Page 85 of Devoured By the Forbidden Mountain Man

Cold air moved through the house when he opened it, carrying damp earth and pine with Annette’s voice before I could see her. By the time I came out of the kitchen, Earl was handing Rex a covered dish while Annette unwound a dark scarf from around her neck.

I had met both of them in person since Halloween, but seeing Annette inside this house instead of on a screen still changed her slightly. She looked less like the woman capable of locating every missing receipt in Idaho and more like someone who had been married long enough to give her husband one look and have him remember the second bag he had left in the car.

Earl saw it too.

“I’m going,” he said, already turning back toward the door.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Earl kept going anyway, one hand already on the doorknob.

“You’ve been saying things without words for thirty-four years.”

Earl’s laugh followed him outside.

Annette removed her coat and handed it to Rex. “Then your education is finally showing results.”

The exchange had the comfortable wear of thousands that had come before it. I smiled as Annette joined me in the kitchen, where she paused long enough to take in the crowded counters and the bowl of potatoes.

“Rex made those,” I told her.

She looked toward the front room, then back at the potatoes and reached for the clean spoon I had left beside the bowl.

“I’ve spent fifteen years trying to make that man put receipts in the right folder. You taught him Thanksgiving dinner in a month.”

“I had more leverage. He likes potatoes.”

Annette tasted the potatoes, considered them for a second, then set the spoon in the sink. Her dry expression softened.

“That would explain it.”

She washed her hands, pushed up her sleeves, and asked where I wanted the dish she had brought rather than offering the kind of vague help that created more work for the host. I made room beside the vegetables and gave her the serving bowl I had already set aside.

Earl returned carrying a pie box and a bottle of wine, bringing another gust of cold with him. Within minutes his coat was over a chair, Rex had opened the wine, and Annette was transferring food while I finished the gravy.

Nobody stood around waiting for me to tell them how Thanksgiving worked.

That felt strangely luxurious.

I was rinsing the whisk when another vehicle rolled over the gravel.

This time my attention went to the window before I could pretend otherwise.

Gavin’s truck appeared between the trees.

My hands stopped beneath the running water.

Four weeks should have been enough time to make the sight of my brother less astonishing. We had talked on the phone more in the past month than we had in the previous seven years combined. I had seen him after the police released him, sat across from him with an attorney present for conversations none of us had wanted to have, and hugged him goodbye when he returned to Alder Creek.

None of that had made his truck coming up Rex’s driveway on Thanksgiving ordinary.

Rex came up beside me and shut off the faucet I had forgotten was running. His palm settled briefly against the middle of my back.

“I’ll watch the stove.”

I dried my hands and went to the door.

Gavin was already out of the truck when I stepped onto the porch. He had one hand on the passenger door while a woman climbed down from the cab.