Chapter 6Goldie

Chapter 6

Goldie

A s a seasoned reality TV producer, my ability to adapt and bounce back quickly in challenging situations serves me well. Has served me well. Past tense. But even though I'm done with reality TV, I'm trying to put that ability to use now.

I take the fastest bath, hoping there won't be any more surprise brothers popping in on me—what if there are more of them?! What are the odds that there would be exactly ten? It's too much of a coincidence.

As I step out of the bathroom into the dimly lit hallway, I remain hidden while I double-check that the way I've tied the huge flannel Hunter gave me is secure. It's way too big to just wear as a shirt, so I'm trying to make it look stylish, somehow. Or at least cute. I don't think I've achieved that, but hopefully it won't come loose and give these mountain men a show.

Around the corner, I can easily hear the brothers talking about me. Or shouting, more like it. They don't speak, they boom.

I listen to them, chewing my lip and watching the bright afternoon light from the large windows in the main living space cast flickering shadows on the rustic wooden walls.

"No one asked my opinion!" shouts the guy who walked in on my bath. His deep voice reverberates through the cabin. I swear I can feel it in my soul. And other places.

I recognize Hunter's voice next, his deep, sexy tone making me shiver. "Because you weren't there!"

"So you just bring her home and put her in my bath?"

The poor guy's frustration is palpable, and I can't help feeling bad, even though I didn't know it was his bath. I thought Clay drew it for me.

"I didn't know it was your bath, Rusty." This time it's Clay talking. I recognize his cute, scratchy drawl and that can't-take-much-serious tone that's somehow already familiar. "I went into the bathroom to draw her a bath, and the tub was already filled."

I play with the sleeves of the flannel shirt as I shift from foot to foot, hugging it around myself. It's far from perfect, but it'll do. I ended up making some sort of toga-ish wraparound dress with it. It's warm against my skin, and carries the faint scent of the forest. Rugged and piney. Mmmm…I kind of want to bottle it up.

"So," Rusty growls, "you thought the tub knew you were bringing in some strange lady for a bubble bath and just filled itself? You know I like to get the water scalding hot and then go for a run and then it's the perfect temperature when I come back! You know I always take my bubble bath before lunch, Clayton."

"I didn't actually think that much about it. I needed a tub full of water, there was a tub full of water. Quite serendipitous."

Well. There's a word I didn't expect to hear used by these guys.

"For Pete's sake," Grumpy Luke grumbles. "Could you two stop squabbling? You're ruining my appetite. Sit down and eat."

I tiptoe and peek around the corner. Each step on my swollen foot makes me wince. And a glance in the bathroom mirror told me my forehead is almost as misshapen, with a big-ass knot dead center.

I'm going to have a hell of a bruise, so I'll have to use a filter that'll disguise it for any social media posts I film if I actually plan to show my face in them , I muse while I stall. Even the best concealer can only do so much.

The brothers are all gathered around the enormous dining table, their faces illuminated by the warm sunlight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Their expressions are a mix, but a majority have tense jaws and furrowed bushy brows, watching the heated conversation. Only Grumpy Luke seems to be eating, his huge frame hunched over his equally huge bowl.

Sooner or later, I'm going to have to go in there.

"Everybody eat your damn lunch," he orders. "Why haven't you even started eating? Lynx? Nash? Clay? Come on, it'll be time for supper before we finish, dammit, and everybody's got chores!"

"We're waiting for Gold," Lynx says.

My heart does a tiny little squeeze, and I bite my lip to hide a huge smile that wants to take over my face at the way he says my name. Well, part of my name.

At that moment, Hunter glances up and sees me. "Gold!" He grins. "Are you hungry? We set you a place."

Thankfully, though I find it hard to believe, there's a clear path to the dining table and as I move closer to it, I feel the smooth texture of the wooden floor beneath my feet, worn down to a polish by years of use. I realize this place could be beautiful as I look around, trying to ignore the chaotic hoard of junk. The bones appear to be there. Good, strong bones.

