does that even mean?" Buck asks, rolling his eyes.

By the time we make it back to the cabin, the sun's higher in the sky, warming the cool morning air.

As we step inside, the smell of coffee hits me first, followed by the sight of Luke standing by the counter, glancing over his shoulder at us. His eyes land on the basket Buck's carrying, filled to the brim with eggs, and for a split second I think he might smile.

"That's more than I expected," he says, his voice gruff but not unfriendly. "Nice work."

Luke's eyes flick to me, then back to the eggs. "You want an omelet?"

I blink. "I thought breakfast was fend-for-yourself."

"It usually is," Luke mutters, already cracking eggs into a bowl. "But I'm feeling generous today and if you've never had an omelet made with fresh eggs, you're missing out."

I bite back a smile. "I don't normally eat breakfast and I already had an apple and some sunflower seed butter, but this sounds too good to turn down."

Nash chuckles, giving my arm a playful nudge. "Luke's omelets are legendary. You're in for a treat. I'll take one too."

"You can make your own," Luke says.

"We should wash up first," Buck says, and yes, I do want to scrub the…whatever's on my hands after dealing with the chickens…off.

When we make our way back to the kitchen after taking turns at the bathroom sink—and how do ten men share one bathroom without killing each other, anyway?—Luke's already dishing up plates, and I take a seat at the long wooden table, eyeing the organized chaos in front of me. Despite what he told Nash, it appears he's made omelets for everyone.

It's hard to believe this is the same place where I had my first meal with them—where it felt like a pack of wild animals descending on the table, grabbing whatever they could. Today, there's an order to it. Plates are passed, conversation flows, and it feels…comfortable. Easy.

Luke places a plate in front of me, and I look down at the fluffy omelet, a blend of golden eggs, cheese, and fresh vegetables. "Some people are weird about mushrooms, so I left them out of yours."

"Thanks," I say, surprised at how genuinely grateful I am. Maybe it's just the mountain air, or maybe it's…something else. "It looks amazing."

And it is amazing. It's so amazing that when Luke offers me seconds I say yes without even thinking about it. When everyone pushes back from the table and starts getting up, I seize the opportunity.

"I'll get the dishes," I offer quickly, standing up and gathering plates before anyone else can volunteer. It's the perfect chance to finally get those cameras down without anyone noticing. "We don't want to let them get stacked up again. So, Buck, Nash, you can go do whatever you need to do for a while and I'll come get you when I'm ready to start cleaning!"

But, as usual, I'm not that lucky.

"I'll help," Hunter says, already gathering silverware from the table.

Of course Hunter isn't just going to offer. He's going to insist. "You don't have to," I say.

Hunter raises an eyebrow, his grin lazy and just a little bit mischievous. "Didn't say I had to. I said I would."

The others are already heading out to start their morning chores, leaving me with Hunter in the now-quiet kitchen. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

We carry the dishes over to the sink, and I take a deep breath, trying to focus. All I need is a few minutes alone to get those cameras down. But with Hunter hovering so close, that's easier said than done.

"I wash, you dry?" he asks.

"Sure," I say.

"Wanna go back to your campsite and check on your tent later?" He drops his voice low. "I'd love some alone time with you."

His eyes meet mine, and there's a soft look in his gaze. Something that makes my stomach flip in a way I'm really not ready to deal with.

"We don't have to fuck, I mean," he whispers.

Why am I having all these feelings?

We finish the dishes in silence, but it's a loaded silence—one that leaves me very aware of just how close Hunter is standing. When the last dish is dried, he grabs a towel and hands it to me, his fingers brushing mine.

"Thanks for the help," I say, my voice coming out a little more breathless than I intended.

"Anytime, Goldie." He gives me a smile and a sweet kiss.

And with that, he turns and heads for the door, leaving me alone with my thoughts—and with the cameras still very much in place.

The sound of the door closing behind Hunter fades, and for the first time since I woke up, I'm alone. Finally.

I glance around, making sure no one else is lurking nearby. The brothers are outside doing their morning chores, the clatter of dishes is done, and it's just me and the quiet hum of the cabin. Perfect.

I wipe my hands on a towel, my heart thudding in my chest as I make my way toward the living room. My eyes scan the cluttered shelves, seeking out the specific items that are so easy to overlook if you don't know what you're looking for. But I know. I spot one of the cameras almost immediately—a snail sculpture, camouflaged perfectly to blend in with the great outdoors…and the many, many knickknacks in the cabin.

Without wasting any time, I reach for it, my fingers closing around the cool stone surface. The weight of it in my hand is heavier than I remembered, and for a brief moment, I wonder if this is one of the cameras or just a tiny snail sculpture that was already in the cabin.

Focus, Goldie. I turn the snail over in my hand. This has to be one of them.

But just as I take a step toward the door, a voice cuts through the quiet, freezing me in place.

