Claimed by 3 Mountain Men (Silver Ridge Mountain Men)

11. Mac

11

MAC

T he tent flaps violently, straining against the stakes driven into the earth, as if it, too, is desperate to flee. Rain pelts the canvas like a thousand tiny fists, and the world beyond is nothing more than a blur of shadows and noise.

But I’m not going anywhere.

JT’s threat hangs in the air, sharp and cutting, but they don’t deter me. If anything, they fuel the fire that’s been burning inside me since I first set foot in this forest.

He’s going to have to try harder to scare me off.

I know I’m onto something big—something that could change everything. If I can expose what the Truitt’s are really doing, I can save this forest. I can protect the last home of the silver lynxes.

I hunch over my laptop, the screen casting a pale blue light that feels like the only warmth in this dark, chaotic night. My fingers move quickly, reviewing footage, scanning through notes, piecing together the puzzle that’s slowly coming into focus.

I’ve entrenched myself in rewatching the old footage sent by the conservation, hoping there’s more of Luke, but it's only about a week’s worth of footage and very limited in what it shot.

I grind my teeth together.

The tent shudders, and for a moment, I wonder if it will hold.

I turn back to face my laptop.

So far, I’ve captured no evidence of any silver lynx activity in the surrounding area. But I have to be close. I just know it.

JT thinks he can scare me off. He thinks he can protect his family, his empire, by threatening me, by trying to push me away. But he doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know how far I’m willing to go, how deep I’m willing to dig, to get to the truth.

And his eagerness to get rid of me has only strengthened my belief that this family is hiding some dark, terrible secrets.

A gust of wind slams into the tent, and for a moment, the walls buckle inward, the fabric straining against the force of the storm. My heart leaps into my throat.

There was nothing on the weather about a storm this terrible moving in.

Suddenly, without warning, everything goes black.

I stare at the blank screen, my heart skipping a beat as the hum of the portable battery cuts off. The power’s gone, just like that, snuffed out by the storm. I reach for the lantern, flicking it on, but the small, warm glow does little to push back the shadows that press in from all sides.

As the wind picks up, it rips through the tent like a knife. The flaps tear open, and the rain pours in, cold and relentless, soaking everything in its path.

“No! No!” I shout frantically.

The tent buckles under the assault, the poles straining, the canvas flapping wildly. Water pools on the floor, turning the dirt into mud, and I scramble to save what I can. I frantically grab my notes, my gear, and anything that isn’t already drenched.

“Damn it!” I shout, but the wind steals the sound, and carries it away into the night. The storm isn’t letting up—in fact, it’s only getting worse. The wind howls with a fury that feels almost personal, as if determined to drive me out. It’s like the Truitt’s paid it off to appear and fuck up my life.

Staying here wouldn’t just be stubborn and foolish—right now it’s dangerous. The storm is too powerful, too wild, and if I don’t get out now, I’ll lose everything, including my life.

I throw on my raincoat, zip it up all the way, and grab my backpack stuffed with everything I was able to salvage and the few essentials that aren’t ruined. The wind slams the tent open again, and I step out into the storm, the rain lashing against my face like icy needles.

I have to find shelter, and fast.

There’s only one place I know of that I can walk to. And right now, I don’t have any other choice.

The trees around me sway violently, their branches whipping through the air. The path back to the Truitt lodge is almost impossible to see in the downpour. But I know the way. I’ve walked through these woods plenty of times now.

I pull my jacket tighter around me, ducking my head against the wind, and start to make my way.

My stomach twists and turns. This might be a terrible idea, but what other choice did I have?

By the time I reach the edge of the property, I’m soaked to the bone, my teeth chattering with cold. The lodge looms ahead, its windows glowing with warm light,

I can’t believe I’m doing this, can’t believe I’m about to walk up to their door.

I climb the steps to the porch, and stand there for a moment, dripping and shivering, staring at the door. This is the last place I want to be, but I remind myself that there’s nowhere else to go.

I raise my hand and knock, the sound barely audible over the wind and rain. For a moment, there’s nothing—just the roar of the storm and the sound of my own ragged breathing. I knock again and then, the door creaks open, and I find myself face to face with JT.

His eyes widen in surprise, and for a moment, neither of us says anything. I’m sure I look like a drowned rat, standing there with water dripping from my hair, my clothes plastered to my skin.

But I don’t care about that. All I care about is getting out of this storm, getting warm, and figuring out what the hell I’m going to do next.

“I need shelter,” I manage to say, my voice is trembling from the cold, but also from the humiliation of having to ask him for help.

JT stares at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable, and I brace myself for the possibility that he might turn me away and send me back out into the storm. But then he steps aside, opening the door wider.

“Come in,” he says, his voice gruff but not unkind.

I step inside, the warmth of the lodge hitting me like a physical force, and I almost collapse with relief.

