Page 82 of Shared By the Mountain Men Triplets

“Cade,” she whispers, but I shake my head once and look away.

She’s quiet for several seconds, then she takes hold of my face with both hands. “I’m glad,” she says. “That you want more and that you want me. I’m glad you came back.”

CHAPTER 36

WREN

The cabin has turned into a command post.

That’s the phrase I keep circling back to as I sit at the dining table with my laptop open, two hard drives plugged in, three federal evidence forms spread out beside me, and a man with a rifle crossing past the window every ten minutes.

I’ve condensed all the work I’ve done since I arrived in the mountains into a case package with maps, coordinates, photographs, videos, and timestamps, then I overlaid Cade’s reconnaissance data, with the goal of giving a judge enough evidence to prove that Harlan Turner is using protected wilderness as a trafficking corridor.

When I attach the video from the night I watched the armed men transfer wrapped bricks into the cache, I can still hear the branch snapping and remember what it felt like to run.

Boone appears by my side, and he sets a reassuring hand on the back of my neck. “You don’t have to watch it again.”

“I have to verify the timestamp.”

His thumb strokes my skin, slow and grounding. “I’ll be here while you do.”

He stands behind me while I confirm the metadata, attach the statement, and upload the file to the secure server. When the progress bar fills and disappears, I sit back and let out a long breath, and Boone rubs my shoulders like it’s a mini celebration.

But the work isn’t over. My supervisor calls, and I walk him through the final updates on a secure line.

“This is excellent work, Wren. The Wilders’ surveillance is important, but it’s your credentials that give this the chain of custody it needs.”

Less than a minute after that call’s over, Rhett steps out of the hallway with a phone in hand. “Novak has it,” he says. “He said it gives them what they need.”

Boone comes out of the pantry with a dish towel over his shoulder. “In that case, I’m making chicken and dumplings.”

I blink at him. “That’s your response?”

“That is my tactical response,” he says. “The federal government can have your terrifying little evidence package. I get dinner.”

Rhett nearly smiles, and I huff out a laugh that hardly feels like my own.

The next couple of days are the strangest I’ve ever lived. Everything feels heightened, and it also seems like all we’re doing is waiting.

Novak calls twice a day, sometimes more. Rhett usually takes the calls in another room, but his voice carries through the wall anyway. There’s talk of logistics, warrants, timing, shipment windows, weather, routes, and civilian risk. Soon, men with badges and rifles will move through the wilderness, and I can’t decide if I’m eager or dreading it.

Cade spends most of the days outside with his rifle, his eyes moving over trees and shadows. He only comes in for meals when Boone forces him, eats standing up, then disappears again, usually before his plate is empty.

But every evening, when Rhett takes up watch, Cade returns to me for a while. He strips off his outer layers, washes his hands, checks his rifle, and sets it within easy reach. Then he sits beside me on the couch and puts his hand on my knee.

The first time he does it, I look down at his hand and feel my throat tighten.

“You all right?” he asks.

When I nod, his fingers flex once.

Boone watches from across the room, but doesn’t say a thing.

During the day, Boone kisses me in the pantry while Rhett argues with Novak.

When Rhett’s reviewing maps, he likes to pullme onto his lap and hold me while he and Cade talk about terrain visibility and review distances.

All day long, all three brothers show me I’m theirs, and every moment seems to count more than the last. Every touch, every laugh, and every ordinary minute feel precious.