Ten Mountain Men's Baby (Love by Numbers 9)

I blinked away the image, but even then, I knew I would call it back later when I was alone, so hot and arousing the image was.

We settled in the spacious living area. Wide windows looked out to a forest whose trees were already coated white with snow. It must be great here at Christmas.

The room was sparsely furnished, favoring floor cushions to sofas and a pair of acoustic guitars and an assortment of hand percussion to a stereo or a TV. A stone fireplace jutted out from one wall. Above it hung a wooden plaque engraved with the family name, Chandler. On the opposite side of the room, a door opened to a corridor that, I was told, led to a bathroom and four bedrooms.

I had a thousand questions to ask each of the Chandlers, but it was all a bit overwhelming to take in at once. Holly seemed to be doing okay with it. She had Gannon on one side of her, Brock on the other, and Miles in front. And she engaged with them all, the excitement brimming on her face increasing as she turned from one to the other lookalike.

Again, the image of her embracing them came to mind. This time I didn’t blink it away, preferring instead to linger on it a moment. Details became clearer in the image. I saw her hand running along the inside of Gannon’s long, stout leg. Her other hand slipped in under Brock’s shirt to run up his chest.

“It must be a lot for you to take in.”

I snapped myself from my reverie and turned to see Shaun at my side. “Um, yeah, it sure is.”

“Do you want to learn our secret family recipe?” he asked.

“Sure.”

He motioned with his head for me to follow, and we left the living area for the kitchen.

The kitchen was equally as large as the living area. A table, fit for a king’s court, occupied the far back of the room while the cooking area dominated the near part, with two stoves, separated by a wide double sink, and long wood countertops stretching along the wall all the way to a door in the back. Pots and pans hung from hooks in wooden rafters above.

“Man, you could cook for like fifty people here!” I exclaimed.

Shaun smiled at me. “Sometimes, we do.”

A strong scent of apples permeated the air. When I followed Shaun to the countertop, I could see why: a series of wicker baskets were full of them.

“Picked from the apple trees just out back,” said Shaun. “And this”—he held up an index finger, walked to the back of the room to a pantry where he retrieved a glass jug and brought it over to the counter. He grinned and lifted up the jug— “Locally distilled.”

He poured half the jug into a silver pot. It smelled like polish remover, and I couldn’t help but wince.

“Yeah,” said Shaun. “It’ll make you tear up. But don’t worry, that’s just the first ingredient.”

Together we cut up apples and oranges and tossed them into the pot.

Someone called out from the living area, “Hey, is that Chandler Cider I’m smelling?”

Shaun called back. “You know it.”

We added cloves and maple syrup. “Trick is,” said Shaun, “you got to keep stirrin’. Can’t let up even for a minute, or it’ll get clumpy.”

“Can I do it?” I asked, reaching for the wooden ladle he was stirring with.

“By all means.”

As I stirred, the syrup and apples’ aroma mixed with that of the strong alcohol base into something sweet and biting.

“She’s just about there,” said Shaun. He pulled ceramic mugs from the cupboard—twelve, in all—and lined them up on the counter. “You ladle, and I’ll serve.”

“Teamwork,” I said.

“The best kind of work,” Shaun replied, and he gave me a wink and a nod.

We joined the others, steaming mugs of homemade cider in hand. Before even taking a sip, I was disoriented. Doris, who I’d known to be Shaun’s wife, was sitting on Brock’s lap, arms around his neck, head leaning against his. Brock had his hand on her ass. Shaun handed Brock his drink, and they clinked mugs as if that were the most normal, happy sight to see: your wife sitting on your brother’s lap, draped on him, while he groped her, the room laughing and carrying on.

I began to lose the thread of who was who. Is Brock really Shaun, and Shaun is Brock? And is Owen actually Gannon? And which one’s Carson, again?

Shaun must have seen the incomprehension on my face. “Is everything all right?” he asked me.

“Yeah, yeah. Everything’s great.”

Brock took Doris by her collar. He pulled her to him and kissed her on the mouth. She welcomed his kiss. Ran her hands lustily up his shirt, grabbed him by the jaw, and turned his simple peck into a full-on tongue wrestle.