Page 3 of Eco-Activist’s Mountain Men (Mountain Men Reverse Harem #4)

Luna

I smile and stretch in my comfortable bed.

Sunlight streams in through the window, and a light breeze billows the curtains.

A crystal dangling from a thread in front of the glass catches the light and scatters it across the walls, flashing and sparkling like a shoal of silvery fish, playfully darting in and out of their coral reef home.

I smell… bacon? That’s weird. The house I share in Portland is strictly vegan—no meat allowed.

But that’s definitely bacon. Unmistakable.

And it smells delicious. I know I’m supposed to say it makes me nauseous, but honestly?

The smell of frying bacon has to be in the top three scents in the world, right up there with fresh-ground coffee and sunbaked earth after a storm.

Of course, I’d never admit that to my comrades.

I usually swap bacon out for fresh-cut grass, which comes in at number four.

But I’m not about to lie to myself. At least I’ve got enough integrity for that.

I also feel a dull, throbbing pain in my right wrist and my left ankle. Strange… why would they hurt? I guess I must’ve slept in some weird position and cramped them.

I yawn and stretch—and freeze. Something’s pressing against me.

Warm. Firm. Not a blanket—too solid. I nudge it gently…

and it pushes back. I glance down the bed and—to my horror—see the head of what has to be the biggest wolf I’ve ever laid eyes on.

It’s massive. Two yellow eyes stare at me, unwavering, unblinking, unreadable—almost dismissive. Then it opens its mouth and yawns.

Its teeth are fucking enormous, like something straight out of Jurassic Park.

I let out a bloodcurdling scream—more in shock and surprise than actual fear.

The wolf only stares with what looks like a supercilious smirk, as if it knows something I don’t.

Then, with slow, dignified grace, it unfurls from the bed, leaps down to the floor, and pads out through the open door without so much as a backward glance, like it’s saying, I’m not putting up with this nonsense.

A door slams somewhere nearby, and I hear heavy footsteps rushing closer.

"What the hell’s going on in here? Are you okay?"

A man—a complete stranger—bursts into the room. He scans the space like he’s ready to take on an intruder. Seeing nothing threatening, he relaxes, leans back against the doorframe, and flashes me a wide grin.

"Well, well, well, Sleeping Beauty finally wakes, huh?" He straightens to attention and gives me a mock salute.

"You screamed, my lady, and here I am to answer your summons. Now what’s the problem? Fire? Kidnappers? Dragons, maybe? Or perhaps"—he gives me a bold, lascivious wink that makes me blush—"you were just lonely and wanted a little company, huh? That it?"

"There was a wolf. It was right there—on the bed. Then it jumped down and?—"

"Oh, that’s Southpaw. He’s kind of one of the crew.

Comes and goes. Usually doesn’t have fleas…

well, not too many anyway. Best not to make a habit of letting him sleep on your bed, but hey, whatever floats your boat.

You’ll get used to him. Want some breakfast?

There’s bacon. Oh yeah—and you owe Southpaw your life, by the way. "

"What?" My head’s spinning. None of this makes sense.

"Look, where am I, and who the fuck are you?" I blurt out, desperate to anchor myself to something real.

And then it hits me—the hike, the banner, the storm. The walkway collapsing. The pain. The wolf staring at me as everything went black.

"All coming back to you now, is it?" His grin widens.

"Yeah. I fell. I remember that much."

He gives me a half-mocking, half-playful round of applause.

"Got it in one. You fell out of our walkway while you were hanging a banner calling us a bunch of bastards. We found it this morning. Don’t worry—it’s safe. You’ll get it back once it dries out. Must’ve cost a fortune to print something that big. Anyway, let me answer your questions in order.

"Where are you? You’re in the logging camp owned by McKenzie Forestry Services, just up the track from where you fell.

"Who am I? I’m Toby James, at your service." He grins again, boyish and infuriating.

"I’m what they call the Equipment Operator here. I handle all the machinery except the chainsaws. I do the lifting, hauling, baling, binding, transportation—all the heavy work.

"Luke’s the chainsaw guy. Head Feller. Man’s a genius with a saw. You should see him in action, it's like watching ballet.

"My older brother Jack runs the crew. He’s in charge, which apparently means he earns more than the rest of us, though none of us is sure what he actually does.

"Then there’s Eric. He joined us at the start of the season from Oregon State. Research scientist. He’s studying genetic diversity. Not officially one of us, but he’s a good guy. You’ll like him.

