Nope . . . she looked like a woman who should be on the cover of a Victoria’s Secret catalog or attached to the arm of a NFL player while making the rounds in the tabloids.

“It smells amazing and authentic. People are willing to pay a lot of money for authentic.” The words sounded stiff as they worked around my shock at how pretty and welcoming she was.

She laughed and it was airy and tinkling. She seemed so happy and easygoing as she hustled tray after tray of food onto the massive table. Her smile was effortless, and she chatted with all the stonily silent guests like it was no big thing. Her attitude was bubbly and infectious even when she was gifted with awkwardness and silence in return. I found myself wanting to smile just because she was smiling and I still wanted to tackle hug her because after the first bite of the buttery, flaky biscuit and crispy hot chicken, I knew I would never taste anything better in my life.

Emrys was talking to Lane about playing guitar since he was pictured with one on the brochure. He launched into a story about learning to play so he could pick up chicks, which made her laugh and toss her head back. The two silent men were picking at their plates like they didn’t realize they had just been handed food from the gods, their eyes silently assessing everyone else around the table in an unnervingly intense way. The family of four was making awkward small talk as the daughter continued to gaze lovingly toward the head of the table. No one seemed to be paying any kind of attention to me or Brynn as she quietly told me, “Well, I always feel obligated to make sure all of our guests eat really well the first night, because after you saddle up, it’s only rations and whatever you catch on the trail for a week. I consider this your send-off feast, or your last meal, depending on how well you fare in the wilderness.”

I wasn’t sure if she was joking about the food for the rest of the trip or not because her dark eyes danced with merriment. I found myself studying her with open curiosity. Her long, red hair was the color of copper and fire, far richer and deeper than my own strawberry blonde locks. Her eyes were dark and mysterious, with a slight angle to them that hinted at a heritage that wasn’t run-of-the-mill. She was obviously at home around the big table, and when she took a seat next to Cy toward the head of the table, I almost choked on my chicken leg when she reached out, putting a hand on his thick forearm. She muttered something to him in a voice low enough so only he could hear. He leaned a little bit toward the stunning woman and replied to whatever she had asked him. I felt my breath whoosh out of my lungs in a gust loud enough that it had Em turning her head to look at me in question.

He was different with her.

There wasn’t a hint of the intimidation that he wielded so effortlessly when he faced off with me. There was no glowering and growling, no stalking and scowling. All he had for her was a half grin and gently gruff words that sounded like thunder rumbling over the hills. The twist of his lips made his hard face impossibly handsome, and had the besotted teenager at the table audibly sighing in appreciation while I stifled my own jolt of reaction.

Of course, a man like him wouldn’t be out here, miles and miles away from everything, without a woman who looked like she did at his side. That had a sharp pang shooting through me, even though it absolutely and completely made no sense. The two of them together made so much sense and it bugged me that the perfection of them together bothered me.

We were all happily awaiting the promised dessert after dinner when the overly amorous father of two switched his attention from texting his ‘customers’ and blatantly trying to impress Emrys, to the other two men, who had yet to join any kind of conversation. The way they watched us all without engaging was off putting, but since I typically had no patience for small talk and banal conversation, I decided I was in no place to question their odd behavior.

“Did you guys leave the wives at home for the weekend?” If they had been a couple, the way he asked the question would have been confrontational and insulting. The older of the two men narrowed his eyes and curled his hand around the water glass in front of him.

“We aren’t married.” His tone was brisk and clearly irritated. He didn’t want to have a conversation about himself and it was obvious, even if the clueless dad didn’t pick up on the mile-wide hint.

“Really? So, you two just took a week off of work to tromp around the woods together and play cowboy?” The implication that he found that disturbing and uncomfortable was clear. As if the guy, who I was positive had a side chick, had any room to pass judgment on anyone while his wife was worrying herself sick about his rudeness and the blatant break in her family unit.

The younger of the two men schooled his face into an impassive mask but there was a hard glint in his gaze when he replied, “We’re here on a training exercise for work. Grady here was working with a different partner for a long time and it’s been a rough adjustment since the restructure. Our boss thought this would be a good way for us to get on the same page. I would never say no to a week fishing on the boss’s dime but my partner isn’t big on the outdoors.” The older man grunted in apparent agreement.

“What kind of business are you gentlemen in?” It was supposed to be a friendly enough question, but I don’t think anyone seated at the table could miss that the dad was clearly looking for an in—or a new client—but neither of the men sounded like they came from the East Coast or particularly looked like they were interested in owning property in the Big Apple.

“We’re in sales.” The older gentleman muttered at the exact same time the other man stated, “Finance. We’re in finance.”