"Here, Gold," Brooks says, pulling out a chair. "I'll fix you a bowl of beef stew."

The amazing smell of savory spices and roasted meat is even better now that I'm clean, for some reason, and my mouth waters in anticipation of the meal ahead. Stew and sandwiches in crusty loaves, one a piece, and so big that they each cover an entire dinner plate.

"Stew's gone," Grumpy Luke says as he shovels in a mouthful from his own bowl.

"What do you mean the stew's gone?" Ranger growls.

"I mean there's no stew left." Grumpy Luke lifts one broad shoulder in a lazy shrug. "But eat all the rolls you want, I guess."

"But we haven't even had ours yet!" Lynx protests. "How many bowls did you have?"

Luke does another half-shrug and takes another bite. "I never said I was planning to wait before eating, and it's only right to go for seconds after firsts is done. Then I wanted thirds. You all have full bowls, so stop complaining. You want the chance for seconds, you come to the table on time."

Lynx scowls. "But what about Gold?"

"Oh, it's fine," I say with a smile, trying to sound light enough to disperse the tension. "I'm not even really very hungry."

I'm fucking ravenous, but it's not their job to feed me.

I limp over and climb into the empty chair. It's oversized, like the brothers, so I almost need a step stool. As I settle into my seat, my stomach growls, calling out my lie. Ugh. Embarrassing. Not to mention, my feet dangle, my toes not even brushing against the floor when I stretch my legs.

Why is there an empty chair? Why do they have an extra? Is there another brother somewhere who hasn't appeared yet?

"You can have the rest of my stew," Clay offers, sliding his bowl in my direction. "I do like a lot of hot sauce in it, though."

So much that his stew is a violent red. Even if I could eat stew that has a total stranger's backwash in it, this would not be the stew I'd choose. "Thanks, but that might be too hot for me."

Clay grins and takes a huge bite. His unruly beard isn't in the bowl, but it's definitely in the danger zone.

The longer I spend in their company, the more baffled I am by these guys. There are great products for facial hair these days. Why aren't they using them? Their beards could be glorious, things of beauty rather than overgrown, untended chin bushes.

"She should have the rest of Luke's bowl, then," Rusty says, apparently no longer salty about me stealing his bath. "He's had enough."

"She's not having mine," Grumpy Luke grumbles. "And it's not for you to decide when I've had enough, Rusty."

"Then the least you can do is fetch Gold some of the rolls," Lynx says.

I open my mouth to object, to declare again that I'm fine, and that my name is actually Goldie not Gold, but before I can, Grumpy Luke gets up, with an eye roll and an exaggerated sigh, shoving his chair back. He goes to the kitchen.

From a cabinet I couldn't reach with a full-blown ladder, he procures a basket and dumps the tray of rolls into it. Slamming it down in the middle of the table, he looks at me hard, his eyes catching me like a deer in headlights, and grunts, "Butter?"

"Um…"

"We churn it ourselves, Gold," Hunter says. "You'll never have better butter."

"Well then, yes, please, on the butter."

Luke drops a saucer with five pats of butter on it in front of me. Well, I don't know if pats is an accurate way of describing it. Blocks? Bricks? I'm not planning on eating that many rolls. In my entire life.

"Thank you."

He grunts again. I assume this one means you're welcome .

Then he surprises me by asking, "You drinking sweet tea or ice water?"

How downright hospitable of you, Grumpy Luke!

"Um…"

Why can't I say anything other than "Um…"? Especially since I never had anything to drink after hiking up the whole-ass mountain and my mouth is now dryer than a whole-ass desert.

Apparently assuming my um is a yes, Grumpy Luke goes off to the kitchen again. As soon as his back is turned, Lynx slides his brother's bowl of thirds toward me.

"Here, Gold. This portion is rightly yours."

I stare at the bowl and then at Lynx in unveiled horror, but he just smiles this lazy wildcat smile at me.

"Well? Aren't you going to try it?" His golden-green eyes are so earnest and concerned, like he actually cares about my well-being and hunger.

