Page 103 of Shared By the Mountain Men Triplets

The creek flows, birds sing, and wildflowers bloom, and it’s comforting that the mountain doesn’t seem to remember the gunfire.

We stop at an overlook, where the valley spreads out beneath us. After a minute of admiring the view, Cadepivots and points. “You can see our cabin over there, through the trees.”

Boone slides an arm around my waist, and at first, I think he’s being romantic, but then he lightly tickles my side. “As cozy as the cabin is, I have to admit, this might be the prettiest place we’ve ever fucked.”

“What?” I spin on him, because we’ve done no such thing out here.

“Pardon me,” he says, “I meant this is the prettiest place we’ve evermade love.”

“What are you talking about?”

Behind him, Cade raises an eyebrow. “He’s making a proposal.”

“I can spread my jacket on the ground,” Boone says, “or you can lie on top of one of us. Actually, that sounds?—”

“Boone, no.”

Rhett folds his arms across his chest. “I’m listening.”

Boone looks around us. “We’re completely alone.”

“No.”

Then Boone looks at Rhett. “Back me up here.”

“He’s got a point,” Rhett says as he looks out toward the treeline, then down at my chest.

“You’re not helping.”

Rhett’s gaze lifts to my lips. “I wasn’t trying to.”

Cade scans the trail ahead of us and behind us. “Visibility’s good in both directions.”

I shake my head, feeling outnumbered. “You too? Just because there’s no one around right now doesn’t mean some hikers couldn’t appear at any moment,” I say. “Not to mention poison ivy, ants, rocks …”

Boone sighs dramatically. “You’re crushing my spirit.”

“All of that aside,” I say, “technically, this is my office now, and I don’t want to get in trouble on my new job.”

Rhett nods gravely. “Probably shouldn’t violate federal policy your first week.”

“The paperwork could be tricky,” Cade adds.

With a devilish smile on his face, Boone makes a show of rubbing his healing shoulder. “In that case, I’m suddenly getting tired,” he says. “Let’s head back. I need to go lie down.”

Rhett takes my hand. “On top of Wren, I’m guessing.”

“Or she can be on top,” Boone says. “I’m fine with either.”

We head back toward the cabin together, and though I’m full of anticipation for what we’ll do when we get there, I’m not in any hurry. There’s no fear or urgency in our pace. We have a future that stretches far beyond today and tomorrow, and walking back to the cabin feels less like returning to a refuge and more like simply going home.

EPILOGUE

WREN

Three months after Harlan Turner is taken into custody, I’m standing knee-deep in late-summer grass on the edge of a partially restored corridor. I have a tablet in one hand and a radio in the other, but all of my attention is focused on a small herd of elk as they move through a slope they’d abandoned months ago.

As a juvenile flicks its ears at a cloud of gnats and a cow lowers her head and tears at new growth near a patch of soil we remediated six weeks ago, a happy laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it.