"And that’s the team. Four of us. Five if you count Southpaw. He's a wolf that's taken a shine to our illustrious company. He comes and goes as he pleases, and we share a slice of bacon or two with him every now and then.

"Now, your last question. How did you get here?" He leans in conspiratorially, as if this is the punchline to a particularly good joke.

I nod, though honestly, I can barely keep track.

Jesus, this guy loves the sound of his own voice.

Still… he’s dreamy. Reminds me of Kellan Lutz in his tight-fitting T-shirt, loose combat pants, and with a swaggering self-confidence that borders upon arrogance.

This guy's way hotter than any of the pasty-faced boys in the activist scene.

Shit, I always knew I was contrary. Even fancying the wrong guys proves it.

"Okay, simple. Southpaw saw you fall and fetched Luke—Luke’s our resident giant, you’ll meet him again soon.

He carried you back here, stripped off your wet clothes—which, incidentally, are over there, clean and dry.

" He nods toward a table. "And then he wrapped your ankle and wrist. After that, he went back to his first love, which is chainsaws.

"So yeah, you owe Southpaw your life. If he hadn’t spotted you and led Luke to you, you’d have been dead in that storm. Best way to thank him? Toss him a strip of bacon. Pretty sure that’s wolf language for "Thank you for saving me."

"What? What are you even talking about?"

He laughs, but kindly, like he’s letting me in on the joke instead of making me the joke.

"Brain a little scrambled? Understandable. Here, let me sum it up. Ready?" He doesn’t wait for an answer.

"You fell off our walkway while hanging a banner, yeah?"

"Uh… yeah."

"And you blacked out, yeah?"

"Yeah, I remember. I was in a lot of pain because of my—ow!" Up to now, I haven’t moved. First, I woke up. Then, I froze when I saw a wolf sharing my bed. Then this maddeningly gorgeous man strolled in and leaned on the doorframe like he owned the place. Between all that, I hadn’t exactly worked up the courage to move.

I’m not even sure what I’m wearing. I had clothes on last night when I fell, but those would’ve been soaked through.

I don’t feel wet now. Which means… someone undressed me.

Someone touched me. Someone saw me. My stomach flips as I realize that, and I stare at him, trying desperately to catch up with everything this hunk has been rattling off.

He carried you back here, stripped off your wet clothes . What the fuck?

The thought skitters through my still-foggy brain as I try lifting my left arm—the one I hurt when I fell. A sharp yelp bursts out of me.

"Damn, that hurts."

Toby winces in sympathy.

"Yeah, Luke says it’s not broken, but it’s gonna hurt. Same with your ankle. You must’ve landed badly, twisted your right ankle, and then tried to catch yourself with your left hand. One busted ankle, one busted wrist."

He shrugs. "Could be worse. At least you can still text and hobble around. You’re right-handed, yeah?"

I nod, wincing again as I ease my bandaged wrist from under the blanket. Flexing it sends another jolt of pain racing up my arm. Definitely not good.

I test my right foot next and immediately regret it.

"Ow. Yeah, the ankle’s worse."

"Told you," he says with a grin. "Luke says you’re lucky it wasn’t broken.

Anyway, to finish the summary—there you were, passed out in the storm, soaked through.

Southpaw either saw you fall or came along later, but he spotted you and alerted us.

Luke carried you back, took off your wet clothes, patched you up, and put you to bed. Got it?"

"This Luke guy… he took off my clothes? Just like that? Without asking?"

"Look, lady… if you’re gonna climb into other people’s walkways in the middle of a thunderstorm, try to hang activist banners, fall, knock yourself unconscious, and then lie there drenched while rain and hail beat down on you…

You’ve got to accept the consequences. He could’ve left you out there to die of hypothermia. "

I nod, cheeks burning—half from imagining one or more of these loggers stripping me naked, half from knowing he’s right.

"You’re right. I’m sorry. I am grateful. It’s just… well, honestly, it’s humiliating."

"Wonderful. Thank you. That’ll be fifty bucks."

"What?" My head snaps up. Just when I think I’ve caught up with this conversation, he blindsides me again.

"Oh, it was a bet. Our resident scientist, Eric, said when you woke up and heard Luke took your clothes off, treated your wounds, and put you to bed, you’d go ballistic.

He thought you’d accuse him of harassment or try to get us arrested.

I said you’d have more sense than that, even if you do dye your hair neon pink and climb trees in a thunderstorm for fun. " He grins again, smug and boyish.

