Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“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.
CHAPTER 3
WREN
Professionally, I’m prepared for this hike. My boots are broken in, my pack is balanced, my GPS unit is clipped to the shoulder strap, bear spray is within easy reach, and my sidearm is secure beneath my jacket.