Chapter 11
T he morning sun had already warmed the mountain.
Mac hoisted the bundle of firewood onto the back of the UTV.
The campground was waking up. The smell of coffee brewing over campfires, the sound of tents unzipping, and hushed voices among the trees told him everything about how the day would unfold.
The campers were getting ready for a fun-filled day at the lake.
Beckett was at the bathhouse, cussing out a busted water valve. Cord stood nearby, holding a wrench and grinning like he enjoyed watching Beckett lose his patience.
"You tighten it too hard again?" Cord asked, wiping his hands on his jeans.
Beckett grunted. "I didn't touch it yesterday."
"You breathe near it and it cracks."
Mac chuckled, tossing a tarp over the wood. "You two argue like an old married couple."
Cord shot him a stern look and mumbled, "We'd last longer than most couples nowadays."
They were mountain men, all three of them. Born to the dirt, raised by the trees. Their hands were calloused, their boots worn, and their conversations short. All they required was a good fire, a working motorcycle, a snowmobile, and enough quiet to hear themselves think.
Mac checked the trail map tacked to the side of the shower facility. A few campers wandered off the marked paths yesterday. He'd have to ride out later and stake a couple more signs, make sure no one could use the excuse of not knowing which direction to hike.
Beckett finally got the valve to stop leaking and stood, stretching his back. "We should charge extra for plumbing therapy."
Cord snorted. "We should charge extra for dealing with influencers."
Mac looked up, brows narrowing. "What are you talking about?"
"You're not gonna believe this." Cord pointed toward the lake.
Mac followed his gaze.
There, in a clearing framed by wildflowers and a mountain sky backdrop, stood Lauren.
She was mid-sentence, animatedly talking to her camera, arms gesturing, face lit with expression.
Her phone was clipped to a tripod, and she moved with practiced ease—spinning, laughing, striking a pose as if the world was watching.
Cord let out a low whistle. "She's a sexy lady."
"Fuck off." Mac stared at her. "Nobody touches her."
Beckett stepped up beside him. "What the hell is she doing?"
"Filming," Mac said, voice clipped.
"For what? A shampoo commercial?"
Mac turned to his cousin. "Lay off."
Cord raised his eyebrows. "I'm just saying, she's got more energy than a squirrel on espresso."
"She's a paying camper," Mac said. "She's allowed to be here."
"Never said she wasn't." Cord scratched his chest. "But most campers are wearing more durable clothes, not their Sunday best, looking like they stepped out of a fifties Playboy magazine."
Other things set her apart from the others enjoying the campground.
Lauren sought privacy to do her work. She stayed away from the populated areas of the lake.
She also brought enough food and supplies to last a month.
The campfire in front of her cabin sat empty.
She hadn't used it, which meant she'd brought the right supplies to make her food inside the cabin.
Beckett glanced over, then back at Mac. "You're awfully quick to defend her."
Mac stared at the way she moved, the way she lit up the space around her like she belonged in it. Cord was right, Lauren was classy, clean, and too high maintenance for the mountain.
And yet, he couldn't look away.
Cord nudged him. "Bag her, cuz."
Mac shot him a look. "I'm not putting a tag on anyone."
Cord held up his hands, grinning. "Alright, alright, no more hunting jokes. Just don't let her catch you staring."
But Mac couldn't stop looking. There was nothing here for her. She'd get her videos and her selfies and go back to Missoula, where she'd plan her next trip. Her next fuck.
He gritted his teeth. He should've left her well enough alone.
Cord and Beckett mounted their dual sports. The engines roared to life, echoing off the trees. Mac stepped back from the UTV, watching them kick up dust as they rode down the trail.
Lauren turned at the noise.
She spotted him instantly.
Mac grabbed the last bundle of firewood, stuffing it into the trailer like it needed his full attention. He could feel Lauren's gaze on him.
Then she moved.
He watched from the corner of his eye as she pushed through the brush, branches snagging her dress, leaves tangling in her hair. She didn't stop. Didn't hesitate. She fought her way toward him like she had something to say and wasn't going to let the wilderness stop her.
By the time she reached him, her cheeks were flushed, her breathing uneven.
"You weren't going to say hi?" She brushed a twig out from the top of her sundress, only drawing his attention to her breasts peeking over the material.
Mac straightened, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Didn't want to interrupt your performance."
Her eyes narrowed. "That wasn't a performance."
He met her gaze. "Looked like one."
Lauren stepped closer. "You were watching me?"
Mac exhaled slowly. "You're hard to miss."
She tilted her head, studying him. "You're mad."
"I'm not mad."
"You're something."
Her hair was messy, her lips parted, her eyes bright with challenge. She was ready for a fight. Her energy bounced off him. That pull. That ache.
"You don't know enough about what I do to judge me," she said.
"I don't understand why you'd want to put yourself out there so everyone can look at you."
"Fair enough." Her lips thinned. "But what I do with my life really isn't any of your concern."
They stood there, toe to toe, the silence between them thick with everything they weren't saying. Her eyes flicked to his mouth. His jaw clenched.
"I keep thinking about that night," she said softly.
Mac's breath caught. "Don't."
"Why not?"
"Because it doesn't change anything."
She swallowed. "It changed something for me."
He looked away, toward the trail. "You should go enjoy the campground. Meet some people. Go swimming. Take a hike."
She nodded but didn't move. "Are you going to kiss me again?"
"No."
"Even though you want to?"
He didn't answer.
She smiled, sad and knowing. "Okay."
Then she turned, walking back through the brush, disappearing into the trees.
Mac stood there long after she was gone. And he hated how much he wanted to follow.