"What've you got there?"

My heart lurches into my throat. I turn slowly, trying to keep my expression neutral as Brooks steps into the room. His eyes are on the camera—or rather, what I hope he thinks is just a knickknack in my hand.

"Oh, this?" I say, trying to sound casual. "Just something I saw on the shelf when I was about to start dusting. It looked cute, so I picked it up to, you know, admire it."

Brooks's gaze lingers on me longer than necessary, his lips curling into a small smile. He comes closer and I think I'm about to get some of that good Brooks lovin'. Then I about die when he extracts the snail from my fingers.

"This doesn't look familiar," he murmurs, turning it over in his hand, studying it from every angle. I swallow hard, my heart racing faster now.

My brain scrambles for an answer, trying to keep cool. "It was tucked behind a few things," I say, my voice a little shaky, but I hope not noticeably so. "That's why I want to help get this place all cleaned up. So you guys will know what you have!"

Brooks steps even closer, and this time he puts the snail back in my hand, closing my fingers over it. "If you like this one, you can keep it, snapdragon. We're not gonna miss it."

The touch lingers, and I don't pull away. His thumb brushes against my wrist, and I have to focus hard to keep my breathing even.

"But what you said is true," he says quietly, his eyes flicking up to meet mine. "Half the stuff in this cabin has been here forever. I can't believe that cheap little snail figurine caught your eye. Doesn't strike me as your style. It's not pink or shiny."

There's a light teasing in his voice now, but it's laced with affection.

I offer a small shrug, trying to play it off. "I have eclectic taste."

Brooks chuckles, that rumbly deep sound that always makes my stomach flip. "That you do. You seem to like your mountain men in all varieties," he teases. "Brown-haired ones, black-haired ones, blond ones, Rusty ones."

I exhale slowly, relief flooding through me. "Exactly," I say, flashing him a smile.

Brooks lets the moment linger a second longer before stepping back, giving me some space. "I'll be outside," he says, his voice low. "If you need anything."

There's no teasing in his voice now. It's just warm. Sincere. He gives me the kind of look that makes my heart stutter in my chest. I don't know how to respond, so I just smile, hoping it's enough.

He crosses the room to the back door in several long strides.

I glance down at the camera, just about to slip it into my pocket, when Brooks turns back. Before I can even react, he's right in front of me again. I look up, startled, but there's no time to say anything before he's pulling me into his arms, lifting me clean off my feet. My breath catches as his lips press against mine, firm and unyielding, but so full of affection that it takes my breath away.

For a moment, I forget about everything—the cameras, the lies, the fact that I'm here for reasons he doesn't know. Goodness, these men all have that affect on me, because I've been constantly forgetting those things. All I can feel is the strength in his arms and the way my heart skips a beat when he deepens the kiss.

When he pulls back, his face is still close, his breath warm against my skin. "I'm glad you're here," he murmurs, his voice soft but filled with so much sincerity it twists my heart in my chest. "You don't know how much."

Guilt washes over me, sharp and sudden. I should tell him the truth—about the documentary, about the cameras, about everything. But the words stick in my throat, tangled up with the warmth of his embrace and the bond we've been building, still new, still fragile, still with the potential to grow into…

Two weeks. Friendship. Sex. That's it.

"Brooks," I say, but I swallow the rest. I can't do it. Not now. It would shatter everything. When I leave, at least I'll be leaving good memories behind. There's no point in ruining that.

Instead, I just smile, brushing my fingers along the side of his face, playing a quick game of connect the dots with his smattering of freckles.

"I'm glad I'm here too," I whisper.

Brooks smiles back at me, his thumb brushing over my cheek in a gentle, affectionate gesture. "Come outside when you're ready," he says, his voice still low, still tender.

And with that, he sets me back down, his hands lingering at my waist for just a moment before he turns and heads back out the door.

I stand there, the camera still in my hand, my heart pounding. That was way too close of a call.

I stuff the camera into my pocket and get to work, moving quickly but quietly through the room. I know there's a dozen of these things scattered around the cabin, but damn if I can remember where I hid all of them. The problem is, I set them up to be well hidden, so well hidden that even I am struggling to find them.

In what feels like the worst Easter egg hunt of all time, I look everywhere, determined to find them all, but I can only find eleven.

But where the hell is the twelfth?

Panic starts to creep in. My hands are sweaty, and I can feel my pulse quicken. I move through the cabin, trying to act natural, but every creak of the floorboards makes me jump. Where did I put that last one? I check under the couch, behind the curtains, even in the kitchen cabinets, but it's like the camera has vanished into thin air.

I hear footsteps again, louder this time. My heart races. I've got to act fast, but I'm running out of places to look. Eleven out of twelve isn't good enough, not when there's still one rogue camera out there, watching, waiting to be found and expose everything.