Page 21 of Snowed In with Benefits

They all laugh and I smile along, not really getting the joke. Hunter winks at me, then explains.

“Back when we first started, we were running a drill in the woods. Part of that drill was to get suited up in the woods, so we were all just in our t-shirts and jeans. Emmett and Beau had been arguing that morning, so Emmett took his kit a little farther into the woods to get it put on.”

“And came back out lookin’ like a flaming hot Cheeto.” Beau grins at the memory.

I half expect Emmett to get mad that they’re bringing up his past embarrassment. Embarrassing things are taboo in the house I grew up in. Instead, he laughs.

“It was bad,” he tells me. “Spent the next week slathered in calamine lotion, high on Benadryl.”

“That sounds incredibly uncomfortable.” I shiver at the thought. “I’ve never touched poison ivy.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” Hunter says with a grin. “Flaming hot Cheeto skin would clash with all of your outfits.”

I can’t tell if he’s making fun of me or not. If he’s not, I shouldn’t react. But if he is, does that make me part of the group for tonight? I narrow my eyes at him suspiciously.

“So what does a wildland fire crew do?”

“Combat wildfires,” Beau says flatly. I swear he thinks I’m dumb as a box of rocks. Of course that’s what they do.

“And help with search and rescue,” Emmett adds quickly. “Can’t forget that part.”

“And most of our crew was also involved with volunteer fire departments where we lived, so there was some EMT stuff, too,” Hunter chimes in.

“That’s a lot. Were there many wildfires?” I hope it isn’t another stupid question, but if it is, I’m sure Emmett and Hunter will make me feel better about it. After all, they just did.

“Oh, yeah.” Hunter nods emphatically. “Wildfires break out every summer and fall, sometimes even in the spring.”

“I’ve always kind of wondered how they start,” I admit. I’m not sure if it’s entirely true, but it’s true right now.

“Stupid people,” Beau says.

Hunter gives him a stern look and elaborates. “Lightning strikes, glass trash… you ever started a fire with a magnifying glass? Same idea. But mostly it’s people being irresponsible with their fires, fireworks, trucks, cigarettes, stuff like that.”

“People have campfires in the spring and fall? Sounds wet.” I wrinkle my nose at the idea of sleeping outside in the rain and mist.

Emmett shakes his head. “The mountains are littered with cabins like this one. A lot of times, people won’t maintain their chimneys when they aren’t actively living there, then they’ll go up for a weekend away and start up their fireplaces without thinking. All that debris goes up in flames. Before you know it, the cabin and everything around it are on fire.”

“Or they’ll leave the gas on all winter,” Beau adds. “First spark in the house, and…”

All three of them make a noise like “kfoom” while spreading their hands apart. Emmett’s jaw clenches, making his beard prickle. That’s the most I’ve ever heard him talk in one go. The mood around the table shifts. All the smiles and sparkling eyes are gone. Beau chews mechanically, staring off at something I can’t see. Hunter pushes the last of his salad around with his fork.

I don’t understand what just happened, but I recognize this vibe. Somebody just said something that upset everybody else and nobody wants to talk about it. This is a vibe I’m intimately familiar with, except that I’m usually the one to say the wrong thing.

Hunter breaks the silence. “I know what we need.”

He disappears into the pantry and returns a moment later with a bottle of whiskey. I blink when I see it… it looks expensive.

“That’s a really nice bottle,” I blurt out.

“Are you saying that mountain men can’t have good taste?” Hunter asks.

I can feel myself flushing. “No, I⁠—”

“I’m teasing,” he says lightly, and gives me a smile. It’s not the same grin he was wearing before, but at least the mood is a little lighter. I smile back at him, happy to be included in his teasing.

Hunter pulls four glasses down from the shelf and splashes a bit of whiskey in each one. He starts passing them out.

“This is sipping whiskey,” he says firmly. “No mixing, no chaser. Trust me.”