Page 118 of The One With the Mountain Man

"The smell of eggs while hungover is a right of passage." He was so proud of himself. "How are Marley and Joanne?"

Travis practically snarled. "She's drooling all over my couch cushions. Taking her home was like trying to wrestle a wet cat into a bag. She was all arms and legs and yelling about nonsense. For some reason she didnotwant to go home last night."

And based on the way he kept flexing his jaw, he assumed it had to do with Noah. Which meant we needed to keep him busy today until he could get the real reason out of his sister. Maybe it was Noah, maybe it wasn't, but going off half-cocked would only lead to trouble.

"Marley is a cute drunk." I shrugged. "Tucked her into bed and she's still there." That raw feeling niggled at me again.

"She met half your family last week, right? How did that go?" Red rocked back in his desk chair, the financials all but forgotten.

"Yep. And it went real well. She's going shopping with Eve and Ethan this weekend, Ollie wants us over for a barbecue, and Colin has stopped asking me why I would tie myself down."

"Kids," Red sighed. "Well fit us into your busy social schedule, too. Melinda wants to meet Marley."

"Yeah, maybe next weekend?" At this rate she'd be booked out on social engagements through the end of summer.

"What's got your panties in a bunch?" Travis frowned.

I shrugged. "Just woke up in asshole mode."

Red's eyes narrowed. "How is Karis? Gus?"

Maybe that was part of my mood. She had that haunted look last night and didn't seem any better this morning. "Girls Gone Wild didn't work for her. She slept on the floor while everyone else was dancing and singing."

"Yeah, I think we need to stage an intervention," Travis agreed. "That was not a happy woman."

"I don't know what else to do. Make her more dinners? Take her and Gus out on the weekends?" It meant more sharing and I didn't like it, but Karis was important, too.

"This shouldn't all be on you. We should all be doing more," Red grumbled.

"She wouldn't like us drawing up a schedule to entertain her." In fact, I was sure she'd hate it.

"Remember what Marley said about the house?" Travis piped in. "Maybe we stage a remodel instead? Fresh paint, new bookshelves—women always go nuts for bookshelves—maybe even some new furniture or towels or whatever it is that makes her happy."

"That's a really good idea," Red replied. "When Susan moved out, Melinda moped around the house until she redid the living room. She said that it made it fresh and new for a new time in our lives. And she wasn't wrong. I felt it too. That little change made all the difference."

It made sense. Memories attached to things like ghosts. The hopes and dreams she had for her life just staring back at her as failures. Karis needed a fresh start and that began with having a home that was just hers, not the flaming remains of her marriage. "This weekend. Eve already has that shopping trip planned; they can pick up whatever we need while we get to work clearing out the old. You in?" I asked Travis.

"Hell yeah I'm in. Digger and Scottie too."

If we all pitched in, Karis and Gus would have a brand-new house come Monday. A little of that tension lightened, but not all of it.

I met a small group of hikers at nine and led them on a four-hour tour that included a picnic lunch at Sammy's thinking spot. I couldn't spend a minute there without thinking of Marley and our picnic. The view was beautiful as always, but it would never be as gorgeous as that memory. I made a mental note to bring her back now that the wildflowers were in full bloom. We'd bring another picnic and maybe she'd find the inspiration she needed to start writing again.

When I got back, I joined Travis's fly-fishing expedition in the river. He had three finance bros from Charlotte with him and they were not getting the hang of it. At. All. But then again, they were more concerned with drinking beer and telling terrible jokes.

"These fucking assholes," Travis grumbled under his breath. "If this guiding shit didn't pay so fucking much I'd drown them."

Highly specialized hikes and guided tours with individuals or small groups paid significantly better than trips down the river or even the group activities at the lodge, which is why we both tried to pick up at least a couple a month. Rafting down the river was fun. Always a damn good time. But it helped to have money in the bank.

"Did you at least catch enough for lunch?" One of Travis's specialties was serving lunch fresh from the river. Tourists paid well for his curated experiences.

He looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "Did I catch enough? Me? Did I?" He waved me off. "They thought lunch was their version ofLord of the Flies. I half expected them to rip off their clothes and find a fucking conch shell." A freshly made riverside lunch had that effect on more than one tourist over the years. I had my fair share of odd stories from camping trips where my guests went primitive.

But those were stories for drunken nights around a fire with no tourists in sight.

Travis jutted his chin at the closest bro. "That one is an odd one. He's quiet. Doesn't quite fit in with the other two. Said he's spending the week at one of Mack's cabins with a friend from Georgia."

I studied the gelled hair that was a throwback to the late nineties, the way his hip-waders swallowed him whole. He was uncomfortable in nature. It showed in the way he glared at the water rushing by and the way he kept adjusting his body. I could tell without speaking to him that he was the kind of guy who complained about his food and sent it back three times, along with a string of insults.

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