“Another tough female?” Zeb actually smiled as he glanced at his brother. “We’re keeping her in the pack.”
“Aye.” Shay grinned. “Train her well, Tynan. And we’ll all keep her safe.”
“We will.” Tynan’s vow came out as a deep growling rumble. Because he’d rip the throat out of anyone who tried to harm her.
And wouldn’t think twice about it after.
Chapter Seven
Cold Creek, North Cascades Territory - third quarter moon
Yesterday’s altercation had been…exciting…if that would be the right word. Terrifying would work, too. But, hadn’t it been amazing when Tynan told Roger he couldn’t take her away?
Uphill past the tavern, Margery spotted the sign for the Wildwood Lodge and turned her bike down the muddy dirt road.
During the almost-fight, the cop had radiated anger, and afterward had been so…nice. Really concerned for her. There’d also been that very odd moment when he and the healer had both been watching her. Looking at her as males look at a female.
She pressed her hand to her stomach, feeling little quivers of heat. Last night, her dreams held the sound of Tynan’s Irish-accented voice, the strength and gentleness of his grip.
One time, she dreamed of keen silvery-gray eyes framed by black lashes.
She was as addlepated as a drunken dwarf.
With a huff of exasperation, she braked in front of the big lodge building.
The leaden gray sky was spitting an icy rain down with the same vindictiveness as a newly wakened pixie would throw acorns and twigs. Bikes and rain were a bad mix, but she didn’t have any other transportation. And hey, she’d wasn’t out of breath. Okay, her ankle hurt, but otherwise, she was in good shape. Last fall, she’d been dying. Her blood had felt like sludge in her veins. Now, she felt as if she could dance.
So this was the Wildwood Lodge. Margery glanced around. The massive two-story log building had a wide covered porch and log railings. Continuing past the lodge, the dirt road narrowed and branched off to small cabins nestled in the forest.
Heather occasionally rented one of the little fishing cabins if she had a craving for something more rustic and quieter than the Victorian B&B downtown.
Margery carried her bike up onto the porch and tapped on the thick wooden door.
Bree’s voice came from inside. “Door’s open. Come on in.”
Margery entered and stood on the wide mat. “I’m pretty wet. Do you have—”
“Just hang everything on the coat rack beside the reception desk.” Bree hurried out from the back of the house and laughed. “You look like a drowned rat.”
Margery grinned. “It’s mostly my hair. I’m actually dry underneath all this.” She pulled off her bulky rain jacket, boots, and finally the rain pants.
“I think you lost three sizes just now.” Bree took the boots and set them out on the covered porch.
“Those were Leo’s clothes. Too big for me, but I love being dry.” After smoothing out her jeans, dark green sweater, and brown-and-green flannel shirt, Margery decided she’d worn exactly the right clothes to the rustic lodge. Thanks to Angie digging through the Cosantir’s stock of clothing, she’d been able to dither over what to wear. It’d made her feel so…female. So normal.
Bree led the way to the fireplace sitting area. “Come and sit by the fire. I have hot chocolate and the cookies are just out of the oven.”
“I never turn down cookies.” In fact, no Dogwood villager would turn down a dessert—not after eleven years of oatmeal, vegetable soup, and thin stew. Sweets had been nonexistent.
Following Bree, Margery looked around. The downstairs was huge with a reception desk and office in the front left, a book-filled room to the right. In the center, stairs separated the sitting areas on each side. A long dining room had windows overlooking a stream—and probably the kitchen to one side.
The masculinity of oversized leather couches and chairs was softened by colorful throw quilts and pillows. In the glass-fronted fireplace, a fire snapped cheerfully. Margery took a seat on a chair and held out her chilled hands. “Oh, that’s lovely.”
Bree grinned. “Isn’t it though? During the winter, I live on the hearth.” She filled two mugs of hot chocolate from a massive insulated pitcher.
How much liquid did Bree think they would drink? But it was great stuff. Dark chocolate, rich and creamy, and there was a bowl of mini marshmallows just for fun. “You are an amazing hostess.”
“Hostessing is my thing.” Bree plopped some marshmallows in her mug. “I used to be a Seattle chef. Now, I bake pastries for