The Clarke Brothers (Complete Series)

by Lilian Monroe

  I glance back up the road toward my cabin. It’s twelve miles away. Lang Creek is three miles down the road. As much as I hate the thought of walking to town and asking for help, it’s the only chance I have of getting this truck off the road tonight. And of course, just my luck, everyone will be at that town hall meeting to hear about it.

  The hood slams shut and I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with cool mountain air before heading off toward Lang Creek. Every step makes my heart beat a little bit harder. I’m not sure I’ll be able to speak up in front of everyone, in front of Margaret McCoy, in front of all the people who know what happened between our families. Even though I know why I need to speak up, I still wish someone else would do it.

  By the time I walk onto Main Street, the sweat is beading on my forehead and I’ve opened my jacket up to let the air cool my body. I can feel a droplet of sweat running down my spine and I wipe my forehead with my sleeve. I check my watch and curse under my breath. Not only am I going to be late, I’m going to burst in dripping with sweat and asking for a lift back up to my cabin.

  It’s not exactly the image of a strong opposition. I can almost hear the townspeople sniggering under their breath as I walk in asking for their help. I haven’t asked for help in years.

  When I was a kid, my father was respected in the town. People looked to him for advice and guidance for everything from car maintenance to mountain safety. He built most of the houses in town himself, and was almost the unofficial mayor of the town. When he died, it’s like the whole town became fragmented. No one knew who to turn to for help, and the whole rhythm of life was disrupted.

  Maybe that was just my fourteen-year-old perspective of it. My father, the superhero, was taken before his time. My boots stomp on the ground as I make my way toward Lang Creek. If it were up to me, I’d be heading in the opposite direction, moving away from all the memories that assault me whenever I go into town. If it were up to me, my father would still be alive and my brothers and I would speak to each other more.

  If it were up to me, maybe I wouldn’t be alone on that mountain all the time.

  I shake my head to dispel the thought. I like being alone. I like working by myself, and hearing the noises of the forest as I fall asleep. I like living on the mountain and seeing its beauty everywhere I turn. I like using my hands and feeling the cool air burn my lungs when I’m working hard outside. I like heading into my tiny cabin and sleeping in my single bed as if I were a hibernating bear.

  I know that I like all these things, but as my steps take me closer and closer to the Lang Creek town hall meeting, I can’t help but wonder how convincing I’ll be. I know what I could say to oppose the construction of this hotel. I’d talk about my father’s legacy, about protecting the mountains and worshipping their power over us. I’d talk about the thousands of birds and insects and animals that call these forests home. I’d talk about the plants that feed us and protect us from the harshness of the winters.

  I’d talk about all those things, but right now, all I can think about is speaking up and seeing all the eyes telling me that I’ve failed my father. Whenever I see the McCoys, all I can think of is how they betrayed my father. Every day when I go to work at their maintenance yard, it’s like rubbing salt in the wound.

  I’m not the man that my father was, or at least they don’t think I am.

  My heart squeezes just as I pass the huge wooden sign that says, ‘Welcome to Lang Creek’. My father put up that sign. I used to feel pride every time we’d drive into town. Now all I feel is pain.

  I can already see the lights in Town Hall. The meeting must be underway already. I take a deep breath and force myself to speed up.

  It doesn’t matter what Margaret McCoy says, or what her daughter Mara did to my family. It doesn’t matter that my father’s gone, or that my brothers and I hardly speak anymore. All that matters is that this hotel will destroy everything my family believed in for generations. It’ll destroy the sanctity of the mountains and make it impossible for life to go on as it has.

  Those words are on repeat, playing over and over in my head until my jaw is set and my chin dips downwards. I plant my palm against the door and push it open, letting the warmth of the indoors wash over me. Voices filter through to me from the main hall, and I square my shoulders before heading in that direction.

  Before I turn the last corner, I hear a voice I’ve never heard before. It’s sweet and melodic, and it makes my heart jump in my chest. My eyebrows knit together as I try to recognize it. With every step that takes me closer to the voice, my heart starts thumping a little bit harder. I can’t even make out the words. Something about conservation, or the environment.

  I turn the final corner and see the main hall – it takes all my self-control to stop my jaw from dropping. When I heard the project’s environmental engineer would come to speak at the meeting, I was expecting to see an old man with a big potbelly, or maybe a young man with a big ego.

  I wasn’t expecting a woman.

  I wasn’t expecting a woman like her.

  Her blonde hair is pulled back into a low bun, with wisps of it framing her face. She’s got high cheekbones and full pink lips. From the back of the room, I can’t tell what color her eyes are. She’s standing with her shoulders back and her head held high as she flicks through a couple slides of her presentation.

  The door slams behind me and I jump as the whole room turns toward the noise. The woman’s eyes lift up toward me and for a brief instant we look at each other. Time stops, and the room is empty except for her and me.

  I forget why I’m here, or what I’m supposed to say. I forget everything except the fact that she’s the most beautiful woman that I’ve ever seen.

  7

  Madeline

  I stumble over my words when the door slams. I stop in the middle of a sentence and it takes me a few moments to remember what I was saying. I’ve never seen anyone like him before. His body seems to take up the entire width of the door, and even from the front of the room I can sense the fresh forest air that surrounds him.

