“Don’t.” Bear cut him off with a glare. “Don’t make me put you through a wall.”
“Easy, big guy.” River held up his hands in mock surrender. “Just making conversation.”
The front door banged open, letting in a blast of night air. Greta Dougherty stood silhouetted in the doorway, her wild strawberry blonde hair escaping its braid, clothes dusty from the trail. Dirt smudged her jawline, and the set of her mouth was tight as she surveyed the room.
“Sorry I’m late.” She didn’t sound sorry. Sounded pissed, actually. “Lost track of time.”
Johanna broke away from Walker to greet her. “We saved you some food. It’s in the kitchen.”
Greta nodded but made no move toward food. Instead, she pulled a silver flask from her jacket pocket and took a long swallow, her eyes daring anyone to comment. Bear watched the motion of her throat as she drank, the slight wince as the whiskey hit. He knew that wince. Knew that burn. Knew he should look away before the phantom taste filled his own mouth.
“Jesus,” River muttered. “Someone’s in a mood.”
Bear grunted and moved toward the kitchen, putting distance between himself and Greta’s flask. He’d learned the hard way to recognize his triggers, to give them a wide berth. And right now, Greta Dougherty—dusty, angry, drinking—was a five-alarm fire of temptation.
King followed at his heels, massive paws padding silently across the hardwood. The big Leonberger sensed his unease, always did. Bear’s hand dropped to scratch behind the dog’s ears, grateful for the anchor.
“You hiding from me, McKenna?”
He turned to find Greta leaning against the kitchen doorframe, arms crossed. Her flask peeked from her jacket pocket, and he forced his gaze up to her face.
“Nope.” He opened the refrigerator, pretending to look for something. “Just getting another drink.”
“Sure.” She didn’t buy it. “Because sodas are kept in the produce drawer.”
He shoved the door shut. “What do you want, Greta?”
“Nothing.” She brushed past him to grab a plate from the counter, loading it with cold cuts and cheese. “Just wondering why Montana’s biggest mountain man is hiding in the kitchen at the engagement party of the century.”
“I’m not hiding.”
“Right.” She took another swig from her flask, not bothering to hide it. “You’re admiring Jo’s wallpaper.”
He kept his face expressionless, but his fists clenched at his sides. “Rough day on the trails?”
Her eyes narrowed, green as bottle glass and just as sharp. “Could say that.”
“Find anything?”
“You know I didn’t.” She stabbed a piece of cheese with a toothpick. “I never do.”
The unspoken name hung between them. Alice. Greta’s missing twin sister. The ghost that drove her into the wilderness day after day, searching for clues everyone else believed didn’t exist.
“Maybe it’s time to?—”
“Don’t.” She cut him off. “Don’t tell me it’s time to stop looking. Don’t tell me to accept she’s gone. Just... don’t.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “Wasn’t going to.”
She studied him, suspicious, then deflated slightly. “Sorry. It’s just—everyone’s so fucking happy. Playing house. Buildingperfect little lives. And I’m...” She trailed off, shoving food in her mouth to avoid finishing the sentence.
“Just what?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “Forget it.”
From the living room came a burst of laughter. Jax’s low chuckle, Nessie’s bright peal, Oliver’s excited squeal. The sounds of family. Of belonging.
“Sounds like the honeymoon phase is in full swing,” Greta said, her voice brittle.
