Ten Mountain Men's Baby: A Reverse Harem Romance (Love by Numbers Book 9)

by Nicole Casey

  I shielded my eyes from the sun, yet I still managed to get only a faint, blurred look at her. She’d set down her backpack and was crouching by the bank, splashing herself much like I had done. I wondered if she, too, would get naked and go for a dip.

  Staring from such a distance was making my eyes sore. I contemplated whether to get dressed and go down to her or remain where I was. The thought also occurred to me that she was only a mirage: my contact-craving mind conjuring the form of a young woman bathing by the riverside. Either way, I was happy for the distraction.

  I watched and waited, hoping she’d disrobe or come toward me, or both. Instead, she stood and looked my way, shielding her eyes much like I was.

  I lifted a hand and waved.

  She waved back.

  Since I hadn’t yet lost my city manners, and because I had started shivering from the cold, I slipped on a pair of boxers—clean ones; I was ever the optimist.

  Again, my optimism was rewarded as she strapped on her backpack and came walking my way.

  It would have been awkward for me to get dressed quickly. So, instead, I played it cool and laid myself back down onto the slab of rock, pretending to soak in the rays of the sun, but in actuality, I was freezing.

  She stopped about fifty feet downstream. “Hey,” she called out.

  “Hey,” I responded.

  “Are you from the trail?” she asked.

  I sat up and pointed upstream in the general direction from which I’d come. “Yep.”

  She continued walking toward me. As she did, a cloud passed in front of the sun, dulling the bright backdrop and allowing me to get a good look at her.

  Tall and slender with black hair tied in a ponytail, dark eyes, and full lips—she was gorgeous.

  As she advanced, I felt an erection coming on, so I sat up and bent my leg to shield it from her view. It caught in my wet pubic hairs and pulled as it stiffened. It was painful; I badly wanted to reach into my boxers and adjust, but that surely would have sent her walking in the opposite direction, and quickly.

  When she was within twenty feet of me, she said, “Hello.”

  The cloud had passed, and the sun was again beaming in the background. I had to squint when looking in her direction. “Hello, stranger,” I said.

  She stopped, set down her backpack, and took a seat on it. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  I kept my eyes on her, fighting the sun to get a good look. “Yes, it sure is.”

  She turned to me. Her head blocked the sun, and in an instant, I could see her face clearly. She was obviously of mixed ethnicities—perhaps even Native American like me. Whatever her origins, she was exotic enough to be exciting yet familiar and comforting all the same. She wore a serious expression, all business, but her voice was light and casual.

  Her gaze swept over me, from the top of my head to the tips of my feet. “You must be freezing,” she said.

  I laughed. “I walked down here to take a bath, and I wasn’t about to let a little thing like common sense stop me. Now, I’m just drying off.”

  “Do you need a towel?” She reached into her backpack then stopped, her eyes again sweeping over me. “Not that I mind.” Her lips didn’t stretch, but she smiled with her eyes.

  I didn’t need a towel; I had my own. But I welcomed the idea of sharing with her, even if it was just a towel, to start. “Thank you.”

  She handed me her towel, her eyes still perusing my body. At that moment, I was very thankful for the gym membership I’d invested in a few years back. Money well spent.

  I dried my hair then handed her the towel back.

  She chuckled.

  “What?” I asked.

  She pointed at my head. “If you’d looked like that a minute ago, I wouldn’t have come over here.”

  Giving my hair a quick towel dry had made it stick up and out. I must have looked crazy lying on a rock in my boxers, wild hair sticking out in all directions. I ran my hands through my hair, flattening it and giving it a quick combing. “There. Is that better?”

  She nodded.

  I looked from her to the water then back. “Fancy a swim?”

  She looked at me wide-eyed and shook her head. “No way. I’m a California girl. I’m already freezing out here.”

  “You’re right,” I said, and I hopped to my feet. “I’m freezing, too, actually.” I stepped back onto the bank and slipped on a shirt.

  “Ah,” she said, feigning disappointment. “The show’s over already?”

  “I’m afraid so.” I slipped on my pants.

  She pouted. “But I just got here.”

  I sat back down on the rock and slipped on my socks and shoes, then I looked at her and said, “I’m sorry to disappoint. But you wouldn’t want me to freeze to death?”

  She shook her head.

  “Believe me,” I said, “I’m far more fun alive.”

  She pulled a windbreaker from her backpack and put it on. She stood, looking upstream. “Did you come from there?” She pointed.

  “Yep.”

  “So, I could regain the trail up ahead?”

  “Actually…” I rubbed my chin. “To be honest, I slid down a steep slope to get down here. I think it might be difficult—very difficult—to climb back up. Where did you come from?”

  She pointed downstream. “There’s a path leading from the trail to the river over there, not far.”

  I chuckled. “I must have missed it.”

  “I suppose I’ll go back the way I came then?” She looked at me as if I should confirm her decision. Or perhaps she was waiting for me to make a move.

  In Massachusetts, she would have been waiting a long while—I wasn’t shy, but I was far from what we’d call aggressive or audacious when it came to girls. But out here, in the wild of the mountains, I was feeling far more daring.

