2. Rhett
RHETT
She stops when she reaches our table.
Her eyes are hazel. Green at first, then brown with flecks of gold when the light catches them. Her gaze is intelligent and direct.
“Wilder brothers?” There’s a soft rasp to her voice that slides under my skin before I can stop it.
“You found us.” Boone’s smile broadens naturally. The bastard.
Her eyes go to him, then Cade, then me, and her expression remains serious. She’s not giggly or looking at us like a roadside attraction, and I like that more than I should.
“I’m Wren Hollis.” She pulls out a badge wallet from the inside pocket of her jacket and opens it with efficient fingers. “Federal wildlife biologist. U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. I’ve been told you know the backcountry passes better than anyone.”
I get to my feet only half a second before my brothers, and our coordinated movement is enough to make Wren Hollis’s eyebrows lift with something that might be faint amusement.
“Rhett Wilder.” I hold out my hand.
Her grip is warm and firm, and I hold it a beat too long. Her gaze lifts from our joined hands to my eyes, and the look she gives me says she noticed.
Then she releases me, and I let her. Barely.
“This is Cade.” I nod to my left. “And Boone.”
Cade offers his hand, and his expression closes down the way it does when he’s absorbing too much information too fast. His eyes drop to her boots, then to her bag, where the edge of a topo map protrudes.
“Ma’am,” he says.
Her mouth curves, and I notice it too much. “Wren is fine.”
Boone steps in with his easy grin. “Boone Wilder.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” He wraps his hand around hers, but for once, doesn’t immediately turn the charm up to blinding. He looks at her a little more carefully than usual. “Can we buy you a drink, Wren Hollis with the federal badge?”
She tucks it away. “No, thank you. I need guides, not whiskey.”
Boone’s grin deepens. “Shame. We’re good at both.”
“Guides first.” I shoot him a look, but his expression remains innocent. It hasn’t fooled me once in thirty-four years.
Boone pulls out the extra chair for her, and she sits, setting her bag at her feet. I sit across from her, and my brothers return to their seats.
The three of us are used to being an imposing presence, usually unintentionally, but huddled around the small table with us, Wren doesn’t flinch.
Interesting woman.
“What brings you up here?” I get the question out before she removes her jacket, the movement pulling her dark shirt tight over the curve of her breasts. I drag my eyes back to her face.
She reaches into her bag and brings out a stack of papers, a notebook, and the map.
“I’m here to investigate wildlife displacement, possible illegal hunting activity, and some irregular movement patterns along the corridors north of here.
My office received enough reports to justify sending someone out. ”
“Reports from who?” Cade asks.
“Trail cameras, a seasonal ranger, a couple of hikers, and a rancher who knows the elk movement better than most biologists I’ve met.”
Cade goes very still, and Wren notices. “You know the area?” she asks.
“We know most of it,” I say.
“That’s what I was told.”
“Who told you?”
Wren tucks a strand of long hair behind her ear, and I’m momentarily distracted again.
“A waitress at the restaurant in town mentioned you first. A regional law enforcement officer backed up the referral. Said if I needed to get into rough country without wasting my time, you were the ones to hire.”
Boone leans back, his grin ever-present. “Our reputation remains spotless.”
Cade makes a sound that isn’t agreement.
Wren looks between them, and this time, the amusement in her eyes is clear.
I like her more by the minute.
“What will your investigation involve?” I ask.
“I need to check camera positioning, verify reported movement patterns, and document anything that suggests illegal take. I also want to get in and out without becoming a liability.”
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 the costs 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.”
I keep a grip on the wave of relief that runs through me, but my brothers notice anyway. “You’ll have it tonight,” I say.
“Perfect.”
Fuck, even that one word does something to me. She’s all business, direct and focused, and apparently that works for me, which is inconvenient as hell.
Boone drums his fingers on the map. “How many days are we talking?”
“Three or four initially. Possibly longer, depending on what I find.”
“We can do that,” I tell her.
Cade looks at me with a silent question. We have a two-day scouting trip penciled in for a bachelor party next week, and enough repair work stacked at the barn to keep us swearing until dark for a month. We can adjust, though. We’ll have to.
I hold Cade’s gaze for half a second, and he gives the slightest nod. Boone catches it and leans back. “We can do that,” he echoes.
Wren watches the exchange with her sharp eyes. “Do you three always decide things without talking?”
“Yes,” Cade says.
“No,” Boone says.
“Sometimes,” I say.
That gets us another flicker at the corner of her mouth, but I want the full smile again, even though I resent wanting it.
I give my mug another quarter turn. “Do you have lodging?”
“I’m staying at the motel in town.” She pulls a FWS business card from a pocket inside the notebook and hands it to me. “My cell number and email are on there.”
“I’ll text you our address along with a gear list.”
“All right, Rhett.” She rolls up the map and tucks her things back in her bag. “I’ll see you at five.”
When she gets to her feet, all three of us stand at once. She smiles again, and it hits me even harder than her laugh.
“Good night, Wilders.”
“Good night, Wren.” Boone’s tone is smooth as whiskey.
Cade only nods.
“Drive safe,” I say.
Her eyes flick to mine one last time before she turns and cuts back through the bar the way she came in. Her hair brushes between her shoulder blades, and her hips shift with each purposeful stride.
I watch her go, and so do Cade and Boone.
We need the work, and Wren Hollis is work. A capable woman with field experience, a federal badge, and an assignment that starts at dawn. That’s all.
Except Boone is smiling into his beer, Cade is still watching the door, and I know they’re both lying to themselves, too.