Too late now, though. The door flies open and a short, deeply-tanned woman in jeans and a button-up shirt very like the one I’m wearing—though much more faded—comes hurrying out of the house. She’s limping, one foot in a walking boot, but that’s not really slowing her down that much.

She throws her arms around Raylan and squeezes him tight. She only comes up to his chest in height, but she looks strong and fit, her graying hair pulled back in a sensible low ponytail. Her nails are cut short and unpolished, and her small hands look highly capable as she grabs Raylan’s arms and pulls back to look up in his face. I can see that her eyes are just as bright a blue as her son’s.

“You look skinny,” she says, and she laughs.

Raylan isn’t skinny in the slightest. He’s broad-shouldered and muscular. But as his brother comes out of the house, I can see how Raylan would be considered skinny by comparison. His brother looks like a bear that learned to walk on its hind legs. He has a massive black beard and shoulder-length hair, and he’s three inches taller than Raylan and much broader. I can see the muscle in his arms and shoulders beneath his flannel shirt, but his bulk also includes a generous belly.

“RAYLAN!” he roars.

He throws his arms around both Raylan and his mom, squeezing them tight until his mother shouts, “Alright, don’t break my back, let me out of this hug!”

“Oh, sorry.” He grins, letting her go. “I didn’t even see you there, Ma.”

It is unbelievable that Raylan and his brother came out of this much smaller lady. Hard to imagine either of these men being little enough that she could hold them in her arms.

“You must be Riona,” Celia says, coming over to shake my hand.

Just as I expected, her grip is firm and competent. I can feel the calluses on her palm.

“Thank you for letting us come stay with you,” I say politely.

“This is Raylan’s home,” she says. “He’s never a visitor here.”

There’s no rebuke in her tone. Just a simple statement of fact.

“And you’re equally welcome,” she says to me kindly.

Grady isn’t content with a handshake. He pulls me against his broad chest for a hug. I usually would hate this—but despite his wild appearance, Grady smells nice, like soap and woodsmoke. And his grin shows slightly pointed incisors very like Raylan’s. I find myself liking him immediately, despite the fact that he’s loud and overly familiar, things I usually hate.

Raylan’s sister is the only one who hangs back in the entryway, watching us all silently.

She has thick, long, black hair like her brothers. But her complexion is darker—even more deep than her mother’s. Her eyes are brown, not Raylan’s blue. And she has none of her brothers’ laid-back charm. If anything, she looks fierce and a little bit wild. Like she doesn’t really want to be inside a house at all.