"No, it's really okay," I insist. My traitorous stomach growls again.

A moment later, Grumpy Luke thuds a glass of sweet tea down in front of me with a splash.

"There you go, stranger," he says to me, and then he slides into his seat and glares hard at his brothers. "Looks like Gold is all set, so the rest of you better dig in."

Then he looks at me, again, and I'm not sure if he's smiling or grimacing as he says, "Hope you enjoy that bowl of stew."

He very much doesn't want me to enjoy it. Yet his glare dares me not to try it, almost like he'll be equally as offended if I don't take the stew as he is by me taking it. He watches me until I finally pick up the spoon and take a bite, trying not to think of the backwash.

I nearly swoon. Holy Lord, it's even better than it smells.

This is amazing! I start to tell Grumpy Luke what an incredible cook he is, but then I look from brother to brother, and I can't do anything but stare. They're digging into their stew so voraciously they're back to resembling wild mountain things. What in the fresh Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs hell have I stumbled into? Or is this more Beauty and the Ten Beasts?

It's appalling. But absolutely fascinating.

"Who wants another roll?" someone rumbles, snatching the basket of bread.

"Me!" four or five of them shout.

All of a sudden there are rolls flying through the air. One whizzes past my ear. I barely dodge it.

"Roll, Gold?" A man whose name I don't know yet holds one of the rolls like he's going to pitch it overhand right at me.

I do want one, but I'm also terrible at catching things. He doesn't wait for my response before it's flying through the air at me, about to smack me in the face.

Shutting my eyes, I brace myself for impact, hoping the rolls aren't hard because my face has already taken enough damage today without a hard roll to the nose. But the expected hit doesn't come. When I open my eyes again, Grumpy Luke is holding the roll, having caught it in midair.

I lean forward and take it from him. "Thanks."

"Guys," Luke says. "Whether I like it or not, we have company. If you could not behave like pigs at the trough for once, I would appreciate it even if she doesn't." He gestures at me with a fork in a way that says he kind of wants to stab me with it.

I'm not sure how to respond, so I try buttering my roll. I don't see any butter knives, so I just kind of press the roll against the butter and rub it. I take a bite. It's just as heavenly as the stew. It practically melts on my tongue, and the butter has the slightest hint of honey. Sweet Lord, the only time I've had bread this scrumptious was pre-Covid, when Chez Sophia, a tiny French patisserie, was open a block from my apartment.

"This is amazing," I tell them earnestly as soon as I've swallowed my first mouthful. "Does the butter have honey in it? It's so good! Which one of you made these rolls? They're definitely not store-bought!"

"Luke," someone says, and the others murmur something that sounds like an agreement. "He makes them from scratch."

"That's the only way to make anything," Grumpy Luke says.

"Well, they're heavenly, really and truly. I could eat these and nothing else for the rest of my life!"

Grumpy Luke is glaring at me hard, apparently not a fan of even my compliments, so I take another bite and study the other brothers, unable to contain my curiosity.

"Who are you guys?" I finally wonder aloud.

They all jump in, talking at once.

"Quiet!" Grumpy Luke barks.

The brothers all listen to him, and watch him, waiting to see what he will do or say next. It was clear from the start that he's the pack leader. The Alpha-Bigfoot. Which is why my heart sinks when Grumpy Luke shakes his head at me. "You're just passing through, Gold. You don't need to know anything about us."

He bites into his roll without taking his eyes off mine. Challenging.

"Except we definitely could be a sex cult, if you want us to be," Clay cracks.

"That's not very polite, though, is it, big brother?" Lynx asks Grumpy Luke, his cat eyes flashing. "You're the one always reminding us that we're not wild animals in the woods, and yet you're being a…what do you like to say? An uncouth swine?"

I burst out laughing, and a few of the other guys chuckle under their breath, but Grumpy Luke turns his stabby glare on Lynx, not at all amused.

