17. Wren
WREN
Elena and Kira’s words are with me the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, and even more so when Rhett and Cade return from their hike smelling of fresh air and clean sweat.
Their important corporate client enjoyed the day and promised to book again in the fall, and Rhett looks relieved, even though he tries to hide it.
After dinner, he steps out onto the front porch, and after a couple of minutes, I follow after him. He’s standing at the far end, one shoulder against the post, his eyes scanning the treeline. He doesn’t turn when I come out. “Cade’s out in the barn.”
“I’m not looking for Cade.”
When he turns to look at me, the porch light deepens the planes of his face, making him look even more commanding than usual.
I stop a couple of feet away from him and lean against the railing. The night is cool, but it’s not uncomfortable. In the distance, wind moves the treetops, but I can barely feel it here.
“I don’t think anyone followed us today,” I say.
“I know.”
“Boone told you?”
“He didn’t have to.”
I’m still getting used to the way they often speak in omissions.
“What did you think of Kira and Elena?” he asks.
So Boone did report something. “I liked them.”
“They’re good people.”
“They said the same about you.”
“They’re generous.”
I turn my head. “That almost sounded like humility.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
We stand there in silence as crickets chirp and an owl hoots somewhere out in the darkness.
“Where did you go to school?” Rhett asks.
The question surprises me. “The state university. Conservation biology.”
“Did you always know you wanted to do that?”
“I thought about a couple of other options, but it was mostly an easy decision. I’ve always liked being outside, and I love animals. At some point in school, I decided ecosystems were more interesting than individual species.”
Rhett makes a sound that lets me know he’s listening.
“I liked learning about how everything connected. Water, food sources, stress patterns.” I glance over at him. “People are fascinating, too, though I try not to look like I’m studying them as much as I do.”
“What have you learned about people?”
“That you’re not as unreadable as you like to think.” I glance at him again but look out at the trees before I lose my courage. “You’re very controlled, which means the moments when you lose that control tell a lot.”
He crosses his arms over his chest and stares straight ahead.
“What did you want before all this?” I ask after half a minute of silence.
Instead of answering, he just looks at me.
“Before Wilder Outfitters,” I say. “Before being responsible for everything.”
A line around his mouth tightens. “Rangers don’t spend much time planning soft futures.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He arches a brow, but suddenly looks weary. “It’s the one I’ve got.”
“Rhett.” Saying his name in the dark makes it feel intimate.
“I wanted my brothers alive. After that, I wanted them here.”
“In Moon Ridge?”
“Anywhere they’d stay.”
“You hold them together,” I say. Rhett’s face closes, but feeling bolder out here in the dark, I press on. “That has to feel like a heavy weight to bear.”
“They hold me together, too.”
After that, he’s silent for a long time. I’m wondering what to say next when he says, “People think danger is the hard part, but it isn’t. It’s simple. You assess and plan, then you move, or you don’t. If your plan doesn’t work, you adapt.”
He nudges the floorboard with the toe of his boot. “The part that keeps me awake is knowing I can make the wrong call with people who trust me to always make the right one. My brothers follow me even when they shouldn’t. If I misread something or take us down the wrong road, I fail all of us.”
“And that’s what scares you.”
The breeze has kicked up into full-blown wind, making a shimmery sound as it moves through the trees. The owl calls out again.
“Not the armed men in the woods,” I say. “Not drug runners or faceless enemies. What scares you is making the wrong call and breaking what’s left of your family.”
He looks at me again, and it’s a different face. The hard control is gone, and instead, I see a man who’s spent the last several years shouldering the responsibility of being a leader for the two people who share the depth of his grief.
“Yes,” he says simply, and without thinking, I reach for his hand.
He goes still when my fingers slide over his, but he doesn’t pull back. His hand is warm and quite a bit larger than mine.
Finally, after a couple of long seconds, his fingers close around mine, and everything changes.
Rhett looks down at our joined hands. “You have no idea what you’re doing to us.” His voice is so low and rough it raises the hair on my arms.
This morning, I may have stepped back and told myself I shouldn’t be doing this, that it’s too messy or complicated or just plain wrong.
But after meeting Elena and Kira and realizing wanting something isn’t a crime, I stay where I am and hold Rhett’s gaze. “Maybe I do.”
His fingers tighten around mine, and then he steps closer. So close that my breath catches and the heat of his body warms mine in the cool night air. I can see his pulse at the base of his throat and a faint scar along his jaw.
He reaches for me with his other hand but stops just before he touches my face. His hesitation frustrates me, but it also makes something turn molten inside me, because it’s obvious he wants me.
“You’re allowed to touch me,” I whisper.
“Wren.” His eyes are dark with need, but he says my name like a warning.
When he cups the side of my face in his hand, I stop breathing. His palm is rough against my cheek as his thumb brushes once near the corner of my mouth. His touch is controlled, almost reverent.
He lowers his head and the space between us shrinks to nothing. His breath is warm against my lips, and I lean in to let him know the last inch is his if he wants it.
But he goes still, and his fingers tighten. His breath is nearly ragged as, instead of kissing me, he rests his forehead against mine for a second.
Then he steps back.
I stare at him, pulse hammering, frustration and desire knotted so tightly I can’t separate them.
He pulls his hand back from my face, but he doesn’t release my fingers. “When it happens,” he says, his voice more raw and rough than I’ve ever heard it, “it happens with all of us. Or not at all.”
All of us. It’s not a denial or rejection. It’s a promise.
My body likes the sound of it so much that I have to lock my knees, but the part of me that doesn’t appreciate being bossed around goes rigid.
Rhett is setting the terms without bothering to ask what I think. The fact that I like the terms doesn’t erase the fact that he delivered them like an order.
I pull my hand from his. “You say that like it’s been decided.”
He works his jaw. “Isn’t it?”
His arrogance is irritating, but it has other effects on my body that make it hard to be as angry as I should.
I step closer, reclaiming some of the space he made when he pulled back. “I’m not one of your brothers. I don’t fall in line because you’ve assessed the risks and decided the best course.”
His dark eyes reflect the same fire I’m feeling. “I know that.”
“Do you?”
His expression doesn’t change, but something in him recalibrates.
“When it happens,” I say, echoing his words, “I’ll be involved in deciding how.”
His eyes drop to my mouth, and it’s not fair how he can make me feel victorious and unsettled at the same time.
Then he meets my eyes again. “Yes, ma’am.”
I should go inside, but instead, I stay close, feeling the pull of him and the tension still running through his body. Then I turn toward the door before I grab the front of his shirt and make him forget every noble thought he ever had.
Rhett stays on the porch, watching me leave, then watching the treeline, never fully off-duty.
As I step back into the warmth of the cabin, I know I’m going to hold him to what he said.
All of them. Or not at all.