I decide to let it slide, though I’m not thrilled about being the subject of a fifty-dollar wager. But I’ve got more pressing concerns.

"I need the bathroom."

"What?"

"I said, I need the bathroom. You know… I need to go."

"Oh, right. Sure. There’s one down the hall. Second door on the left."

I try moving my right leg. "Ow. Damn—how the hell am I supposed to get there?"

"You’ll be fine once you’re on your feet. Want a hand?"

"Yes… But I don’t think I’m wearing anything."

"Oh, I don’t mind." His grin widens, and I have to admit—his broad shoulders, the strong jaw, that easy confidence and sleek, almost pantherlike poise—it all makes me feel strange, traitorous things. Am I actually getting wet? Now? Seriously?

"Yes, but I mind."

"Spoilsport. Okay, okay." He raises his hands in mock surrender before I can snap at him. "Just joking. I’ve got a bathrobe. It’ll be a little big, but it’ll cover your… er… modesty. Wait here—I’ll be right back." He winks and disappears down the corridor.

As soon as he’s gone, I throw back the sheet to confirm what I already suspected. I’m stark naked. Completely bare from head to foot .

Shit. Best get upright before he comes back.

Carefully and slowly, I swing my legs out of the bed and sit up, pulling a sheet around me to protect my modesty.

I’m not hugely well-endowed in the boob department, but still—better to already be upright before he comes back.

Although… would I really mind if his eyes wandered over me? Or his hands, for that matter…

"I’m back."

"Shit! Ow!" Startled out of my skin, I jerk upright, jarring my ankle in the process. "Damn, that hurt."

"Sorry."

"Alright, it’s my fault. My mind was… elsewhere."

"Okay, well, here’s the robe. I’ll turn away. Promise not to peek."

He does as promised, turning his back and making an exaggerated show of covering his eyes with both hands. I grab the robe—a gray toweling bathrobe that’s clearly seen better days—and slip it on, tying the belt tight. It’s soft against my skin and smells faintly of sandalwood, citrus, and amber.

"Alright, you can turn back."

He lowers his hands and turns, giving me a quick once-over before nodding.

"Good. How do you feel?"

"Not too bad. I’m not sure what it’s going to feel like when I stand."

"Only one way to find out, I guess. I’ll help—don’t worry, I won’t get in your way or touch you at all unless you need me.

" He tacks on the last part when he sees my face, probably assuming I’m about to demand privacy.

Normally, I would. But right now—whether it’s the shock of the fall, the masculine scent clinging to his robe, or some deep-rooted need my therapist never dug up—my hormones feel like they’re throwing a rave.

All I can think about is him scooping me into those arms and carrying me straight to his bed.

But hell… I can’t exactly suggest that, can I?

I’ve only just met the guy. What would he think?

I brace on the edge of the bed with my good left foot and gingerly lower my right. The moment it touches the floor, pain shoots up my leg.

"Argh!" I cry out, half whimper, half gasp. "It’s too painful."

"Okay, then let me." Without hesitation—or even waiting for me to agree—he sweeps me up, bathrobe and all, into his arms.

"Oooph!" I exclaim as my stomach flips with the sudden lift.

"The… err…" he glances at his watch, tilting me at an alarming angle. "The ten-thirty-five bathroom express is now departing platform four." He grins and heads for the door, carrying me like I weigh nothing.

Thankfully, the bathroom’s big enough for him to maneuver. He sets me gently down on my good foot, leaving me oddly breathless from the ride. He’s not massive like Luke—his body’s more sleek, pantherlike—but the strength in him is undeniable.

"Take your time—shower, freshen up, whatever you want. There’s a towel, a toothbrush, and some other stuff we put out for you. Use whatever you need. I’ll be in the kitchen. Just holler when you’re ready for your taxi service, and I’ll come get you."

With one last grin and a wicked wink, he’s gone, closing the door behind him.

I lean against the sink, my right foot dangling, chest rising and falling too fast. My pulse pounds like a runaway train.

Phew. Are all of them going to be like him? And do I hope so… or hope not? He’s supposed to be the enemy, the bad guy—yet he’s twice as cheerful, three times as confident, and four times as helpful as any of the eco-activist men I’ve known. And at least five times better looking.

Not that looks matter, of course. I tell myself.

Yeah, right, a cynical voice in my head shoots back. So why are you panting like a bitch in heat and soaking wet between the legs?