"Fine," Grumpy Luke says, more annoyed than ever before, clearly, but settling into his chair. "I suppose we could do introductions—"

"Introductions, finally," the guy called Rusty says. "I wondered when you were going to address the elephant in the room."

"Rusty, you fucking jackass!" Hunter says. "Don't call her an elephant."

"Watch your language, Hunter," Long-Bearded Brooks interjects. "It isn't polite to swear in front of a lady, that I know. And it's rude as hell to call her an elephant, Rusty. I think big-boned is what you're supposed to say."

Rusty groans. "It's an expression, you Neanderthal. I wasn't calling her a literal elephant because she's big-boned or whatever. And I'll swear all I damn want, because this is my house too, dammit, and in case you've forgotten, she—" He uses his fork to point at me, taking a bite of the potato on the end just before saying, "—doesn't belong in it. I mean, a bath and a meal is one thing, as long as it's only one bath and one meal."

I've been called worse, honestly, and I'm happy with my body, so their back-and-forth doesn't bother me. Well, except for the part about me not belonging here. I don't know why, but that part stings a little.

It's baffling, because I just met them, and yet I feel such a sense of coziness and, yes, belonging in their house, sitting around this table. Despite the clutter and chaos and Junkstore Cottage Core. The feeling is undeniable. Probably something to do with the concussion.

"Gold is hurt. She belongs wherever there's someone who's capable of taking care of her," Lynx says. "And I am quite capable of that."

"So you're saying we just bring strange women home now?" Rusty's eyes narrow, and I swear the fire highlights in his hair practically glow orange, as if they're actually ablaze.

"Hey, who are you calling strange?" I protest, trying to lighten the mood.

"Well, it's not like any of you could find a normal woman to bring home," Grumpy Luke says, and I swear he almost almost cracks a smile.

"I'm not kidding, Luke." Rusty folds his arms across his chest and leans back in his chair, looking disgruntled. He narrows his eyes even more at Grumpy Luke, then turns the squint on me. "The real question is—who are you, and why are you here?"

This time it's a demand. I try not to frown, because he sounds nearly as grouchy as Grumpy Luke.

"I asked who you all are first," I remind him.

It's Grumpy Luke who finally points to each of the other guys and says their names. "Clay, Buck, Nash, Lynx, Ash, Ranger, Rusty, Hunter, Brooks."

He goes around the table, saying their names so fast I can barely keep up, but at least I've had a head start learning some of their names, and I'm generally good with names. But I should make sure I have an adjective to go with each of them, like Grumpy Luke, Cat-Eyed Lynx, Long-Bearded Brooks. Redhead Rusty? Bubble-Bath Rusty? Hot-Buns Rusty?

"Nice meeting you all," I say.

I glance around at them all. Brothers, they said. Biological? I can't help but wonder. From the looks of them, there's a vast gap in ages from the oldest to the youngest, and a wide array in between.

Rusty, like Grumpy Luke, doesn't bother allowing any time for niceties before blurting out, "Well? It's your turn to answer my question. Who are you and why are you on our mountain?"

"That's not a question, that's two questions, dumbass." Clay grabs a roll and tears it in two, making me remember my own. I take a bite while Clay tosses half of his at Rusty, bouncing it off his forehead. I can't help but smile, despite Rusty's ire. I like Clay already. "Just sayin'."

"Who are you and why are you here?" Rusty says, and this time it's a demand.

I glance around. Everyone, even Grumpy Luke, is waiting for my answer with rapt attention.

Luke has achieved full-blown silver fox status with fine lines around his eyes and mouth. He has to be in his forties. Hunter and Brooks both have a few streaks of gray woven into their beards. But Rusty can't be more than twenty or so. There's a baby face buried underneath all that beard and brawn. Luke—though there is definitely a stud underneath all that hair—looks old enough to be Rusty's dad.

Curiouser and curiouser , I think, feeling indeed like I've fallen into some kind of rabbit hole or fairy tale.

Which is an eye roll in itself considering my next line.

"My name," I tell them, "is Goldie Locke."