Chapter Seventeen

NASH

Technically, I’d already met Erin’s sisters — sort of — that first night in the bar. Dinner at their ranch started off just as awkwardly, and every word, gesture, and look was as loaded as before. To my surprise, though, things thawed quickly.

Pippa was the fun one, and her comments were all chipper, jokey, or playful. Abby was the broody one, and every look she shot me was a barb. Erin was somewhere in between.

Thank goodness for little Claire, the only person around the dinner table free of attitude or agenda.

“Who do you think was faster, Seabiscuit or Man o’ War?” she quizzed us.

A good thing I’d “met” both horses in her collection earlier that day.

“Definitely Seabiscuit,” Pippa replied.

“He was small, but fast,” Abby agreed.

Pippa snorted. “Like they say — it’s not the size of the dog in the fight but the size of the fight in the dog.”

“Mark Twain,” Erin murmured to Claire.

“Was he a horse too?”

I grinned and swirled the last strands of spaghetti around my fork. As, um — Unusual? Interesting? — as this family was, it was nice to share this time with them. It would be even nicer if Abby let some of the ice around her soul thaw.

My dragon snorted. There’s the pot calling the kettle black.

I frowned into my glass of water.

In any case, I hadn’t sat down to a family dinner in a long, long time, and it was nice. Logs crackled in the fireplace, and candles flickered softly on the table. Country music drifted in from the radio in the kitchen, and Roscoe’s tail steadily thumped the rug. His eyes were locked on Claire, his best hope for snacks.

“I think Seabiscuit and Man o’ War would tie,” Claire decided, then switched to draft horses. “Who can pull more — a Percheron or a Clydesdale?”

Horses and dogs were definitely high on that girl’s list — and probably the entire family’s. I’d spotted half a dozen horses on the way in — mostly rescues, according to Erin. Roscoe was the only dog allowed in the main house, but there were several more who’d greeted Erin — and growled at me — around the ranch.

Pippa, as usual, had the most to say about Claire’s latest question. As they chattered away, I looked around. Dinner was served on colorful glass plates handmade by Pippa — she was a glass artist, apparently — but the plates displayed in the cupboard to one side were all antiques. A worn braided rug cushioned my feet. A rocking chair stood in a corner near a window, with a shawl carefully folded over the back. The aunt’s?

Everything about this house and these people spoke of love, painstaking work, and hardiness. My eyes swept over it all, then met Erin’s as Claire chatted on.

“Mommy says Percherons are so big, they’re hard to ride bareback, but I think I could…”

Now, do you understand? Erin’s eyes asked. Do you understand how much this place means to us, and how much stands at risk?

I took a deep breath. Yes. Yes, I did.

A shotgun old enough to be my grandfather’s hung over the fireplace. Did they keep it loaded? Did they have what it took to use it?

Yes, I decided. Every one of these women was that tough, that protective.

“Are Percherons big enough for me, Roscoe, and Mommy to all ride bareback at the same time?” Claire went on.

For the first time that evening, Abby cracked a smile. “You and me, for sure. But Roscoe would probably prefer to keep his feet on the ground.”

It was a cute scene to imagine — mother and daughter riding bareback on a big, docile horse, with Roscoe running ahead. The lack of men in the image did strike me, though, and not for the first time. Other than Roscoe, I was the only male on the property. Was that by design or coincidence?

Even Claire noticed it. “You and Roscoe are the only boys on the ranch,” she giggled.

“Don’t forget the cattle, horses, and pigs. But they’re all castrated,” Abby observed dryly.

The candles on the table flickered, and I crossed my legs under the table. Tightly.

“Dessert, anyone?” Pippa asked, standing.

“Yay! Brownies!” Claire cheered, moving to the kitchen with Pippa.

Erin smiled, and even Abby gave a hearty thumbs-up. She didn’t seem too pleased to have to share with me, but hey. I wouldn’t stick around to bother her for long.

My eyes wandered over to Erin, then jerked away when she glanced up.

What if she wants us to? my dragon whispered. Stay longer, I mean?

I folded and refolded my napkin, avoiding her eyes.