  “Do you mind if I join you?”

  She was a fast walker, which I appreciated—not only because of the delay in my schedule but also because the temperature was dropping at an alarming rate. When we reached the waypoint, I showed her the slope I’d slid down to get to the river.

  “That would explain the state of your backside,” she said, and she brushed the dirt off the back of my pants.

  I looked over my shoulder and down. “Did you get it all?”

  “Good enough.”

  I stuck my butt out. “Are you sure?”

  She slapped me on the butt—and not lightly. “Get moving. It’s too cold to stand still.”

  I obliged, and she kept pace at my side.

  “So, what brought you from California to the trail?” I asked.

  She chuckled. “It’s a long story.”

  I smiled at her. “We’re not short on time. And I’m a good listener.”

  “Well, I’m here mainly to document charity work.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded. “Yep. Volunteer doctors and nurses from around the country come to Appalachia. I’m documenting some of the work they’re doing.”

  I stopped. “Wait. What?” I tilted my head to the side. “You’re not with—” The coincidence was too extraordinary that I didn’t finish my sentence.

  Though I’d stopped, she continued walking and continued talking, too. “I stop off at towns and villages along the trail, visit the clinics, talk to doctors and nurses, take photos, write about them. It’s to raise money for the charity.”

  She was well ahead of me now. I ran after her, stumbling over my feet.

  “You okay back there?”

  She paused long enough for me to catch up. “That’s crazy,” I said.

  “Yeah, that’s me. I’m always off doing crazy things.”

  “No, I mean, the coincidence, it’s crazy. You… you’re.…” I stammered.

  She stopped again and looked back at me. “What?”

  “You’re—” I caught myself before repeating what Doctor Raskin had told me: You’re the eccentric wealthy socialite married to a politician who’s always off on adventures to rais
e money for charities.

  “You’re here to do charity,” I said.

  “To document the charity,” she corrected. “I’m just writing about it.” Then she looked at me. “And you? What’s your story?”

  9

  Holly

  I had been hiking for three days straight. Already I’d found my “hiker’s legs”; I wasn’t sore but invigorated. I’d slept two nights in a tent—and surprisingly well. I still had one more night of sleeping in a tent and another day’s hike before I was scheduled to stop off in Franklin, North Carolina. Though I enjoyed the workout and the opportunity to think and let my imagination wander, I was itching to get to my next stop and see the reaction my first blog entry had garnered. I was equally anxious to meet the people in Franklin and post my second entry.

  I still maintained a quiet hope that Ryker would be in Franklin and that I would get to meet him. It was a fantasy, but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. And hiking alone in the mountains gave fuel to my fantasies. They were mostly what kept me company. I had even formed a picture of Ryker in my mind: tall, rugged, blond with blue eyes, not unlike the photo of Devon that Mrs. Fieldman had shown me back in my office.

  I told myself that what was most important was the bond that we shared: two fish out of water, looking to connect with people in need, looking to connect with our roots. I told myself that it didn’t matter much what he looked like. And sometimes, I even believed it.

  The temperature had dropped considerably. And I suspected that would continue as evening approached; even light snow was expected. Though I was making great time, I allowed myself a little detour off the main path, letting myself be tempted by the side trails and dips into the hidden brush below. I heard the running of river water and went to have a look. Better satisfy my curiosity now, before the weather makes that inadvisable if not impossible.

  I wasn’t alone. About a hundred feet upstream, a man was sunbathing on a rock. I would have gone to him and introduced myself but for the fact that he was completely naked. I didn’t mind, of course. He was fit and bronzed. I stared at him a while from a distance.

  It took him a few minutes to notice that I was there. When he did, he put on a pair of boxers. He waved to me. I waved back to him.

  Normally, I don’t approach strange men in the wild wearing nothing but boxers, but normally, I don’t sleep in a tent and hike through the Appalachian Mountains. So, I embraced the new normal and walked over to him.

  He looked to be about my age—mid-twenties—with dark hair and a dark complexion, physically fit, but more muscular than I’d expect from a hiker with broad shoulders and slated abs, smooth with sharp cuts not unlike the slab of rock he was lying on.

  Though he tried to play it cool, I could tell he was embarrassed at being caught without his clothes on. Instead of putting him at ease, like a normal person might, by shifting my attention to the surrounding landscape, I checked him out from head to foot and back again with no effort to hide my wandering eyes. This also was not something I normally did.

  Decidedly, Appalachia-hiking Holly was nothing like normal Holly. And that suited me just fine.

  I didn’t ask him his name—like normal Holly would have—and he didn’t ask me mine. He could be Ryker, I told myself. And it was perhaps that silly delusion that had me hoping he wouldn’t, unsolicited, give me his name. I didn’t want the delusion spoiled.

  He got dressed, and suddenly my interest diminished significantly—so, some characteristics of normal Holly still remained. A gentle breeze blew over the river. It was quite chilly, so I decided to get back to the trail. I hesitated, hoping he would offer to join me, which he did.

  Four days and I’ve managed to pick up one hot, naked man along the way. Not a bad ratio. And promising, considering this is supposed to be a six-month hike.

