Page 72 of Wrecked on the Mountain
"Well hello, handsome," I say, scratching behind his ears. "Aren't you gorgeous?"
"He likes you," Jamie observes, still holding a twin under each arm. "That's a good sign."
"Or he's just plotting to steal my pie," I reply, but I'm smiling because it's impossible not to love this enthusiastic welcome committee.
"JAMIE MICHAEL STRIKER!"
The voice booms from the porch, and I look up to see his mother standing in the doorway. She's beautiful. Silver-streaked brown hair, Jamie's blue eyes, and a smile that's warm despite the shrieking yell that pierces the quiet night sky.
"You get up here right now and introduce me to this lovely girl!"
Jamie sets the twins down with a grin. "Yes, ma'am."
He offers me his arm with mock formality. "Dr. Shields, may I present the Striker family firing squad?"
Jamie's Mom envelops me in a hug before I even reach the top step, and it's the kind of hug that makes you understand why Jamie turned out the way he did. Warm, fierce, and absolutely genuine.
"Brooke! Oh, honey, you're even prettier than Betty said. Come in, come in, you must be freezing!"
Before I can process the town apparently commenting on my looks behind my back, I'm being swept into the house and handed a glass of wine.
The interior is everything the outside promised. Old exposed beams, a massive stone fireplace crackling with warmth, and the kind of comfortable, lived-in furniture that invites you to curl up with a book and a cup of tea and stay forever.
But it's the smell that really gets me.
Roast lamb with garlic and rosemary. Buttery mashed potatoes. Fresh bread. And underneath it all, the sweet scent of baking apples and cinnamon.
It smells like home. Like the kind of Sunday dinners I used to dream about as a kid eating cereal alone.
"Mom, you're overwhelming her," comes a voice from the kitchen doorway, and I turn to see a woman who looks like a younger version of Sandra, flour dusted across her apron.
"I am not overwhelming anyone," Sandra protests. "I'm being welcoming."
"You're being a lot," the woman laughs, extending a flour-dusted hand. "I'm Chloe, the sister with actual boundaries. Welcome to the chaos."
"Brooke," I reply, shaking her hand. "And I love chaos."
"Good," says another voice, and a third woman appears carrying a casserole dish. "Because you're about to get a lot of it. I'm Maya, and those terrors who attacked Jamie are mine."
The twins have followed us inside and are now climbing all over Jamie like he's their personal jungle gym, while Ranger has positioned himself strategically near my legs, clearly hoping for dropped food.
"And I'm Zoe," says the youngest sister, emerging from the kitchen. "The one who's going to ask all the inappropriate questions."
"Perfect," I say, raising my wine glass. "I love inappropriate questions."
All three sisters exchange looks, and I can practically see them deciding if I might be worth keeping around.
"Where's Dad?" Jamie asks, finally extricating himself from the twins.
"In his chair, pretending he's not dying to meet Brooke," Sandra replies with a grin. "Gavin! Stop brooding and come say hello!"
Jamie's father appears from the living room. He has the same build, same coloring, but with gray hair and the kind of weathered face that speaks of decades spent outdoors.
He gives me a once-over that's thorough but not unkind.
"So you're the doctor," he says simply.
"Guilty," I reply, meeting his gaze steadily.
