Page 4 of Shared By the Mountain Men Triplets

Boone rests his forearms on the table. “Have you spent time in this elevation?”

“Enough to know it will humble me if I’m careless.” She opens her notebook. “I grew up in the western part of the state, and I’ve done fieldwork in rough country, though not these specific passes.”

A lot of people think enthusiasm will carry them through challenging terrain, but there’s no overconfidence in Wren’s answer. No false modesty,either.

“What’s your timeline?” I ask her.

Her warm eyes lock on mine. “I’d like to start as soon as you’re available. Tomorrow, if that’s an option. I was tied up in paperwork at the office, and I’m already behind on this project.”

“And where exactly do you need to go?”

Wren moves to unroll her map, and Boone quickly grabs a napkin and mops at the damp rings our mugs left on the table.

When he’s done, she smooths the map flat on the table with both hands. Her fingernails shine with clear polish. There are no rings on her fingers.

She points out areas from her reports, and the three of us lean in, forming a wall over the map. When she glances up, her eyes snag on our faces, and she studies us for a moment, no doubt comparing us.

I’m used to it, but there’s something about the serious and beautiful Wren Hollis doing it that makes my blood run hotter.

I tap the map, forcing my focus back where it belongs. “If you want to reach these cameras and make it back to the trailhead before dark, we need to leave early.”

“How early?”

“Five.”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Fine.”

“From our place,” Boone says.

“Your place?”

“We’re up on the ridge road,” I clarify. “Fifteen minutes from here. Twenty if there’s a rental SUV, discovering the importance of ground clearance.”

“I have a government truck.”

“Then maybe ten,” Boone says.

“Depending on whether you drive like a biologist.”

Cade’s dry quip takes me by surprise. He jokes with Boone and me but rarely with others, and especially not someone he just met.

Wren’s brows lift. “And how does a biologist drive?”

“Slow enough to identify every bird, plant, and mud puddle between here and the ridge.”

Wren’s laughter lights her up from the inside and punches straight through my ribs.

Damn.

It’s just attraction. A good-looking woman walked into the bar needing a guide. I’m not some green kid losing my head because she carries herself confidently and has a mouth I want to stare at. I’ve been under pressure lately, tired and irritated, and I’m primed to notice anything that doesn’t look like bad news.

Wren Hollis happens to look like very good news.

“What’s your daily rate?” she asks.

When I name it, she doesn’t blink, and she doesn’t try to negotiate or make me explain thecosts involved.

“That works,” she says. “I’m cleared to hire local guide support. I’ll just need an invoice with your permit information, license details, and tax ID.”