Page 27 of Eco-Activist’s Mountain Men (Mountain Men Reverse Harem #4)

Luke

A s I work away at my ever-necessary chain-sharpening duties, readying for the next outing with the saws, my eyes drift toward the locked drawer across the shed. Inside lie those wire cutters I found near where Luna had been lying hurt. Rusty on the edges, yet almost new. A contradiction, like her.

Damned cell towers still aren’t back online.

If they’d held for even twenty more minutes that night, I’d have had time to dig into this Tim Collier creep.

A clean search might’ve shown nothing, might’ve painted him as some saint with a polished halo.

But I doubt it. The odds of him being pure are low. Very low.

I sigh, check the angle of my file, then drag it across the teeth in a steady rhythm, shaving steel back to sharpness. Normally, the repetition calms me. Not tonight. Just for a second, my concentration slips. The file skids, and I catch my finger on the edge of a tooth.

“Ow.” I jerk my hand back, suck the blood from the nick.

That’s not me. I don’t make mistakes like this.

It’s her. That damned woman.

Ever since that night—when I looked through the window and saw the three of them tangled in each other—I haven’t had a moment’s peace.

I can’t sleep. Can’t think straight. The image burns behind my eyelids whenever I close them.

Luna’s small breasts, tipped pink, rise and fall as Toby holds her down.

Toby’s face when she took him into her mouth.

Jack’s hips driving between her spread thighs.

I stand abruptly, stool clattering behind me.

My head shakes like I can rattle the pictures loose, but they stick.

Worse still are the ones my own traitorous mind has supplied since.

My weight presses her into the mattress.

Her fingers curling in my shirt. The sound of her gasp when I push inside.

Her body arching under mine, soft and wild all at once.

Enough.

There’s only one thing for it. Confession.

I need to go to her. Tell her what I saw. Tell her I’m sorry. Maybe—God help me—tell her the truth. That if she weren’t tangled up with that eco-activist circus, I’d see her differently. I’d take her seriously.

Maybe even love her.

Maybe if I speak it out loud, the torment will stop. Because this slow burn inside me—it’s killing me.

A knock comes at the door. Tentative. Before I can react, it creaks open, and a quiet voice calls, “Luke, you in there?”

“Yes,” I rasp, heart hammering.

Jesus. I wanted to find her, but did it have to be now? Couldn’t I have five minutes to breathe first?

The door swings wider, and there she is. Luna. Shuffling in oversized slippers, somehow managing to look adorable and fragile in Eric’s Oregon State hoodie that hangs nearly to her knees. Sleeves down over her hands. Hair still damp, smelling faintly of vanilla and apricot.

Weird. Fate, maybe.

“Weird,” she says aloud, easing the door shut and limping to a spare stool. She drops onto it with a sigh.

“What’s weird?” I ask, throat dry. I’d been ready to go looking for her. Now she’s come to me.

“That dog—wolf—you know, the gray rug that follows me around…”

“You mean Southpaw.”

“Yeah, that one.”

“What about him?”

“Well, I asked him to find you. And credit where it’s due—he did. Led me straight here. No messing around. I nearly tripped three times trying to keep up.”

“So… what’s the problem?”

“So he scratches at your door, looks back at me like, ‘Happy now?’—then bolts into the jungle.”

“You mean the forest.”

“Jungle, forest, whatever. Point is, poof, gone. Like a gray streak of smoke.”

I shrug. “He does that. He’s not a pet. Comes and goes as he pleases. Sometimes a day, sometimes a week. In winter, he sticks closer. Likes the stove.”

She smirks. “I bet he comes back when he smells bacon.”

I tilt my head, considering. “You’d think so. But he’s an apex predator. Doesn’t need us for food. Comes for his own reasons.”

“Yeah, I bet he does.”

Silence. We size each other up like two wary animals circling. Then, at the exact same time?—

“I came to?—”

“I’m glad you?—”

We both stop.

“You first,” she says.

“No, ladies first. Go ahead.”

Another pause. She shifts on her stool. I right mine and sit.

She clears her throat. “I came to tell you something.”

“Alright. I’m listening.”

Her eyes flicker, nervous. She swallows.

“Look, I know you’ve hated my guts since the moment I arrived, and?—”

“No. That’s not true. I don’t hate your guts. I don’t hate you at all.”

She looks at me, wide-eyed, like she doesn’t believe a word.

“Oh, come on, Luke. You’ve disagreed with everything I’ve said since I got here. You’ve made no secret about what you think of Kill Climate Change—or my stance on man-made climate change.”

I start to defend myself, but she lifts a hand, cutting me off.