“Voilà. Chocolate chunk fudge brownies.” Pippa set the pan on the table with a flourish.

Was it that motion that made the candles flicker, or was it something else? The fire crackled at the same time, sharing Pippa’s glee. And I was sure the candles brightened a little when Claire wiggled back into her seat and started on her brownie.

Pippa dabbed hers with Nutella, ignoring her sisters’ pointed looks.

“It’s not like I’m ruining a super-healthy dessert here,” she pointed out.

Erin frowned. “Yes, you are.”

Abby stuck her hand in front of Claire’s eyes. “This is one of those things you shouldn’t learn from Aunt Pippa.”

“ Another thing?” Pippa protested. “What else is on that list?”

“Where do I begin?” Abby sighed.

Claire giggled, while Erin shook her head in exasperation, but her love for her sister still shone through.

Every tease, every reprimand, and every laugh they shared came with a merry wobble of candlelight, and any tension that crept into the conversation came with an ominous crackle from the fireplace.

I looked at Roscoe, then around the room. What was it with this family? Or was it something about the place?

“Seconds, anyone?” Pippa offered.

“I probably shouldn’t,” Erin sighed, though she held out her plate.

“Break it into pieces. Fewer calories that way.” Pippa winked, invoking one of those special laws of chemistry they didn’t teach in school.

“Delicious,” Abby announced when she finished her second portion.

“You can thank me, Claire, and Betty Crocker.” Pippa grinned.

“Roscoe helped too,” Claire insisted.

I looked at my brownie. God, I hoped not.

My offer to do the dishes afterward was enthusiastically accepted, and I was glad to help — and avoid any awkward after-dinner talk. But awkward was probably inevitable, I decided once everyone broke up for the night. Abby and Claire lived in the main house, with Pippa in a converted barn and Erin in her cabin a good quarter-mile away.

“Well, good night, everyone,” she announced.

“Good night,” I echoed, ignoring Pippa’s amused look.

I was sure Erin had made it clear to her sisters it wasn’t like that, but Pippa had no mercy.

“Good night,” she said in a sultry purr.

“Oh! Are you having a sleepover?” Claire clapped. “Can I come?”

Abby’s dark look said Hell no, a sentiment Erin expressed a little more diplomatically.

“Not this time, sweetie. Nash gets the couch. I get the bed.” That point was aimed squarely at Pippa and her smirk. “So, my little house will be pretty full.”

“When I do sleepovers, we all pile into one bed. It’s fun,” Claire said.

Pippa chortled. I kept my expression perfectly neutral.

Erin hid a smile. “I promise that you, Pippa, and I will have a sleepover soon.”

“Maybe we can invite Grandpa and Grandpa,” Claire said.

So, there were a lucky few men who were welcome on the ranch.

Erin waved, and I followed her outside, where the cold night snatched us away from the cozy confines of the house. It was nice, though — all those stars, all that space. Another reason this ranch was so special. The lights of Sedona were a faint glow in the distance, but the only man-made sound was the crunch of our boots over frosty ground.

Two more dogs rushed up to join us for part of the walk, then ran to the barn when Pippa called out to them. “Calvin! Hobbes!”

I looked at Erin, and she shrugged. “Claire’s a fan of the cartoon. Abby too. Well, all of us, actually.”

It was easy to picture her, Pippa, or Abby reading to Claire before tucking her in for the night. Family was big for these sisters, even if the structure of theirs was a little unique.

“Has this ranch been in your family a long time?” I asked quietly.

Erin nodded. “Seven generations. It was my aunt’s. Well, great-aunt.” A second or two went by before Erin quietly added, “We three spent every summer here. If it weren’t for my aunt, I would hardly know Pippa or Abby.”

I didn’t ask, but I did wonder. How could three sisters not know one another?

Erin must have picked up on that, because she explained. “We each grew up with our dads. Well, Pippa and I did. Abby grew up with her other relatives.”

Abby’s relatives were different from Erin’s? Did that mean three different fathers?

Wow. And I thought my family was a little mixed up.

“I see,” I said, though I didn’t.

Erin laughed, not all too humorously. “Nice of you not to ask about my mother.”

