Page 32 of Shared By the Mountain Men Triplets

She looks at me then, really looks. “I don’t think that’s all it is.”

I keep washing, but I move more slowly as I consider ways to deflect. I could tell her Cade used up the silence, Rhett hogged all the brooding, and someone had to be the handsome one. I could smile, or wink, or make her laugh and distract her from wherever she’s heading.

“We were deployed when our parents died,” I say. “They were in a car accident. Black ice, and a semi that couldn’tstop fast enough. By the time command got us home, all that was here was paperwork and casseroles and people looking at us like we were boys again.”

Wren doesn’t say anything, and I’m glad.

“Rhett handled the arrangements. He knew who to call, what forms to sign, what needed to be paid and what could wait. He stood in the center of it all in his dress uniform, making everyone believe he was in charge.”

“He was,” she says quietly.

“Yeah, he was.” I keep rinsing a bowl even though the suds have already been rinsed away. “Cade disappeared after the funeral. He walked off into the mountains and didn’t come back for three days.”

“Were you worried?”

“Out of my mind.” I’m surprised when I admit it. “Rhett was furious, which is how I knew he was worried, too.”

“But he was okay?”

“He knows the woods better than most people. He came back in one piece. Can’t quite say he was okay.”

Wren’s fingers are tense when she takes the bowl from me. “And you?”

I smile automatically. It’s what I do. It’s as easy as shaking hands, cracking jokes, and making sure everyone eats even when they’ve lost their appetite.

Wren’s gaze cuts to my mouth, and it's like she knows the smile isn’t the whole truth.

The smile fades. “I handledthe people.”

“What does that mean?”

“All the neighbors bringing casseroles, aunts crying, old family friends wanting to tell us stories or hug us because they didn’t know what else to do.” I swallow. “Rhett handled the paperwork, Cade went off into the wilderness, and I stood in the living room and smiled at everyone.”

Wren’s face changes, but there’s no pity there, and that’s probably why I keep going.

“I took coats, shook everyone’s hand, and hugged everyone who needed it. I told them we appreciated them coming and said Mom would have loved the flowers. I told them Dad always spoke highly of them, even when I had no idea who the hell they were.”

I look out into the darkness through the window over the sink, and my reflection looks back at me. “I smiled so long I forgot I was doing it.”

Wren stays close by my side.

“After a while, it became useful. In the Army. With townspeople, with clients. Somebody has to be easy, to make people feel safe. The smile became a mask, and I’ve worn it so long, sometimes I forget there’s a face underneath.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them, but I also feel relieved. I’ve never said that out loud, not to Rhett, Cade, or anyone.

Wren dries the baking pan I handed her, then folds the towel once, lays it on the counter, and turns to me.

There’s no sympathy in her eyes, no little sound of pity. Shedoesn’t reach for me like I’m something wounded that might bolt for the door.

She just stands there, clear-eyed, seeing more than I meant to show. “I see the face,” she says.

My chest locks down around the words like I’m trying to keep them out and hold them forever at the same time.

She keeps looking into my eyes, and the air in the room changes, but it’s not like poker night. There’s no heat or even a spark, but what passes between us is deeper and more dangerous.

I’ve wanted women before. I’ve flirted and kissed and touched and taken pleasure when it was offered, but I’ve never felt like someone put a hand directly on the hidden part of me.

“Wren.” Her name comes out low, and I don’t know if it’s a warning or a plea.