“No, look—sorry. You’re right. ‘Hate’ is too strong. Maybe I should’ve said we’ve disagreed. You okay with that? Just for now, at least, so I can say what I need to?”

I nod once. That much I can give her.

“Good. Okay, so… yeah. We’ve disagreed on a lot. I know I’ve insulted you. Called you names, mocked your size, and I’m sorry. Truly, I am. I’ve always had a sharp mouth. Everyone says so. Even my best friends. I’m worst with them, actually—you should hear the names I call them.”

She lets out a nervous laugh, glancing at me from the corner of her eye like she’s checking if I’ll growl back.

“I guess… I’ve just gotten into the habit of saying exactly what I think, without considering how it lands.

I know that’s not okay. The worst part is…

I didn’t even mean half of it. I mean, I think you look great.

There’s nothing wrong with your size. In fact…

” Her cheeks pinken. “…you’re kind of a hunk.

But I wanted to hurt you, so I said the opposite of what I really thought. I’m sorry, okay?”

My throat tightens. I clear it, rough. I can’t let her see how much that hits.

“Look,” I say, voice flat but steady, “it’s perfectly okay. Really. I’ve been called worse, a shitload of times. Trust me.”

“Really?”

“Oh God, yes. At my age, Luna, insults should just be water off a duck’s back for any reasonably mature man. Honestly—forget about it.”

But the truth in my chest? She cut me. Not because of the words, but because she was the one saying them.

If it had been some drunk idiot in a bar, I’d have shrugged.

In the old days—before Jack taught me to hold my temper—I might’ve laid him out with a fist. But hearing it from a young, beautiful woman…

in front of my boss, my brothers-in-arms? That stung deep.

And damn it, she was sharp about it. Her timing, her wit—hell, she could do stand-up if she wanted.

“But that’s not all,” she continues, eyes searching mine. “There’s another thing too, okay?”

“Alright,” I say, giving her the floor again.

She sighs, long and deep. “It’s about… well, it’s about our arguments—sorry, disagreements.

Or whatever you want to call them. I’ve got a whole list of faults, Luke, and God, don’t I know it.

Aside from insulting people, I’ve got way too much pride.

Always have. I’ll argue black is white until I’m blue in the face, just to win—even when I know I’m wrong. ”

She shakes her head, half in shame, half in self-mockery. “I can’t count how many times I got into trouble in school for arguing with teachers instead of just shutting up.”

Her eyes lift to mine again. “And it’s… hard, admitting this to you. But since I’ve been here, I’ve learned a lot. From all of you. Especially you.”

I don’t move. Don’t speak. She keeps going.

“Our… discussions have shown me how wrong I was about a lot of things. Like climate change, for one. More than that, I’ve come to realize that what you do here in the forest isn’t the problem.

It’s part of the solution. All that planting, all that management—you’re building something, not tearing it down.

“And Kill Climate Change?” She shakes her head.

“All we ever do is complain. In all the time I’ve been with them, we’ve never done one positive thing to actually make a difference.

Just finger-pointing. Just noise. That’s why I’m resigning.

As of today—or as soon as I can tell them—Tim and the others are gonna need someone else to do their dirty work.

I wanted you to know, Luke, because I know how much you hated what they stood for. ”

Her voice softens, more vulnerable now. “I hope my leaving them helps us… I don’t know. Helps us find some middle ground. Maybe even be friends. I’d like that. I’d like us to be friends, Luke. Really.”

She draws a sharp breath, lets it out. Her big blue eyes fix on mine, searching, anxious. Like, my answer matters more than she wants to admit.

“And there’s one last thing.” Her voice drops. Softer. A shade warmer. She hesitates. “But I’ll leave that for now. I want to know what you think about what I’ve already said first. If you don’t mind?”

She’s not scared—but she’s wary. Waiting. As if she’s offering me a chance to change the shape of whatever this thing is between us.

My hand reaches automatically for the file, twisting it in my fingers. The scrape of metal against my calloused skin steadies me. Then I realize what I’m doing and set it back down. My palm feels too empty, so I pick it up again. Tap, tap, tap on the bench. The clink echoes in the shed.

I clear my throat. Damned throat. Always needs clearing when I’ve got something hard to say.

“Okay, well, look,” I begin. “I’ve got a couple of things to say about what you just told me, and I’ve also got a couple of my own things to get off my chest. That's alright with you?”

“Sure.”

She doesn’t have a file to fidget with, but she looks like she wishes she did. Her eyes dart around the shed before settling on a strand of her hair, which she winds around her finger again and again as she waits.