Page 61 of Shared By the Mountain Men Triplets

I flinch because I tried to hide it, but Wren notices that, too.

“After you saw the slashed tires, I saw the soldier underneath.” She reaches over and lays her hand on my arm. “It was terrifying and reassuring all at the same time.”

I look over at her and realize I’m at a loss for words.

“It makes more sense now,” she says.

My chest pulls tight as she looks out at my brothers, then back at me. “What does?”

“The way your protectiveness doesn’t feel like a cage. I’m used to pushing against men who think they have authority over me, but with you three, even when you’re bossy and impossible, it feels different.”

“Different how?”

“It’s not like you’re trying to control me. It’s like you’re trying to stand between me and the thing that would take my choices away.”

My throat is thick when I say, “We are, Wren.”

Her voice is husky when she says, “You make protection feel like love, not ownership.”

I stand there with a wooden spoon in one hand and Wren’s hand on my arm, and realize Harlan Turner has no idea what he’s threatening.

Before she came here, this cabin was shelter. Now, it holds a woman who’s brave enough to say the thing we haven’t yet.

Love.

I slide my hand under Wren’s and capture her fingers. “You keep talking like that, and dinner’s going to burn.”

Her eyes shine, but there are no tears. “Then stir the onions, Boone.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After dinner, I get out the cards, and Wren arches a brow.

“Poker?”

“Seems like the night for it.”

Rhett takes the seat at the head of the table, and Cade sits with a sightline to the front windoweven though the curtains are closed. I sit across from Wren, because I like watching her think.

“What are we playing for?” she asks.

Rhett answers automatically. “Chips.”

“Boo. Boring,” I say.

“Boone.” Cade says my name like a warning.

“What?” I shuffle the cards. “We survived a threat, reinforced the cabin, and ate root vegetables for dinner like responsible adults. I think we’ve earned some better stakes tonight.”

“Define better.” Wren leans back in her chair and crosses her arms beneath her breasts, which only makes my idea about a hundred times more appealing.

“Nothing scandalous.” I start to deal. “Just some strip poker.”

“Only if Wren wants,” Rhett says.

A variety of glances are exchanged around the table. Dubious, challenging, wary, and hot.

“And if I do want?” Wren asks.