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Maggie’s homely scent wrapped around me as warmly as her arms, a mix of blueberries and something uniquely her. She was only five-two but had a solid and robust figure and a surprisingly strong embrace. I wondered how the hell she’d produced five strapping sons.
Although her eyes twinkled, I sensed a fierce protective instinct in her, like that of a mama bear taking on a mountain lion to defend her family.
“Nice grip,” I joked, my voice muffled against her shoulder.
A chorus of chuckles rippled through the room.
“Sorry, love. I forget my own strength sometimes,” she said with a wink. “This is my husband, Karl.”
She gestured to an older version of Emmett with silver hair and light-brown eyes. It suddenly became apparent from whom Emmett and his brothers had inherited their height and build.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said shyly, holding out my hand, only to be pulled into another all-encompassing hug.
These Furbanes were a touchy-feely bunch. Hugs and kisses weren’t something I was accustomed to, having never known my parents. Maggie and Karl’s affectionate welcome brought a sudden lump to my throat and made tears sting my eyes.
One by one, I was introduced to the rest of the family. Handshakes that could crush stone but didn't. Hugs that wrapped around me like vines—tight but not suffocating.
I already knew Emmett was the eldest, at thirty, and a year separated the rest of his brothers: Leif, the second-eldest, I’d already met.
Brock was next, then Ezekiel, or Zeke, as he was affectionately known, and finally, the baby of the family, Axel. Although he was as hulking as his brothers and father, so there was nothing “babyish” about him.
Knowing that Maggie had been pregnant for practically five years straight, carrying her boys, made me respect the woman even more. This was one fertile family.
Aunt Amalthea was the last to be introduced and the only female present apart from Maggie and me. Her familiar face gave me the impression that we’d met before, but I couldn’t imagine how or where.
Like her sister, Aunt Amalthea had kind eyes and a maternal warmth that soothed some part of my soul. She must be in her late fifties or early sixties, yet like Maggie, her face was relatively unblemished, almost ageless. Little laugh lines decorated her eyes, a tapestry of a life rich in expression and emotion.
Her golden eyes met mine, seeming to hold a wealth of experience and ancient knowledge far beyond her years. I shivered, wondering at my strange observation. But I couldn’t deny she had an otherworldly presence and emitted a calmness and serenity that immediately put me at ease.
“Oh, yes, you’ll do,” Aunt Amalthea said, nodding as she looked me up and down. “I’m Aunt Amalthea, but you can call me Aunt Thea. Wonderful to meet you at last, Amber,” she added, pulling me into a hug.
She had a smooth, beautifully modulated voice that made me want to sit with her for hours so I could simply listen to her talk.
“At last?” I queried with a smile. “I haven’t been in Silverpaw Hollow that long, and Emmett and I only met a week ago.”
“A turn of phrase, my dear. Some connections transcend time and space,” she replied enigmatically, her eyes twinkling with secrets. “You may find Silverpaw Hollow holds more surprises than you expect. When you’re ready to know more about those strange sensations you’ve been experiencing during the fires, I’ll be waiting.”
My eyes widened. How the hell did she know about that?
I opened my mouth to ask what she meant, but Maggie interjected, “Thea, don't frighten the poor girl with your cryptic talk. There will be plenty of time for that later.” She winked at me conspiratorially.
Questions from the rest of the family rained upon me like a gentle spring shower, their curiosity as palpable as the mouthwatering aromas wafting from the kitchen.
“Assistant Fire Chief,” I replied to Brock’s query, my words eliciting a round of impressed nods.
“Explains the smokin' hot vibe,” Brock quipped, earning him an elbow jab and a glare from Emmett.
Emmett's hand tightened on my waist, and he shot his brother a warning look. “Watch it, Brock. Be respectful.”
His praise warmed me from the inside out, even as a pang of guilt twisted in my gut. If only he knew the real reason I'd initially taken an interest in him and his family. But a lot had changed in a week.
Emmett steered me toward the dining room, his hand an anchor at my waist, holding me steady among the sea of towering Furbanes who seemed to rival redwoods in height and strength.
The massive table was laden with platters of food. My mouth watered at the spread—roasted chicken and vegetables, fluffy mashed potatoes, fresh bread, and more.
“Hope you're hungry,” Zeke said, his voice laced with laughter.
“Starving,” I replied, realizing it wasn't for food.
