Page 16 of Eco-Activist’s Mountain Men (Mountain Men Reverse Harem #4)

“Okay, okay.” He scratches his neck, fiddles with a ring on his finger. “Honestly, Luna… yes, you’re right. I’ve been with women, and I never really took any of them seriously. It was just fun, you know?”

I nod. Just as I thought. A player. Why do I always get the assholes?

“But… well…” He exhales hard. “In truth, I think you might be different.”

“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.

“Hi… er… You there, Luna? If so, please pick up. If not… well, I haven’t heard from you, but I guess your cellphone access is down after the storm in your area.

Good news… I managed to cancel the helicopter and the media crew.

Thank God I ticked the box for insurance, so it was all covered; otherwise, we’d have been severely screwed.

“Listen, about er… Randy. Yeah, sorry about that. He bailed. Called in sick. Well, not him, his hamster. Had to take it to the vet, and it was too late to find a substitute, so I thought ‘best not to tell you’ in case you bailed as well. Sorry about that, but this mission’s really important. But you know that. Forgive me?

“Anyway… how’d you get on? I assume you didn’t get time to put the banner up before the storm came, so I’m letting you know I’ve finally managed to hire a chopper—which has been almost impossible because of all the search and rescue operations—for exactly two weeks’ time.

"So the night before, I need you to go up onto the walkway to fix the banner, just like we agreed, okay? And remember, it’s the long walkway—the one between two especially tall Douglas firs.

It’s very important that it’s that walkway, like I said before.

That’s the one I earmarked when I did my reconnaissance beforehand, and we’ve got the GPS coordinates for it, so we’ll be honing in on it when we fly through.

Should look great in 4K high res, with you lying on the ground underneath.

“Okay, that’s it. See you in a couple of weeks. Don’t let me down.”

I stare at the phone in disbelief.

Not a single “Are you okay?” Not one word about where I’ve been sleeping or what I’ve been eating for the past week. And… did he just say he knew Randy wasn’t coming? Because of a fucking hamster? And he deliberately didn’t tell me—just left me to risk my life alone—because he thought I’d bail too?

What the actual fuck? The bastard.

If I’d known the helicopter was canceled, I wouldn’t have been out there trying to rig a banner on my own in a storm. I wouldn’t have fallen. I wouldn’t be limping around now, lucky to even be alive. If Southpaw hadn’t led Luke to me, I’d be dead.

And Tim? He doesn’t care. Just assumes he can command me to do it again in thirteen days’ time, all so his shiny helicopter and media crew can get their dramatic footage. All for the cause. All for his headlines.

I thought Kill Climate Change was about teamwork, about protecting each other. About standing together. But this? This is using people. Lying to them. Treating me like a pawn in his game.

Who the hell does he think he is?

I almost call him right then—my thumb hovering over the button, ready to scream at him until my throat gives out. But it’s two-thirty in the morning. If I start yelling, I’ll wake the whole lodge, and then I’ll have to explain. And I can’t. Not yet. Too humiliating. Too raw.

Better to sleep on it. Tomorrow, I’ll head into the woods—just far enough that I can talk without anyone overhearing. My ankle’s stronger now. My wrist too. Luke’s crutch will get me there. That’s the smarter play.

I yawn. God, I’m exhausted. Time to head back inside.

I’m just starting to rise when I hear it. A sound to my left.

Not wind. Not insects. A noise—small, stealthy, but deliberate. Like a foot nudging a piece of timber, or someone trying not to be heard and failing.

Southpaw hears it too. His whole body stiffens, ears pricked, eyes locked into the darkness. A low, menacing growl rumbles from his throat, vibrating the night air.

We wait. Silent. Listening. Hearts pounding.

Nothing.

After a minute, maybe two, I force myself to relax. Probably a raccoon. Or a fox. Maybe a weasel.

I stand, stretch, and hobble back toward the lodge. Southpaw stays rooted to the spot for another long, tense moment, staring into the trees like he sees something I can’t. Then, finally, silently, he turns and follows.