  As we walked, I told him about the charity work I was documenting. To my surprise, this seemed to freak him out.

  “What?” I said. “Is that so unbelievable?”

  “No, no.” He shook his head but still wore the disbelief on his face.

  “And what do you do back in Massachusetts?” I asked.

  “In Massachusetts? I’m a doctor.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, not yet actually. I’m still a resident.”

  I thought to say, I’m a doctor, too. We have something in common. But I’d met medical doctors before who weren’t too keen on sharing that title with a dentist, so I said nothing about our similarities.

  The sun did not make a gradual retreat, slowly ushering in the evening as it had in previous days. Instead, it left the sky quite suddenly. One minute I was telling him about the charity, “Medicine on the Trail,” and seemingly the next minute, visibility was poor, and the weather had dropped to what felt like near freezing.

  “Is that snow?” he said. He extended his hand, then examined the flakes that fell on it.

  “Already?”

  “It is snow,” he said.

  “Dammit. I was hoping to make it to Franklin before the snow started to come down.”

  “Just think,” he said, wide-eyed and full of excitement, “how beautiful it will be if we get a real snowfall.”

  The prospect of camping out in a snowfall had me quite concerned but seeing the excitement on his face took a lot of the worry away.

  The evening turned to night on a dime. Fortunately, despite the poor visibility, we were able to find a spot to set up a tent.

  I unpacked my tent and spread it over the patch of flat ground. I looked over and saw that he was doing the same with his tent. “My tent’s big enough for both of us,” I said.

  We sat side by side, sipping hot tea, the front of the tent open, and watched the snowfall. I shivered. I wasn’t really cold, but I was giving him the signs to get closer to me still. He took the hint.

  He scooted behind me, spread his legs to either side of me, and pulled me back, offering me a strong and warm body to lean against. He set his hands on his knees. I took them and wrapped his arms around me, shivering, though I wasn’t really cold. He got the hint and rubbed my arms, then squeezed me tightly.

  I laid my head against his hard chest. His chin rested on my head.

  “You never told me your name,” he said.

  “You never asked.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Holly.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Holly,” he said. His breath fell on my head. He brushed my hair to the side.

  “It tickles.” I turned my head so that his chin touched the top of my forehead.

  He gave me a kiss on the forehead, as one might do to say goodnight to a child. “Do you want to know mine?” he asked.

  “Your what?”

  “My name.”

  I thought about it. In my mind, I was still calling him Ryker, and I liked it, liked the fantasy of it: a chance encounter, two destinies colliding in the mountains. Whatever his name was, I was sure it was nice, but unlikely Ryker. I didn’t want to hear it. “No,” I said.

  He chuckled. “That’s okay. I’m not going to pressure you.” He held me tightly, one hand cupping my elbow, the other at my waist.

  “I once hiked the Canadian Arctic,” I said, “but I didn’t have a man to hold me and keep me warm.”

  “You poor girl.” He kissed me again on the top of my head. “I don’t suppose it’s easy to find naked men sunbathing in the Canadian Arctic.”

  “You might find this hard to believe,” I said, “but that sort of thing doesn’t happen to me every day.”

  “You’re right; I do find that hard to believe.”

  I elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’ve heard stories,” he said. “I know about you.”

  “Oh, do you?”

  He rubbed my arms. “I know who you are.”

  “Is that so?”

  “You’re Holly from California.”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  “
The only thing I can’t figure out is why you’re not wearing a wedding ring.”

  “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

  “Maybe so. Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Talk about what?”

  “How you’re not wearing a wedding ring.”

  I looked up at him, confused. “What are you saying? I’m not old enough for you to assume I’m married. That’s a strange assumption.”

  “It’s not an assumption. I heard you were, that’s all.”

  “Oh, you heard? Are you hearing voices? Is the wind speaking to you?”

  “It is.”

  “What’s it saying?”

  “It’s saying we should zip up the flap and get under the covers.”

  “Hmm. It wouldn’t be wise to argue with the wind. Best do as it says.”

  I lay on my side, his arm around my waist, pressing me tightly against him. My leg slipped between his. I felt his member stiffen. I snuggled in closer still, and his erection pressed against my hip.

  “Are you comfortable?” he asked.

  “Mmm. Warm and comfy.”

  He rubbed my shoulder and arm, then ran his hand from my shoulder down my back, slowing as it passed firmly over my backside. He spread out his fingers and clawed at my hip like a kneading cat. He spread his thighs apart and lifted my leg slightly, his hips meeting the movement with a gentle push. He leaned his head back, a look on his face somewhere between pleasure and pain.

  I put my lips to his jaw somewhere between a kiss and a nibble. “Are you all right? Comfortable.”

  “Yes,” he said. “It’s just”—he shifted— “slightly.…”

  I kissed him on the cheek and slid my hand down his chest to his belt buckle. “I know.” I unfastened his belt, unbuttoned his pants, and undid the zipper, the rotation of his hips helping me maneuver.

  A faint murmur escaped his mouth. I slid my hand under his boxers. His stiff member poked out from the top of his boxers.