Page 6 of Snowed In with her Mountain Men

CAMRYN

I didn’t just eat breakfast, I devoured it. And I didn’t have seconds, I had thirds.

“I can’t believe we found someone who’ll eat your pancakes,” Ryder prodded Jaxon, while pointing his fork at me. “But hey, it’s her funeral.”

He winked at me, smiling devilishly as he bit down on another steaming hot biscuit. They’d come from a vacuum sealed roll, but they were fluffy, buttery, and totally delicious. Everything was, actually. And not just because I hadn’t had real food in a couple of weeks.

Behind me, the double-sided fireplace blazed away, radiating a pleasant heat into the kitchen. I found myself satiated. Cozy. Happy.

“The snow’s winding down,” noted Oakley. “Give it a couple more hours for the plow to make its way up here, and we’ll see about getting you home.”

Home. It sounded good in theory, but back at the cabin I didn’t have anything close to a spread like this. My barren fridge had no eggs, no toast, no bacon, ham, or sausage. Yet piled before me now, were several platters of each.

Reaching for the butter, I decided to make the most of it.

“Hot damn,” grinned Ryder. “She can eat.”

Some girls might’ve been offended, but this girl was hungry .

Rationing food was something I’d learned early, and practiced often.

Still, some of it was involuntary. When I’d left Florida, I’d seriously underestimated the costs of maintaining the little place I’d rented.

On top of that, my car had betrayed me at least three or four times, probably in protest of being subjected to such bitter cold.

By the time repairs were finished, the mechanic’s bills had eaten into a huge portion of my savings.

“Better fuel up,” said Ryder, pushing the pot of coffee my way. “We’ve got a lot of shoveling to do.”

“We’re not making her shovel!” cried Oakley.

Ryder looked back at him quizzically. “Why not?”

“Her hand. Remember?”

I’d almost forgotten about my bandaged hand. It was a little tender, but it no longer hurt. I’d wanted to take the bandages off, to see just how bad it was, but I also didn’t want to know.

“Oh yeah,” Ryder clapped his forehead. “Duh.”

“Duh’s right. Now pass me the sausage, before Jaxon eats it all.”

Jaxon hadn’t uttered a word since arriving at breakfast, where each of them fell into what I assumed were their usual tasks. I’d helped with the eggs, then was told to sit down as they finished the rest of the food in a flurry of pots, pans, oven and microwave.

The bearded giant sat across from me now, in a sleeveless tank that revealed two very enormous arms. The fact that those arms were sleeved with black and gray tattoos actually surprised me, as I didn’t peg him for the type.

“So, Camryn, where are you from?” prodded Oakley, between bites. “Because looking at your skin, you’re not from around here.”

I glanced down at my smooth, brown arms. They weren’t as deeply tanned as before, but two full decades of soaking up the sun didn’t exactly wash off, even in a place as overcast as this.

“Daytona Beach.”

“Florida?” He looked surprised. “And you came all the way here? In that car?”

“Talk about extremes,” mused Ryder.

“Why?” I asked, crunching down on some bacon. “Should I have taken a different car?”

“No, but—”

“It’s the only car I have,” I went on. “It got me here, and it gets me into town. That’s all I really need it for.”

“Alright,” he conceded. “What made you come here, then?”

I looked up at them, waiting for my answer. I could’ve made something up. I was always a little defensive when it came to what I was trying to do, because people judged. And right now, protecting my dreams was all I had.

Still, these men had rescued me. They’d taken me in. They’d filled my hungry belly with delicious, salty bacon.

“I’m writing a novel,” I said stalwartly. “My first one, actually.”

I expected all kinds of reactions. What I didn’t expect, was Jaxon to actually set his fork down with a clatter.

“You write?”

He asked the question with genuine interest, and oddly, zero judgment. There was something in his expression that also put me at ease.

“Yes. Fiction, mostly. Right now I’m working on a mystery novel.”

His tattooed arms came together; as he steepled his finger over his plate. I watched as those chestnut eyes studied me carefully. I couldn’t begin to imagine what he was thinking.

“Hmm,” he merely nodded, before going back to his eggs.

The others seemed similarly impressed, but with Jaxon, I got the distinct feeling something in the way he’d seen me had changed. There was a shared connection between us. It happened quickly, but it was there.

“So you drove all the way up here?” asked Ryder. “Just to write a book?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

I sighed. Good question.

“Because the book takes place in a cold climate,” I admitted, “and I thought it would be easier to write in one.”

“Oh,” chuckled Oakley, “well you’re definitely in one.”

“Besides,” I added without thinking. “I’ve… I’ve never…”

I stopped, worried that what I was about to say sounded foolish. But there was no way in hell they were letting it go.

“You’ve never what?” Ryder pressed.

More silence. More contemplation.

“She’s never been in a cold climate,” Jaxon said, without looking up. The sound of his fork scraping his plate was like nails on a chalkboard. “This is her first time seeing snow.”

The others swiveled to look at me like I’d grown three heads.

“Holy shit,” swore Ryder. “Really?”

I shrugged. “I was born and raised in Daytona, and it sure as hell doesn’t snow there. I’ve been as far north as Pennsylvania, but it was one time and in the summer. Driving up here was the first time I saw snow.”

Oakley laughed. “Yeah, well if snow’s what you wanted, you just hit the mother lode. Or you’re about to, anyway.”

My brow wrinkled. “You’re kidding, right?”

“About what?”

I pointed to the nearest window. “Some of the drifts are as tall as me right now. You’re telling me it’s going to snow even harder?”

Once more the boys looked at each other. In unison they answered, and resoundingly, too.

“YES.”

As if the moment wasn’t already awkward, my eyes decided now was the perfect time to wander.

I found myself staring at their arms, their shoulders, their puffed out chests.

The lean, cut muscle that I knew lie just beneath their tee shirts, because in all three cases, those shirts were stretched almost intentionally too tightly.

Maybe they knew it. Maybe they didn’t. Maybe they’d all worn loose-fitting sweat shorts because they planned on me checking out their sculpted calves and well-muscled thighs, my eyes climbing higher and higher while imagining what lay just beyond.

Or maybe these were merely the clothes they slept in, and I was nothing more than a sex-starved pervert who hadn’t been laid in way too fucking long.

“Alright,” said Oakley, standing up. “Let’s get to work.”

I sat holding my wounded hand as they cleaned up breakfast in record time, again moving with precise, military efficiency. It left me even more time to watch and admire them. To wonder a little more about what these guys had been through together, and how many years they’d been a unit.

And of course, to marvel at just how great each of them looked from behind. Because they did look great from behind. Ridiculously great, actually.

And that’s when I realized, I just might be in a shitload of trouble.