Page 38 of Twins for the Mountain Daddies

My mouth opens, then promptly shuts. Okay, so maybe he has a point.

Wyatt, ever the peacemaker, steps in. “We’ll handle the shopping. You can tag along if you want.”

That stings more than it should. Like I’m a kid playing house, not someone capable of pulling her own weight. Before I can second-guess myself, I straighten my spine. “Fine. Then I’ll pay for it.”

Hank’s expression tightens, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “That’s not necessary.”

“It is,” I insist, pushing past the lump in my throat. “I want to contribute. You guys have been generous—letting me stay here, feeding me, looking out for me. Let me do this, okay?”

"Hey, darlin'," Holt chimes in, that easy grin spreading across his handsome face. He leans against the door frame, arms folded over his chest. "The only payment we want from you is some more of that sweet pus?—"

The rest of his sentence gets cut off by Hank's large hand smacking against the back of his head. The sound echoes through the room. "Have some damn respect," Hank growls, fixing Holt with a look that could curdle milk.

"Ow, man!" Holt rubs the spot, still smirking like it's all one big joke. Wyatt just shakes his head, a chuckle escaping despite the scowl directed at the youngest occupant of this cabin. He’s older than me, but I don’t actually live here, do I?

“Let me pay.”

Hank exhales sharply, clearly not thrilled, but after a moment, he gives a gruff nod. “Fine.”

It’s not exactly a win, but I’ll take it.

"Anyway," I continue, eager to steer away from Holt's teasing, "since the roads are clear for now and ya’ll need to go into town anyway, I'd love to take you guys to dinner in town tonight as my treat…as a thank-you."

There's a moment of silence where I can almost hear their thoughts. Then, one by one, something shifts.

"Sure thing, Ivy," Wyatt says with a casual shrug, the corners of his mouth tipping up slightly.

"Could do with a night off from my own cooking," Hank admits, his tone grudging but not unfriendly.

"Look at us, getting spoiled," Holt adds, winking. "Don't suppose we can say no to an offer like that."

"Great." Relief floods through me. It's nice to feel useful, to give back somehow. "It's settled then. Dinner, on me."

Chapter 17

Hank

The bar buzzes with chatter and laughter, the air warm from bodies and booze. I'm at a corner table, nursing a beer, my gaze fixed on our little houseguest. She's swaying to the music, caught between Holt and Wyatt. Each step she takes, each smile she shares, it twists my gut like a damn wet towel.

"Look at them go," someone near me says, but I don't take my eyes off her.

Ivy's laugh cuts through the noise, clear and bright.

"Hey, Hank." A voice breaks into my thoughts, but I grunt something noncommittal, my focus still on Ivy.

Her hair glistens under the dim lights, the waves bouncing with her every move. She catches me staring and offers a small, apologetic smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. It's like she knows I'm sitting here with a chest full of lead, watching her dance with anyone but me.

But her carefree smile doesn’t last. The change is subtle, but I notice. I notice everything about her. I can’t take my damn eyes off her.

The throng of women vying for Holt and Wyatt's attention doesn’t seem to care that Ivy’s their girl tonight. The two of themeat it up, their smiles as wide as the sky. They're all charm and easy words, hands brushing hips, shoulders, any piece of skin they can touch without seeming too eager.

A woman with a flirty grin sidles up next to Holt, her hand lingering just a bit too long on his arm. Wyatt laughs off another, her fingers trailing down his back. They don’t stop them. They don’t tell them to back off.

And Ivy starts to notice, too. She doesn't seem like herself. She ducks her head as another round of laughter erupts from Holt and Wyatt's crowd, and I can tell right away—she's hiding.

It's subtle, the way she turns her body and angles her face away from the lights, away from the eyes that seek her out. It's a dance I've never seen her do; one step forward for every two steps back. A flicker of irritation passes through me, not at her, but for her. Why is she holding back? Why are they giving their attention to any of those vultures when they have the perfect fucking woman right in front of them?

"Hey," Holt calls out to another lady passing by, his arm snaking around her waist. Wyatt joins in with a chuckle, tipping his beer to his lips but not before sneaking a glance at Ivy. They're caught up in their world, the one where they're the stars and everyone else just orbits around them.

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