  His eyes look black from here. His beard is full and he stands completely still as he stares at me. My heart is thumping and I forget to breathe until Cecilia clears her throat beside me. I snap out of my stupor.

  “…and the stringent conservation practices that have been displayed thus far in the project will continue for the full duration. As mentioned, a percentage of the hotel’s profits will go toward the maintenance of the National Park.”

  I flick to the next slide and try to avoid looking at the man. It’s almost like I can sense his every movement. I know that he moves to the left and takes the first available seat. I know that he nods at the sheriff, and I know that he keeps his eyes locked on me.

  I know that the space between my thighs is pulsing, and my cheeks are burning even when I’m not looking in his direction. I know that I want to learn his name, and I want to smell his chest and feel his body against mine.

  With a shake of my head, I finish my presentation and hand it over to Cecilia. She continues to speak and it takes all my self-control to keep my eyes from wandering toward the stranger at the back of the room.

  I can’t do it. I have to give in. I flick my eyes toward him and feel the heat in my core increase when I see he’s looking straight at me. I don’t hear Cecilia or the questions from the crowd or anything else for the next few minutes. All I hear is my own heartbeat in my ears and all I see is the stranger’s broad shoulders and his dark eyes staring straight at me.

  “Madeline?” Cecilia says, eyes wide as she stares at me. I whip my head toward her and she gives me a loaded look. “The gentleman in the green shirt was wondering what we were going to do about the waste produced by the hotel.”

  I jump up off my seat and grab the microphone from her, putting on my most professional face. I turn to the man who asked the question and answer as best I can, saying exactly what I’ve been trained to say. His lips purse as I speak and his eyebro
ws come together, and I know that I haven’t convinced him.

  My heart jumps when the man in the back stands up. He stalks toward the podium in the center aisle and the man in the green shirt steps aside. A hush falls over the room as everyone waits for him to speak. My heart is thumping against my ribcage and I try my hardest to keep my gaze steady on him.

  Be professional. Be professional. Be professional.

  He finally opens his mouth to speak and I hear the smooth baritone notes of his voice. It sends a thrill through my whole body to hear his voice’s rich depth. I’m so focused on listening to him speak that I almost don’t hear what he says.

  “… and these forests have been protected for generations. Nothing that you have said today guarantees the conservation of the forest and its inhabitants. In fact, the increase in tourism will do nothing but destroy the mountains that we have come to love and respect. It’s people like you,” he says, lifting a hand to point directly at me. “People like you who come from the city and try to tell us what to think. We don’t care about your profits, or your jobs, or your money. We care about the mountains and we care about this town. Build your hotel elsewhere.”

  The room erupts in applause. The man in the green shirt stands up to clap the stranger on the back. Now that he’s close, I can see that his eyes are dark, almost black. They’re burning with anger and right now the full force of it is directed at me. I take a step back before squaring my shoulders and clenching my jaw. He won’t make me back down so easily.

  “Mr... I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name,” I start.

  “Clarke.”

  “Mr. Clarke,” I continue. “I understand your reservations. I can assure you that every precaution will be taken to – ”

  “Your precautions don’t mean shit,” he interrupts. I can feel my spine stiffening, and the pulsing between my legs dies down as the anger builds inside me. “All you care about is the bottom line. You can show us these fancy presentations and graphs and figures but it means fuck all.”

  Before I can answer, Margaret, the hotel owner, jumps up from her seat.

  “That’s enough, Aiden. You have no right to waltz back into town and say this kind of thing when you’ve done nothing but live on your own up in the mountains. If it wasn’t for MY garage, you probably wouldn’t even care if this town existed. You have no idea what this town has been through over the past couple years. This hotel is our ticket to new industry, new people, to new life.”

  Aiden’s face darkens as he turns toward Margaret. His lip curls upwards into a snarl and my heart jumps in my chest as I wait to hear him speak.

  Before he can say anything, Sheriff Whittaker takes a step forward.

  “That’s enough now. Margaret, Aiden, sit down.” He speaks with authority, and after a few tense seconds, both of them back down. I watch as Aiden stalks toward the back of the room and walks straight out the door. When it slams shut behind him, my shoulders slump and I feel like the breath has left my body.

  The rest of the meeting is a blur. Before I know it, the townspeople are filtering out and I’m gathering my things. Cecilia says something to me and I answer, not knowing what either of us say. When I get back to the hotel, Margaret McCoy congratulates me on my presentation and all I can do is grunt in response.

  There’s only one thing on my mind, and it isn’t the presentation. It isn’t the hotel, or construction, or engineering. It’s him. All I can think of is the way his body seemed to fill the whole room, and the way his eyes pierced through me.

  Aiden Clarke.

  I know his name, but I need to find out who he is. I need to see him again.

  8

  Aiden

  My mind is a hurricane. I hear the door slam behind me and I stomp toward the exit. I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing, I just know I need to get out of here.

  I need to get away from the McCoys. I need to get away from that woman. I need to get away from Bill and everyone who was relying on me to oppose the construction of this hotel.

