Page 84 of Mountain Mens' Curvy Obsession

The sheriff smiles. “The boys never told you about all the good they did for this place?”

“I know they bought up properties and failing businesses,” I reply, “rejuvenating the local economy and all of that.”

“Oh, they did a lot more,” Mills says. “In the past three years, they’ve done more to help develop the region than the local government has done in the last thirty.”

I can’t help but gaze at Chance with genuine admiration. “How so?”

“Well, we focused on turning every inch of land we bought into something that would, in turn, produce a decent revenue for the town,” he replies. “Just basic economics.”

“Chance is being humble, as always, downplaying their impact on Seeley Lake,” Sheriff Mills says. “Come, join me. I’ll take you to the mountain lookout. You’ll see what I mean.”

We follow him out of the cabin and down another path leading away from the campsite. About twenty yards to the left and through a dense patch of pine trees, we reach a steep stone ledge with a lookout tower made of river rocks and oakwood.

“Oh, wow,” I marvel as I take in the extraordinary view unraveling before my eyes. “It’s amazing. You can see the whole of Seeley Lake from here.”

“Half of what you see now wasn’t there before,” Mills tells me.

The lake glistens under the noon sun, and the rooftops of the surrounding town stretch out every which way. I see the road leading into town, the lumber mills rising to the east, the white-walled clinic, the farmers’ market, and the agricultural fields reaching toward the center of the valley.

From this vantage point, the picture includes a lot more detail.

“The entire eastern sector is new. The windmills produce enough power to keep the town afloat whenever there’s blackout caused by a blizzard or a storm. The lumber mills are big enough to process wood coming from across the entire district. The farms you see past the water tower north of the lake were set up and developed on Hayes land, each producing copious amounts of grain and vegetables to support the whole region,” Mills explains. “Our town has become remarkably self-sufficient and even capable of delivering a generous food output for our neighbors. Chance calls it basic economics, but it’s more than that.”

“It’s about making the most out of the land without destroying it,” I conclude.

“Part of the Hayes’s investment included a cleanup operation involving the lake and the surrounding forests. There’s also a recycling center about five miles to the south, on the other side of the mountain,” the sheriff adds. “Chance and his brothers aided my community with money, even volunteering to help renovate and refurbish the reservation’s school and clinic. New jobs in Seeley Lake meant my people could work and get paid. That brought money into the reservation, which we’re investing into upgrades as well.

“I expect Seeley Lake and its indigenous community to thrive over the next decade or so, purely thanks to Hayes’s investments,” he says, then turns to give Chance a half-smile. “Which is why, when they asked me to do whatever it takes to protect you, and despite my displeasure at having to cross certain legal lines to do it, I agreed.”

I shudder against Chance’s hard frame. “I’m honestly overwhelmed by the effort going into keeping me alive.”

“You’re worth it,” Chance gently tells me, arm stretched around my shoulders.

The more Mills shares about the Hayes brothers, however, the deeper I fall in love with them.

I’m pregnant with their child. It’s an unchangeable fact, something I’m still getting used to, along with the physical and emotional shifts it entails. Being one of the few Asimov survivors, however, adds a twist I‘m not sure how to handle.

Seeley Lake is a haven. And my mere presence is disruptive, to say the least, because of my baggage with the Sokolovs. It’s not fair to anyone, and it pains me deeply.

23

Chance

Something is bothering her.

An intrusive thought, I’m sure. Anya does a decent job of keeping her emotions in check, but every now and then, especially when things are good between us, I catch a glimpse of it—the doubt in her beautiful blue eyes.

The fear that it might all just vanish.

“Come spring, we’re going to spend our fair share of evenings in that camp, just so you know,” I tell Anya as we head back to the lodge.

We’re both tired and sweating under our heavy winter gear, but the thought of a hot lunch and a cup of tea waiting for us home adds a spring to our weary steps. I keep her close, making sure she’s got both feet on the ground as we make our way down the trail through the woods.

My gaze is darting everywhere, searching for any trouble that might come our way.

“Is that so?” Anya replies, smiling softly. “Campfires and marshmallows?”

“Campfires, yes. Marshmallows, no.”

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