Page 66 of Fire Fight

“Ah, that’ll be the twins.”

“Both of them?” I asked, wiping my suddenly clammy palms on my jeans. They were the nicest pair I owned—unless you counted the frilly wardrobe my mom bought me in Boise. Dark washed and tight enough to give me the appearance of curves. I had worn one of the tops Mom got, though, because it seemed perfect for the occasion: a gauzy, pale blue blouse with cap sleeves that fluttered against my deltoids and a lacy hem that hit the waistband of my jeans. When I’d stepped out of my room earlier and Crew studied me, his eyes had darkened in that way I was coming to associate with desire—or rage, but the circumstances obviously had me leaning toward the former—telling me I’d done well.

“Baptism by fire,” Crew said, then winced. “Shit, sorry.”

The stricken look on his face had me chuckling. “It’s fine, hotshot. Phoenix risen from the ashes, remember?”

His shoulders relaxed, and he reached up to tuck my hair behind my ear, fingertips lingering on the piercings lining the shell. I’d been forced to take them out while in the hospital—actually, the emergency staff had done it for me—and putting them all back in a few days ago had been cathartic, going a long way to making me feel like my old self again.

“Well then, little phoenix”—he shifted away and turnedsideways, gesturing grandly for me to go ahead of him—“into the flames you go.”

Squaring my shoulders, I marched back into the kitchen…and immediately pulled up short.

Jesus Christ, did all the men in this family look like models?

The twins were…well, I didn’t exactly have words for it, but suffice it to say I wouldn’t have been surprised to find them starring in Calvin Klein commercials and posing on the covers of magazines instead of running a ranch in western Idaho.

Crew was handsome in a rugged sort of way, which was generally the type of male attractiveness I gravitated toward.

Finn and West—I had no idea which was which at this point—were beautiful. One of them had his hair shorn closer around his ears while the rest was longer, sort of like a toned down mullet that I had to admit was sexy as hell. The other’s hair brushed the tops of his broad shoulders. Standing side by side, they were clearly identical, both of their mouths stretched wide in matching grins as I approached.

Birdie pointed a wooden serving spoon at them before she dug it into a dish of delicious-smelling macaroni and cheese and lifted it off the counter.

“Be nice to our guest, heathens.”

Ignoring their mother, the one with shorter hair stepped forward, hand extended. “Finn Lawless, ma’am. Gotta assume you’re Aspen.”

“I am,” I said, accepting his handshake. Pulses of electricity didn’t race up my arm like they had the first time Crew and I touched—and every time since. All I felt was a weird, familial sort of warmth.

Finn released me and moved back so his twin could greet me.

West, apparently, wasn’t nearly as formal, because he bent down and swept me right off my feet in a hug so tight, my back cracked.

But again, I experienced no unwanted emotions beyond the same inexplicable and immediate fondness I felt for Finn.

“Well,” I gasped when West set me back down. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it hadn’t been that.”

“Not all of my brothers are assholes,” Crew gritted out, and I glanced at him to find his arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed at the twins, that muscle in his jaw jumping as he ground his teeth together.

Was he…jealous?

The idea sent a thrill through me, and I grinned knowingly at him. He continued to pout.

“Let me guess,” Finn started, sharing a look with West. In unison, they finished: “Lane.”

“Someone say my name?”

Speak of the devil…

I didn’t recognize him at first in his civilian clothing, and it took me a beat to connect the voice to his face.

“Sheriff,” I greeted.

“Miss McKay,” he replied, tipping a proverbial hat. “Good to see you.”

I snorted, and Crew said, “Don’t act all welcoming now, asshat.”

West rubbed his hands together excitedly. “What did our esteemed sheriff do this time?”