This place is no joke; it’s like something you’d see photographed in a magazine about dream vacation homes. The walls are paneled in rich, dark wood, fancy intricate rugs cover the wide plank floors. The living room is dominated by a massive stone fireplace, its hearth wide enough to stand in.

Did I just wander into some sort of mountain resort?

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“The storm broke my tent.”

“I’ll call a cab to take you into town.” He grabs his phone from the nearby table and starts dialing.

“JT, wait,” Ben says, stepping into the room. “She’s soaked to the bone. We can’t just send her back out there. It’s too dangerous. And I doubt anyone will drive out here to come get her. You’re not in fucking California.”

“She’s not staying here,” JT snaps, his gaze hardening. “We’ve got enough problems without her snooping around.”

My back stiffens at his words.

This was a mistake. Maybe I would’ve stood a better chance with the storm outside.

Hank meanders in then, his emotions impossible to read, but his gaze jumps from me to his brothers. All three of them study me intently. I shift uncomfortably on my feet, feeling incredibly self-conscious.

“JT, Ben’s right,” Hank finally says. “We can’t let her die out there. The storm is getting worse. We’ll just have to keep an eye on her.”

The three of them engage in a silent standoff, each one giving the other steely glares. I stand there, dripping water on their expensive-looking rug, feeling like an unwanted puppy.

“Fine,” J.T. growls at last, slamming his phone down on the table. “But she’s not wandering around this house. Hank, take her upstairs to the guest bedroom. Make sure she stays put.”

Hank nods and steps forward, his expression softening slightly as he looks at me. “Come on, let’s get you out of those wet clothes and into something dry.”

I follow him up the stairs, my legs feel like lead, each step a Herculean effort. All I want to do is crawl into a warm bed and sleep.

“You should have left when I told you to,” he said.

“I know. I’m sorry. I just needed to look around. I thought...” my voice trails off, not sure what I thought anymore. I wasn’t expecting them to be so kind or let me into their home without a bigger fight.

Hank stops on the landing and turns to face me, his eyes intense.

“Well, there’s a lot going on right now, Mac.”

“I can tell.” I look around, taking in the opulence and isolation of the place. “What exactly is going on here?”

Hank hesitates before continuing to the next floor. “It’s...complicated. Let’s just say since dad passed, we’ve trying to figure some things out. He wasn’t necessarily the most organized guy when it came to paperwork.”

At the end of the hall, Hank gestures to a partially open door.

“You can stay here,” he says, pushing the door open wider. The room is spacious with a four-poster bed adorned with plush pillows and a cozy-looking quilt. A massive mirror sits over the dresser.

He rummages through a drawer and pulls out some clothes—a flannel shirt and a pair of sweatpants. “These should fit. They’re my old clothes, but they’ll be more comfortable than what you’re wearing now.”

“Thank you,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. I take the clothes from him.

“There’s a bathroom there,” Hank says, pointing to another door across the room. “You can use the shower to warm up. There are towels in the drawer.”

“Thank you. I appreciate all this. I really do.”

“Don’t mention it.” Hank turns to leave, then pauses. “I’m sorry about J.T. He’s...”

“Bossy and protective?” I finish.

Hank chuckles. “Yeah, that too.”

I drop the borrowed clothes onto the bed, my fingers trembling slightly as I peel off my soaked jacket. The wet fabric clings to my skin, cold and heavy, and I shiver as I finally strip it away. My shirt and pants follow, landing in a soggy heap on the floor. The air in the room is warm, but it does little to chase away the chill that’s seeped into my bones.

I feel vulnerable here.

I reach out and turn the handle, and water cascades from the rain showerhead above, a steady, soothing stream that quickly fills the space with steam.

I slide off my underwear, the fabric is damp and sticks to my skin. I step into the blissfully hot shower.

I reach for the soap, lathering it between my hands, the scent of sandalwood and something earthy fills the air. My skin tingles as I run my hands over my body, the suds sliding down, taking with them the last remnants of the night’s chill. I scrub away the dirt, the sweat, the fear, until all that’s left is the warmth of the water cascading down my body.

When I’m warmed through, I turn off the water, and reach for the towel on the hook, but nearly slip when I hear the thud of a footstep.

My eyes snap upward.

JT is standing in the bathroom doorway, his broad frame filling the space, his eyes wide with surprise and something else—something darker, more intense. He’s frozen, caught off guard, his hand still on the door handle, as if he hadn’t meant to intrude.

For a moment, neither of us moves. The air between us crackles with tension.

“I’m sorry,” he finally manages to say, his voice rougher than usual. “I didn’t mean to...”

I snatch the towel and wrap it around myself, my heart hammers in my chest. How much had he seen? My cheeks burn.

“What are you doing here?” I manage to ask, my voice coming out more breathless than I’d like.