I shrugged. In truth, I’d been burning to ask. “You said it wasn’t relevant.”

I almost missed her whispered, “I’m starting to think it might be.”

I kept my lips sealed, thinking about the candles at dinner…the vortex…the microburst at the food court…

Erin led me around a patch of prickly pear and beyond the paddock, heading toward the dim outline of her cabin.

Out of nowhere, she heaved a deep, conflicted sigh. “My mom is a wanderer. A renegade. A heartbreaker.”

Yes, I suppose she would have to be to leave three daughters behind with three different fathers. Then again, some men did the same and weren’t judged half as harshly.

“My great-aunt said that came from the other side of the family,” Erin added.

“The witch side?” I murmured.

Erin shook her head. “No. The dragon shifter side.”

I stared — and stared, and stared — while inside, my dragon practically started tap-dancing.

I told you we were meant for each other.

“Dragon shifter?” I echoed stupidly.

Erin nodded, then motioned in the air. “I doubt that matters, though.”

My mouth hung open. Hell, yes. It mattered. To me, anyway.

Dragon shifter! my inner beast cheered. Just like me!

“Maybe it’s the warlock side that makes me feel the vortex when you can’t,” Erin continued. “And that’s the scary thing — if I can feel it, what about Harlon?”

My throat went dry. Not a good scenario, and we both knew it.

“Maybe you can feel the vortex because it’s connected to your family,” I said.

She shook her head. “Those petroglyphs were carved centuries ago by the Sinagua, long before outsiders settled in this area. Before they were pushed out, I should say — maybe even by my own ancestors.” She shook her head sadly. “So, they’re not connected to my family.”

“I don’t know. Magic is magic,” I murmured.

Erin didn’t look convinced.

By then, we’d reached the stairs to her porch, and each creaked under our feet. She paused, turning to gaze at the cliffs on the far side of the ranch. I read a dozen unspoken questions on her lips.

She glanced over expectantly, so I let her down gently. “They didn’t cover that at the agency.” Then I tried to lighten things a little. “But maybe when this is all over, you could teach a whole new unit.”

That, at least, got a little laugh out of her. “You and I, you mean. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

You and I. I smiled at her, and she smiled back. Long enough that my chest warmed — and not just because the cabin blocked the chilly breeze.

Erin turned to the door abruptly. “Anyway…”

I swallowed hard. Right. We had to focus on Harlon and Angelina, not on any, er…feelings that might be developing between us.

Inside, Erin set me up for the night the way she prepared for a balloon flight — all cool, quick, and efficient. It was ridiculously early, but so was starting time for work the next day. Erin was in and out of the bathroom in three minutes flat. Afterward, she climbed a steep ladder to the open loft and turned off the lights. A few seconds later, I heard her toss something light to the floor — her clothes?

My throat went dry, and my dragon’s ears perked.

“Fair warning — I set an alarm for three forty-five,” she called, out of sight but still all too close. “Should I wake you up then?”

Ha. Like I was going to get any sleep.

“Fine with me.” I stripped to my boxers and lay down on the couch, tucking myself in under a worn quilt.

A moment later, she called out in a forced, this is all perfectly normal tone, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” I echoed in a much scratchier voice.

The next few seconds ticked by in artificial silence. But, hey. That was preferable to the awkward silence of a morning-after full of regret.

Who says we would regret it? my dragon hummed, sending dirty images into my mind.

I turned to my side, ordering myself to sleep.

Closing my eyes was easy, but that didn’t work with ears, and my dragon tuned in to the faintest sound from the loft. The rustle of sheets…that had to be Erin stretching those long, toned legs. The soft, even pace of her breath, too faint for human ears, but not for me.

She’s not sleeping, the beast rumbled, not at all helpfully.

Yeah, well, neither was I.

Doesn’t make sense, my dragon complained. You sleeping here, wishing you could be with her, while she’s up there, doing the same.

Was she? And anyway, some things weren’t that simple.

No, it’s just you making them complicated, my inner breast grumbled. Humans make no sense,

Maybe not, but Erin was supremely sensible — and staying away from me was a smart decision. For both of us.

Doing my best to clear my mind, I settled in for a long, sleepless night.