Page 98 of Shared By the Mountain Men Triplets

Boone sighs dramatically. “I liked you better before you started agreeing with her.”

I’m laughing as Rhett walks in carrying a basket of laundry.

“Finally,” he says, looking at me.

“What?”

“You’re laughing,” he says. “It’s been days.”

I hadn’t realized, but he’s probably right. Days have been filled with discharge instructions, prescriptions, federal interviews, statements, and endless cups of coffee. Though I’ve been relieved, the worry hasn’t fully burned away yet.

But the men I love are home. They may be bruised and bandaged, but they’re alive, and we’re all together, and when I get done laughing, I keep smiling for quite a while.

Novak calls the four of us into what remains of his temporary command post at the county administration building, where we join him in a conference room.

“I won’t keep you long,” he says as he closes the door beforetaking a seat across the table. He looks exhausted but satisfied. “I wanted to thank you in person.”

The brothers exchange quick glances.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Rhett says.

“Yeah, I did,” Novak says as he folds his hands on the table. “I can’t walk you through the investigation because a lot of what we’ve recovered is evidence now, but I can tell you what affects you.”

He looks at me first. “The habitat surveys you conducted gave us the first real pictures of where Turner was operating. Without that, we’d still be looking in the wrong drainages.”

“I was just doing my job.”

“So was I,” Novak says, “and in this case, mine depended on yours.”

Then he looks at the men. “Your surveillance confirmed movement patterns we couldn’t have established from the air. When Turner made his move on the cabin …” He pauses. “Your decision to hold your ground bought my team the time we needed.”

Boone shifts awkwardly. “We weren’t exactly thinking strategically.”

Novak’s mouth hints at a smile. “I know.”

“What happens to Turner?” Cade asks.

“He’s still in custody, and he isn’t getting out. Between the narcotics charges, environmental crimes, firearms violations, and attempted murder, prosecutorsare confident he’s looking at the possibility of spending the rest of his productive life in federal prison.”

Boone lets out a low breath. “And the rest of them?”

“The logistics people who survived are in custody. The remaining fugitives were apprehended yesterday.” He leans back slightly. “Trials take time, but I can tell you that the organization running through these mountains doesn’t exist anymore.”

He holds my gaze. “We don’t expect the Moon Ridge corridor to be used for trafficking again.”

It’s a good feeling, but a strange one. After weeks of watching every treeline and listening for every strange sound after dark, we can relax now.

Novak gets to his feet. “I know you’ve all got healing to do.” He offers us each a handshake before we leave.

Five days later, Boone tries to split firewood.

I see him through the kitchen window, with the axe already raised, and I run outside. “Oh no.”

He freezes. “Maybe?”

“No.”

“It was worth asking.”