against his muscular chest. What if he hadn’t been trying to comfort her, but to do something else? Something…intimate?
Oh, wow.
Shaking off the unexpected carnal thoughts, she tucked her hair behind her ear. “On Friday, Tynan took me for another run and explained why he pushed me. He said if I panicked at seeing a uniform—and shifted in front of humans—it could be deadly.”
Breanne’s expression went tight. “He’s right. Revealing our existence is a death sentence. I almost broke that Law when I was a new shifter, and Zeb, Shay, and I came close to being terminated.”
Gods, that sounded bad.
Margery puffed out a breath. “So, Tynan was right, and honestly, his intervention and explanation helped. Yesterday, I walked past the sheriff’s office a bunch of times and worked on my reaction to seeing Alec and his deputy in uniforms.”
There was nothing like half-panicking, over and over. However, after a few trips, she’d started to relax.
“Good for you.” Responding to a greeting from across the patio, Bree smiled, started to wave, and winced.
“You’re hurt.”
“No. Well, maybe a little.” Bree scowled at her left arm. “I chased a wood rat and caught my foreleg between a couple of rocks. I think my wrist is a bit sprained, nothing worse.”
Margery held her hand out. “Let’s see.”
The joint was swollen, slightly warm, no obvious break. “The healer would be able to mend it right up.”
The ever-so-gorgeous healer who didn’t like her.
Bree grinned. “You sound like Zeb. Donal’s helping at a birth, but he’ll be here later.”
No, Margery’s pulse did not just pick up. She didn’t want to see that grumpy, bull-headed male. “Until then, how about if I wrap it and put your arm in a sling to remind you not to use it.”
“That’d be great. I keep trying to pick up pans and embarrass myself when I yelp.”
After raiding the lodge’s medical supplies, Margery settled Bree in a quiet corner of the kitchen and tended the injury. After the sling was on, she finished by settling an ice pack on top of the ace-wrapped wrist.
“That feels a lot better.” Bree smiled as she rose. “It’d really started to ache.”
“Because you kept using it.” Margery glanced around the busy kitchen. “What’s my assignment? Angie said the pack was helping out.”
“We had no idea quite so many people would show up today. Thank the Goddess for the pack’s help.” Bree gave the kitchen an assessing look. “Can you take a pitcher of iced tea and refill drinks?”
“Absolutely.” Margery grinned. “Waitressing has turned into one of my favorite things. It’s such a great way to meet everyone.”
“Thank you. And thank you, banfasa, for the tending.” Bree patted the sling.
At Bree’s gratitude, Margery felt as if the sun had grown brighter.
She pulled in a breath as the realization shook her. Being a banfasa was who she was. What she loved. Nothing, not even waitressing, fulfilled her quite the same way, and…face it, she missed it.
Two hours later, Margery joined three other pack females to eat.
Although eat was perhaps not the right word—she almost inhaled the food. “This barbecued pork is…I’ve never had anything so good.”
Bonnie, who was a dispatcher in the sheriff’s office, laughed. “You can thank Alec for that. He fostered in the south and talked one of his uncles out of the recipe.”
“Did I hear my name?” The relaxed masculine voice had them all turning.
Huge male—wearing a badge, firearm, baton, uniform.
Margery froze, her hands closing on her fork, ready to…
He wasn’t moving. In fact, he was holding perfectly still. Her gaze lifted to his face, to the sympathy in the dark green eyes.
Oops. She breathed out and set the weapon down. “Hi, Sheriff.”
She’d seen him at the station and strolling the streets off and on yesterday. One more breath, and she could lean back. Her muscles relaxed. Thank the Goddess for Tynan and his shock therapy. “Bonnie says we have you to thank for this amazing barbecue.”
“I merely persuaded the recipe out of my uncle. Shay did the actual cooking.” Alec grinned. “I far prefer talking to cooking.”
The sheriff was a charmer. No wonder he caught Vicki.
Margery studied the golden-brown hair, green eyes, and easygoing smile. So familiar. “You’re Sorcha’s daddy, aren’t you?”
A dimple appeared. “Calum and I are the sires for all of Vicki’s litter, but, aye, Sorcha might have caught a few genes from me.”
For few minutes, he chatted with them all before sauntering away.
And Margery realized she would no longer have trouble seeing past the uniform to the good male who wore it.