Page 9 of Shared By the Mountain Men Triplets

And it’s empty. There’s no adult circling, nor any signs of recent use. The second site is the same, and so is the third.

When I lower my binoculars, the back of my neck feels tight.

“Bad?” Rhett asks.

I keep my eyes on the ridge. “Not good.”

After I enter my observations in my notebook, we drop from the ridgeline down to an old trail junction, and that’s where I find the stone.

It’s at the base of a ponderosa pine, flat-faced and pale against the darker soil. A faint discoloration across its surface is what catches my attention.

When I stop, Boone stops with me, then Rhett and Cade stop, too. They watch as I take photos, make notes, and bring out my sample kit. After putting gloves on, I collectresidue from the stone and soil samples from the base of it, where runoff would collect, then label each container with the date, time, and GPS coordinates.

Rhett crouches several feet away. “Do you know what it is?”

“No.” It could be a dozen things, like illegal baiting, dumped fuel from unauthorized vehicle use, or something left by careless hikers or hunters who don’t abide by the “Leave No Trace” rule. Whatever it is, it doesn’t belong here.

“I’ll send these through my supervisor to the lab,” I say. “Field tests won’t tell me enough, and I don’t want to contaminate the report with guesses.”

“Smart.” Boone says it plainly, with no charm or teasing, and warmth spreads in my chest.

I focus on the sample bag before my reaction can show on my face. “It’s procedure.”

“It’s still smart.”

When I’m finished, Cade is looking down the corridor like he sees something.

“What is it?” I ask.

He’s quiet for so long I’m not sure he heard me, but then he says, “This line runs toward an old road.” He nods toward the trees. “It’s not used much anymore. Overgrown and washed out, but you can reach it from here if you know the ground.”

I look at the trail junction, then the slope, and the direction of the passes above us. My map is in my pack, but I don’t need to unfold it to picture thelines connecting.

The things I’ve observed so far seem too widespread for one amateur poacher, and too organized for casual recreation. Still, they’re not proof of anything I can say out loud. Not yet.

“I’d like to extend the guide contract for at least three more days,” I tell Rhett as I nestle the sample kit back in my bag. “Are you available?”

More silent communication probably passes between them, but I’m focused on my backpack and don’t see it.

“For as long as you need us.” Rhett’s tone tells me it’s all decided.

Later, at the trailhead, the sky has gone golden with the setting sun. My mind is still tangled in data, but when I see all three men bathed in the warm glow, every practical thought deserts me.

They suddenly seem even larger than before, and their triplet-ness comes into sharper focus. Same big hands, same posture, same dark eyes tracking me with an attention I can feel against my skin.

“It was a good day,” Boone says, stretching one of his arms overhead, his bulging bicep distracting me enough that I almost lose my footing. “You didn’t tell us to go to hell once, so I’m calling it a win.”

I huff out a laugh. “We’re not done yet.”

His grin turns wicked, and my attention drops to his mouth again before I can stop it.

Damn it.

“You should come to our cabin for dinner tonight,” Boone says.

I freeze, one hand on the strap of my pack. “Dinner?”

The smile that spreads across his face is somehow both easy and dangerous at the same time. “Nothing fancy. Just something better than whatever you’ve been surviving on at the motel.”