Page 11 of Snowed In with her Mountain Men
“It was, and it wasn’t.”
Silently, I stared deeper into the photo. The four of them weren’t just dirty, they were absolutely filth-smeared from head to toe. Ryder’s fatigues were stained dark in some places, and Oakley had similar splatters. Jaxon was wearing a hat, but a portion of it had been torn away. Whatever had happened, they’d been through some shit.
The man called ‘Sarge’ however, looked the worst for wear. His trauma wasn’t physical though, it was somethingmuch deeper. Whatever he’d been through had taken years to sink in. Just staring into the photo, I could see it written in every line of his face.
“Where’s Sarge now?” I asked.
“Gone.”
I swallowed dryly. “Gonegone?”
Oakley let out a long, deep breath. “Let’s just say we’re gonna need a dimly lit room and a Ouija board if we want to talk to him again.”
I coughed, and shot him a sideways smirk.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “That was dickish.”
“Nah. I had it coming.”
My response caused him to finally pull his attention away from the photo. He paused to regard me for a moment, before his face broke into a boyish grin. “Wanna see upstairs?”
I shrugged. “Sure.”
Up the steps we went, our socks swishing quietly against the smooth, lacquered wood. It felt like we were sneaking around, although we weren’t. Like we’d just raided the fridge after a sleepover, and were carrying our plunder upstairs.
Oakley gave me a quick tour, where I encountered more rooms, and even more paintings. I noticed a good number of bedrooms in the upstairs hallway. All of the doors were closed, but his.
“Sorry,” he apologized, leading me in. “I should’ve just given you my room last night.”
He pointed to an immaculately-made, queen-sized bed that obviously hadn’t been slept in. Before I could agree or disagree, he began rummaging through a nearby dresser.
“Look, I appreciate you helping me, but…”
My voice died, mid-sentence. And that’s because a pair of impressively thick arms had lifted his shirt upward and off.
“But what?”
Oakley asked the question topless, as casually and comfortably as if he were talking to one of his friends. But I was clearly smitten. Try as I might, my gaze was shamelessly locked on the muscles of his beautiful chest. Even as I stared, they worked in tandem to pull open a series of dresser drawers, until he found a suitable, thermal shirt.
“I—I don’t even know what I’m saying,” I admitted. “I guess I should just say thank you, for putting me up for the night.”
As he pulled the thermal shirt on, a few select parts of my body went into actual mourning. A smile popped out of the neck-hole.
“Welcome.”
“Thanks also for taking the other couch last night,” I finished. “I appreciate you watching over me.”
“Watch over you?” he mused. “Is that why you think I came down?”
I shrugged. “That’s the feeling I got.”
“Oh.”
In posing my next question, I made sure to study his expression very carefully.
“Did it have something to do with the tracks outside?”
Oakley froze, even just for a moment. His answer, when he gave it, took just a half-second too long.
