Page 35 of Twins for the Mountain Daddies

I explode, vision dimming to nothing but her name etched in darkness at the edges.

Holt is gonna be so damn jealous.

Chapter 15

Holt

Iwatch Hank pace back and forth on the porch, his boots thudding against the weathered wood. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest, every line of his body screaming with frustration like a bear caught in a trap. I can't help it. A grin tugs at my lips. Cranky Hanky is a side that doesn't come out unless he's got something really chewing at him.

And, I happen to know that something is a pretty city girl who just went down the mountain and may not come back.

Okay, she’ll obviously come back. All her shit is here, but that doesn’t mean she’ll be staying. She’s free to leave, free to return to her regularly scheduled life. I think we all know that this was just a surprise pitstop for her. She’s not a mountain girl.

Even if she is settling into life here more and more each day.

"What’s on your mind, big guy?" I ask, leaning against the door frame with a casualness I don't quite feel.

Hank shoots me a glare sharp enough to slice through pine. He grunts, shifting his gaze back to the winding road that snakes up to our cabin. "Just watching for...things."

"Sure. 'Things’," I echo, knowing full well those “things” have chestnut hair and a smile that lights up the darkest night.

The mountain air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine and earth and more snow. It fills my lungs as I take a deep breath, trying not to let on how much Ivy's absence is affecting me, too.

"Damn road," Hank mutters under his breath, kicking at nothing in particular. The edge to his voice could cut through the dense forest surrounding us.

I nod, pretending to inspect my nails. "Yeah, roads are notorious for being...road-like."

He doesn't crack a smile. He just keeps those dark eyes glued to where the gravel meets that little bit of green buried beneath layers of white, as if by sheer will alone he can make her appear.

"Maybe she got lost," I tease, knowing full well Ivy's got a better sense of direction than most people. And it’s not like she’s driving herself. Well, actually she could be. But Wyatt would be leading the way.

"Ha-ha," Hank replies flatly, not taking his eyes off the lookout.

"Or maybe she found a nice city boy down there, someone who doesn't get all grizzly when his coffee ain't just right," I prod further, unable to resist.

"Shut it, Holt." Hank's words are clipped, sharp as a snapping branch. "Ain't in the mood for your shit."

"All right, all right," I say, raising my hands in mock surrender.

We fall into a tense silence, the only sound the crunch of salt underfoot as Hank resumes his pacing. It's a waiting game now, Hank playing the part of the sentinel, me the court jester trying to keep spirits light.

But neither of us dares to admit the real worry gnawing at our insides. That one of these days, Ivy might decide the mountain—and the men on it—aren't for her after all.

I lean against the porch railing, watching Hank's boots as they take each impatient step. His shadow stretches long over the ground, like it’s trying to reach Ivy from all the way up here.

"Bet she's having the time of her life without you hovering," I say, keeping my voice light.

Hank turns, eyes blazing under furrowed brows. "I swear to God, Holt, if you don't shut up..."

"Touchy." I push off the railing and close the distance between us. "You know she's coming back."

"I’m not worried about her," he grumbles, resuming his watch.

Suuure. Of course he’s not. He keeps watch like this every time one of us goes down the mountain.

I shove my hands into my pockets and fix my gaze on the same stretch of road. The air has this kind of biting freshness you only get up high where the world seems smaller, but the sky's a whole lot closer.

I drag a hand down my face, exhaling hard. What the hell is wrong with me? I don’t do attachments. I don’t even do repeats. And yet, I made Ivy coffee this morning and kissed her goodbye like some domesticated idiot. What kind of simp fuck does shit like that?

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