  I can’t do it. If my truck was here, I’d be straight in it and on my way back up to the safety of my cabin. Instead, I open the doors and let the cool air wash over me. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, letting the fresh mountain air fill my lungs and calm down my burning anger.

  A truck pulls up in front of the town hall and my brother Dominic gets out. I nod to him and he dips his chin down in response.

  “How’d it go?” he asks, looking toward the building behind me.

  “About as well as expected,” I respond. I see a hint of a grin on Dominic’s face.

  “Saw your truck on the road. You need a ride?”

  “Yeah, thanks,” I reply. It’s times like these that I’m glad Dominic doesn’t say much. I get into the passenger seat and we drive all the way back to the cabin in silence. When we pass my truck, Dominic says he’ll bring me back down to it tomorrow and help me fix it. Apart from that, I have the entire drive back to mull over the evening.

  My thoughts flick between Margaret McCoy’s weasel-like face and the beautiful blonde engineer. I don’t know what to make of her. She seemed so sincere, like she really believed what she was saying about the conservation and sustainability of the hotel.

  Maybe she’s just naive, and she thinks those things are true. Maybe she hasn’t seen the destruction that goes with big construction projects, or the degradation of nature that happens when tourists are left to run amuck. Either way, I want to believe her, but I just can’t.

  Dominic pulls the truck up in front of the cabin and turns toward me.

  “You think this hotel is going to go ahead?” he asks. I turn toward him and we stare at each other for a few moments. I take a deep breath and shrug.

  “What can we do? With Dad gone, the McCoys basically hold all the sway in town. A lot of people agreed with me, but that doesn’t really mean much compared to the money and control they have.”

  Dominic grunts in response and shifts his gaze forward. He nods to the big house.

  “You been in there lately?”

  I follow his gaze and look at the corner of our childhood home. I shake my head and try to speak, but it comes out as a croak. My throat tightens as I look at the old building.

  “Nah,” I say. “Not in a long time.”

  Dominic nods, and I take that as a goodbye. I slip out the car and wave as he drives back down the mountain. My cabin is cold and dark when I go inside, and I spend the next few minutes ignoring my thoughts and starting a fire in the wood stove.

  Once it’s lit, I sit down and watch the flames as they dance in front of me. I close my eyes and lean back, letting the warmth seep into my bones. It doesn’t take long for the whole cabin to heat up, and the familiar smell of burning wood fills the room.

  The woman’s face paints itself on my eyelids. I don’t even know her name. All I know is that she’s an environmental engineer. When I got closer, I could see that her eyes were a pale brown, and her lips were a deep, pink color. It’s hard to remember what I said, or what she said, or what anyone said. All I could focus on was the heaviness of my cock between my legs and the way her eyes flicked up toward me every few minutes.

  I didn’t want to yell at her. I didn’t want to tell her to stop the construction of the hotel. I didn’t want to be applauded by opposing everything she stood for.

  All I wanted was for her to see me.

  I open my eyes again and watch the flames through the glass door in the wood stove, trying to figure out these feelings. For years, all I’ve wanted was to be alone up here. Being in my cabin by myself, living off the land and spending as much time in the mountains as possible. That’s what has made me happy.

  At least, I think this is happiness.

  The alternative is to get to know someone else – only to have my heart shattered into a billion pieces again, just like Mara McCoy did to it all those years ago. I don’t want to feel like that. I don’t want to be the laughingstock of the town. I definitely d
on’t want to get involved with some woman from the city who’s intent on ruining the mountains with a big fancy hotel.

  The restlessness inside me bubbles up and I grab a flashlight from the shelf. I rip the cabin door open and head up toward the big house. The weak beam of light saves me from tripping on overgrown tree roots and bushes as I make my way up to my childhood home. The rickety old steps are rotting, and I step on them carefully. They groan under my weight as I make my way toward the door.

  The front door isn’t even locked. I push it open and peer through the opening. It looks like a time capsule, left exactly how it was when my brothers and I moved out. I’ve lived a few feet away from this house and for years I haven’t bothered to come up here.

  The flashlight beam illuminates the house I grew up in. I walk through the rooms one by one until I get to my old bedroom. I find a picture of my seventh birthday, when my parents had taken the three of us boys up to the top of the mountain. It was the first time I’d summited a mountain that big, and in the picture my whole face is beaming with pride. My father’s hand is on my shoulder, and my mother is holding a cupcake that she carried all the way up just for me.

  It was the perfect birthday. We were together, we were happy, and we were on top of the world. It was before Mom died of cancer the next year, and before the ordeal with Dad and the McCoys a few years later. It was before my whole world got turned upside down. I slip the photo into my pocket and turn around, trying to ignore the prickling in my eyes and the tightness in my chest. I hurry out of the house, making sure to lock the front door as I leave.

  When I walk back to the cabin, I don’t look back. I sit down in my chair by the fire and take the photo out of my pocket, propping it up on the side table beside me. I glance at it once more before turning back to the fire, feeling the ice in my heart melt ever so slightly as I sit in the warmth of my tiny mountain cabin.