Page 43 of Shared By the Mountain Men Triplets

“Yeah,” Reeve says. “Be careful. This isn’t some idiot with a few mules and a storage unit. If Turner’s doing what you think he’s doing, he’s going to be good at it.”

“Send what you can,” I say.

“I’ll send what won’t get me arrested.”

“That’ll do.”

“Rhett?”

The way he says my name tightens something in my gut. “Yeah.”

“You have federal support?”

“Some.”

“Get more. You’re going to need it.” When I don’t respond right away, he says, “Don’t make me attend your funeral just so I can tell your brothers I warned you.”

“They’d throw you in the hole after me.”

“Fair.” He huffs out a breath. “Watch your six.”

“I’ve got two men for that.”

My brothers heard everything Reeve said, and as soon as I get off the phone, Boone says, “Wren showing up with a federal badge and a field kit wasn’t in his plan.”

She’s not just a witness. She’s a threat to his entire operation.

“We need to tell her,” Cade says.

“We will.”

“Not a watered-down version.”

I look at Cade, and he looks back. He rarely challenges me, only because he usually doesn’t need to. We’ve never been a hierarchy in the way outsiders think. I lead because someone has to set the direction. Cade and Boone follow because they trust me, not because they’re built to be led.

When I’m wrong, they correct me, usually before I get us killed.

“I said we will, but not tonight.”

Boone lifts his chin. “Why?”

“Because if we give her the new intel now, she’ll be up past midnight building a case file.” The woman has less sense than she should when a mystery gets its claws into her. She also has more courage than most men I’ve led.

That combination is going to make me lose my mind before this is over.

Cade looks toward the house. “She’ll hate being managed.”

“She’s not being managed. She’s being allowed to sleep.”

When we go back inside, I lock the front door, and Boone checks the back without being asked. Cade moves through the cabin checking windows and returns with the report that Wren’s sleeping.

My chest loosens, and I’d like to keep it to myself, but Boone sees it, and so does Cade. Triplets are inconvenient as hell whena man wants privacy.

We sit at the table around the map. Boone leans back in his chair, but there’s nothing casual about his expression. Cade sits to my right, angled toward the hall, keeping himself between danger and what matters.

And Wren matters.

There’s never been any denying it, not since the moment she walked into the Rusty Spike and looked at us like she could tell the difference between us even before we opened our mouths.