“We should probably wait until Monday to talk to Mr. Cross about the phones,” Barrett suggested as Quinn loaded bullets into a magazine. “That way we’ll have a good idea how the cell reception is with the new repairs.”

Momentarily positioning a bullet backward, she caught herself before Barrett could make the correction.

He had started her on a smaller caliber weapon, a Smith & Wesson Victory 22LR. There was next to no kick and the bullets were cheap enough she could shoot a thousand rounds, build up her confidence and not crack a hundred dollars in practice ammunition. From there, he had switched to a 9mm Beretta. This would be her third magazine for the weapon. After that, he would see if she could handle his forty-five.

They would return the following day to make sure the lessons with the handguns had stuck and to get Quinn comfortable with the shotgun.

“Sounds good,” she said, seating the magazine then chambering a round.

“Remember to lean in a bit to your stance.” He curved one palm against her stomach and centered the other between her shoulder blades. “You’re still trying to lean away from the weapon after your first shot.”

Her cheeks colored, but she nodded.

“You okay?” he asked. She was doing great for never having picked a gun up in her life, but she was also handling the weapon a little too delicately at times, like it was a lit stick of dynamite that someone had told her she had to hold onto.

“Yes,” she answered a bit breathless.

Putting the safety on, she placed the 9mm on the table in front of her.

“Maybe not,” she admitted.

Picking up the gun, Barrett dropped the magazine and ejected the chambered round before returning the weapon to its carrying case.

“I understand.”

Placing his palm against the back of her neck, Barrett lightly squeezed as he pulled Quinn to him. She wrapped her arms around his torso.

“Someone’s watching from the barn,” she whispered.

He expected her to tense up knowing that somebody might be spying on them, but she acted as if she belonged in his arms.

And she did.

Kissing her forehead, he chuckled. “Female, dark hair, bit on the short side with boots you can see from a mile away.”

Quinn laughed with him.

“They’re lime green,” she answered.

“That would be Siobhan the Curious. The one that’s going to be a cop.”

“Oh, I still have her card.”

Quinn’s arm jiggled.

“Did you just wave to her?”

“Yes,” she chirped.

Hearing the smile in her voice, Barrett pulled away and studied her face. All they had done was hold one another over the night, but it had a profound effect on both of them. He knew he felt less anxious, which was great because smokejumpers weren’t supposed to be the anxious sort. Excessive worry could leave a man and his team surrounded with no way out.

And Quinn looked like she finally felt at home, like he was the missing piece that made everything fit for her.

“Is she coming over?” he asked with a mock growl.

Her eyes lighting up with a smile, Quinn nodded.

Hearing Siobhan’s boots crunch gravel, Barrett turned and opened a little distance between him and Quinn.

“Morning, cousin.”

The young woman rolled her eyes, reached up and grabbed him by the ears. Tugging his head down until it was even with hers, she kissed his cheek then released him and thrust a hand towards Quinn.

“I so wanted to meet you Sunday,” she said. “I’m Siobhan, by the way. Aunt Lindy supposedly put her foot down and Mama and Daddy told me I had to stay home. At least no one made me cook.”

“You got anything else you want to say,” Barrett asked. “Or can someone else have a turn talking?”

Siobhan pointed her nose in the air but dropped it the second Quinn accepted her offer of a handshake.

“Quinn Whitaker. And I always say better late than never.”

“You should stay for lunch,” Siobhan decided. “Looks like you guys were done with practice anyway. Cassian did a casserole last night, made a double batch, so Mama has that heating up in the oven.”

Barrett shook his head before Quinn had a chance to say anything.

“Much as I love it when your big brother puts on an apron, we have a standing appointment with Mama and Sage.”

Siobhan’s mouth twitched and her hands found her hips before Barrett finished talking, but after a second’s pause, she shrugged and turned her attention back to Quinn.

“So, Aunt Dotty said you’re building a cabin and need all the hands you can get, yeah?”

“Well, sort of,” Quinn laughed. “We showed up at Jester’s yesterday evening and a bunch of work had already been done. It was a complete surprise to both of us.”

Siobhan nodded through every word Quinn said.

“Yeah, that’s Aunt Dotty. It’s hard to get her off her homestead, but when she comes out, she comes all out. Anyway, what do you think about a ‘Hammers and Heels’ day? All girls, or mostly all girls. We might need a little male direction for what we’re doing.”

“That doesn’t exactly sound safe,” Barrett said.

Siobhan waved his objection aside, her focus remaining on Quinn. “We won’t drink until after we’re done. Or, at least, we won’t drink much before then.”

“I still don’t think it sounds safe. And if word gets around what you’re doing, there’ll be more than a ‘little’ male direction. You’ll have half the ranch hands showing up, and not just from one ranch.”

Siobhan smiled a canary-eating grin, her dark gaze blazing with mischief.

“Maybe we can table that idea for the time being,” Quinn suggested. “See how the work is lining up with the weather. It’s going to get really muddy up there with even a light rain. There would be a lot of heels stuck in the ground.”

“It sounded good, though, didn’t it?” Siobhan asked, the edges of her mouth straining to gather into a fresh pout.

“Brilliant marketing,” Quinn agreed. “I could really see that going over very successfully on one of the Habitat for Humanity days in L.A.”

Siobhan’s grin widened. “Hey, I like her!”

Barrett draped an arm around Quinn’s shoulder while he shot a stern glance at his little cousin.

Siobhan ignored the warning.

“We should have a girls’ night soon, you, me, Sage, Ashley…I’ll even let my annoying big sister show up if she can tear herself away from her telescope.”

“I have a ten o’clock curfew.”

Looking down, Barrett noticed the forward push of Quinn’s bottom lip a second before it disappeared.

Siobhan waved her hand. “I haven’t met a curfew I couldn’t get around.”

“You haven’t had a curfew with any real consequences,” Barrett growled. “Now, if you want to be helpful, we’ll be practicing again tomorrow. You can assist. I figure if she can still load and shoot while you are jabbering away a mile a minute, she can do the same with a bear or a mountain lion kicking up a fuss.”

“Rawr,” Siobhan countered, her hand up and her nails out. “It’s a date.”

She skipped back toward the barn, her lime green cowgirl boots kicking up gravel as she went.

“Sorry,” Barrett mumbled once his cousin was out of earshot.

Quinn wrapped her arms around his waist, her body pressed against his as she looked deep inside of him.

“I liked her,” she protested. “But you’re absolutely right—that curfew comes first.”