5. Wren
WREN
Back at my motel room, I tug off my boots and find a smear of dirt on the inside of my wrist I didn’t notice before. When I pull the tie out of my hair, which smells faintly of pine and sweat, my back muscles groan.
Before I take my clothes off, I stand in front of the bathroom mirror and look at myself with a level of scrutiny I tell myself is professional.
I’m going to have dinner with the Wilder brothers.
At their cabin.
For work reasons.
I repeat that last part a couple of times. I say it aloud a few more times while I shower, and then again while I pull on clean jeans and a soft green sweater.
I dry my hair, giving it a small curl at the ends, and put on tinted lip balm because the mountain air and sun have been hard on my lips. I’m just making myself presentable because it’s the polite thing to do.
My concern for my appearance has nothing to do with Rhett standing close to me and telling me to come to dinner like refusal wasn’t an option. I didn’t curl my hair because Cade watches me like he’s memorizing every step I take, or because Boone’s smile makes my pulse stutter.
They’re my guides, and I need to go over routes with them.
This is true, but it doesn’t explain why my stomach is fluttery when I turn into the long gravel driveway that leads to their cabin. Or why pulling in here at night feels very different than arriving before dawn.
I put the truck in park in front of their house, but don’t immediately cut the engine.
I don’t know if I’m giving myself a pep talk or debating if I should turn around and leave when the front door of their cabin opens, and Rhett steps onto the porch, the warm light from inside outlining his tall frame.
There’s no turning back now, not that I was ever going to leave.
After engaging the brake and turning off the engine, I reach for the door handle, but Rhett beats me to it. His eyes drink me in as he helps me out of the truck, and his sharp focus and seductive grin almost have me second-guessing whether I’ve identified him correctly.
“You didn’t have to clean up for us,” he says.
I look down at my sweater, then back at him. “I cleaned up for me.”
His eyes hold mine for an extra beat, and the intensity in his expression leaves me with no doubt this is Rhett.
He’s changed out of his trail clothes, too, and has the clean smell of soap on his skin, fresh and warm with hints of leather and cedar.
Dark jeans hug his muscular thighs, and a wine-colored henley, pushed up to his elbows, makes his tan skin especially enticing.
This is a business dinner, Wren.
But my eyes drop to his strong, capable hands marked with small scars, and I can’t help thinking he looks less like a guide waiting for a client and more like a predator standing at the mouth of a den.
The brothers call their home a cabin, and it is constructed from logs, but it’s much bigger than a structure the word usually brings to mind.
Rhett leads me up a set of steps to the wide, wraparound porch.
A few sizable wooden chairs that look handmade sit out front, but there are no potted plants or other welcoming decorations.
The well-worn mat at the door is a basic tan color.
I follow him inside to an entry alcove, where the scents of woodsmoke and savory food greet me. He takes my jacket and hooks it on a peg beside theirs.
“Keep your boots on if you’re comfortable,” Rhett says, but when he removes his shoes, I do the same.
There’s a warm glow coming from the main room, and when we move further into their home, my eyes go first to an impressive stone fireplace on the right side of the room.
Oversized leather furniture is arranged in front of the fire.
Behind the sitting area, a long, wooden dining table occupies the center of the open space, and the kitchen is on the left.
One of the other two men is at the stove with his back to me, hair still damp from a shower, a shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. As soon as he turns, his eyes and smile tell me it’s Boone.
“Wren.”
The greeting is low and warm, and I’m glad I brought my bag in, so I have something to hold onto.
“Boone.”
His grin turns warmer still. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. What would you like to drink?” He lists a few options, and I opt for water.
The relaxing effects of alcohol would be welcome right now, but I’m driving, and it’s probably best if I keep my wits about me during this dinner.
When Rhett joins Boone in the kitchen, I offer to help, but Rhett urges me to relax by the fire.
Their home is warm, with the honey-colored log walls and the firelight, but there’s nothing else that softens the space.
There are no throw pillows, no carpets on the wood plank floor except those meant for wiping boots, no curtains beyond practical roll shades, no art, no clutter. There isn’t even a TV.
It gives the impression of a home built for shelter, heat, food, sleep, and survival. Nothing extra.
Cade comes in then, multiplying the fizzy sensations in my stomach, which haven’t let up since I pulled onto their property. “Evening.”
“Hi.” The word seems far too ordinary when my pulse is reacting like a startled rabbit bolting into the brush.
He adds a log to the fire, and I try not to notice the way his dark beard and sharp features are lit by the flames. Or the way the muscles in his arms move.
I’m pulled away from ogling him when Boone announces it’s time to eat.
At the table, Rhett pulls out a chair for me, then sits next to me, while Boone and Cade take the seats across from us.
All three of them feel different inside the cabin.
Out on the trail, I can categorize them as guides, former soldiers, men accustomed to rough country.
Here, inside their own walls, those labels fall away.
They’re simply men, and there’s nothing to dilute all that rugged masculinity. Without the sky or trees or mountains as backdrop, they seem larger, closer, more potent.
“Thank you for inviting me,” I say as Boone removes the lid from a large ceramic serving dish.
His mouth curves into his now-familiar smile. “Thank you for trusting us not to poison you.”
“I work for the federal government. I’ve built up a tolerance.”
That earns an actual grin from Cade and chuckles from both Boone and Rhett.
As Rhett ladles hearty-looking stew into my bowl, I look around at the four extra chairs at the table. “Is it just the three of you here?” The question slips out before I ask myself whether it’s too personal.
Rhett’s hand goes still for a split second, Boone’s smile flags, and Cade pauses with his water glass halfway to his mouth.
“Yes,” Rhett says. “Just us.”
I feel the boundary in his answer and don’t go any further.
With his grin back in place, Boone says, “No wives or girlfriends, if that’s what you’re asking.”
He meets my eyes and holds eye contact to let me know there’s a reason he’s telling me this, and I wonder, not for the first time, if Boone even realizes he’s flirting, or if it’s just habit for him.
I shouldn’t let myself be so affected by it.
The stew has tender beef, potatoes, carrots, and herbs, and tastes as good as it smells. On the side, there are biscuits and butter. It’s simple, and better than anything I’ve eaten in quite a while.
Out on the trail, the brothers eat quickly and efficiently. Now, their pace is slower, and I get the impression the adjustment is for my benefit; otherwise, they’d all be done and just watching me eat.
As it is, all of them watch me quite a bit. They do it on the trail, where I assume it’s part of their job as my guides. Now, their attention makes heat gather in places I’m trying hard not to think about.
“Did you build this cabin?” I ask, to redirect my mind to safer places. It seems like a safe question, but it changes the mood at the table.