JT blinks, as if snapping out of whatever trance he was in. “I knocked,” he explains, his voice rough, edged with something I can’t quite place. “I didn’t hear anything. I thought you might’ve been… snooping around the house.”

“Snooping?” The word feels absurd at this moment, given the fact that I’m standing in front of him, fresh out of the shower, with nothing but a towel between us.

“You’re the one sneaking around! Not me.”

“I didn’t realize you were… I thought…” He trails off, his gaze flicking away, as if he’s trying to gather his thoughts.

The silence between us is deafening, only broken by the drip, drip of the shower that I had left running.

“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t… doing something you shouldn’t be,” he says finally, his tone more controlled, though there’s still an undercurrent of something deeper. “You can’t blame me for not trusting you.”

I raise an eyebrow, a hint of irritation creeping into my voice. “You really think I’m running around, going through your things? Looking for some kind of dirt on your family? I’m not here for that.”

“Aren’t you?” His words are a challenge, the cold, steely glint is back in his eyes.

I hold his stare, refusing to back down. “No. I’m not. Unless you have a silver lynx hidden in here somewhere.”

His jaw clenches and he takes a sharp step forward. Every muscle within me tightens and I forget to breathe. His eyes wander over me then, crawling over every inch of me.

The air seems to thicken, charged with something electric, something I don’t understand.

“Is there anything you wanted to tell me, or are you just being a creep?” I ask.

“I came to tell you that dinner is ready,” he grinds out. “Salmon, if you’re interested.”

“Thank you,” I say stiffly. His dinner invitation catching me completely off guard.

He clears his throat, still not taking his eyes off me. Finally, he steps back, breaking the tension. “Get dressed.”

Without waiting for a response, he whips around and practically flees. I don’t waste any time throwing on the sweat pants and flannel shirt unsure when the next intrusion will be.

In Hank’s clothes, I slink down the stairs to the kitchen area.

As I make my way down the hall, the soft glow of the kitchen light draws me in. The room is quiet, the only sound is the crackling of the fire in the living room, but the table is only set for one with a plate of salmon, green beans and potatoes.

Hank is sitting at the table, leaning back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face as he stares out the window at the storm. He looks up when he hears me approach, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Warmed up?” he asks, raising a brow.

I nod.

“I can’t remember the last time I was stuck in a storm that terrible.” I glance around looking for some sign of the other two. But neither JT nor Ben are anywhere around.

“We already ate,” he says, noting my searching. “But we all figured you needed some grub.”

“Is it poisoned?” I joke, taking the seat across from him.

“Only one way to find out.”

“I appreciate the hospitality.”

“Mom raised us right. And even if you aren’t a fan of what our family does, there’s no way we can deny someone in need at our doorstep.”

I pick at my food. He’s still staring at me, as if though waiting for me to say something.

“I assure you I’ll be out of your hair as soon as the weather clears up,” I finally say, breaking the silence.

“I doubt it.”

“Why?” I ask, setting my fork down.

He smirks and leans in. “Don’t play stupid with me right now.”

“You think I want to be in your house?”

He shrugs.

“Probably a little nicer place than that tent.”

My eyes narrow as I study him. “I like my tent. It’s quiet. I can eat in peace.”

He holds up his hands innocently. “My bad. Didn’t mean to insult you.”

“What is it about you, Hank?”

“What do you mean?”

“The way you look at me. It’s like...” I trail off, unsure of how to complete the sentence. “I want to understand.”

“Is this the part where I confess all my darkest desires? About all the family secrets and the reason why we’ve been so tough on you?”

“No…” my voice catches as though I’ve been caught and for a moment, I fear I am way out of my league right now. “It’s just... you and your brothers. You all hate me so much but now you’re being... nice.”

He leans back in his chair, and I notice his jaw clenching. “We don’t hate you...”

“But?”

He sighs. “It’s complicated.”

“Listen, I am sorry about your father.”

“It’s the past. We’re over it.”

“Are you?”

Hank shifts in his chair.

“I don’t have a choice and you don’t really have a choice on staying on our property.”

“I understand,” I say. My fingers curl tightly around the fork. “I’ll leave.” I say the words, but I don’t believe them and I’m not so sure he does either.

“Oh. don’t do that,” he groans, rubbing his eyes with his hands.

“Do what? Isn’t that what you want?”

“No. I mean yes. But that’s not what I’m talking about.” He runs his fingers along the stubble on his jaw. “You. That face you make when you get serious. You bite the corner of your lip, and it makes me?—”

“What?”

He stands up abruptly and walks over to the window. I can see the ripples of tension on his back beneath his thin t-shirt, as he takes a deep breath. “Nothing.” He turns to face me, his expression as neutral as possible. “You should finish eating and then get some rest. It’s late.”