as she now saw Tynan rather than his badge. Even when he’d come into the diner for breakfast on Friday and Saturday mornings, she hadn’t been afraid.
Okay, Margery Lavelle, admit it. There’s more.
All right, yes. She’d been disconcertingly happy to see him. To hear his Irish-accented voice and to tease him and watch the way his austere face changed when he smiled.
Glancing around, she checked the party for him…again.
There he was, standing next to Zeb. Looking right at her.
His eyes were warm, and his approving nod indicated he’d seen her overcome her fears when the sheriff caught her by surprise.
Seen her victory.
Wanting nothing more than to be closer, she smiled at the other females. “I’d better get back to work before Bree tries to do it all herself.”
Grinning at the groans as they agreed and rose, she headed for the kitchen. Pitcher filled with iced tea, she made the rounds…working her way over to Tynan. Laughing at herself all the way.
Obvious much, Margery?
As she filled his glass, he grinned at her. “Nice job with overcoming the panic. With Alec—and with me.” He motioned to his uniform.
“Actually, I hardly notice your uniform now,” she admitted. Her gaze lingered on where his shirtsleeves fit over the hard curve of his biceps.
“Good to hear, since I like being a law officer, and I’d rather not have you fleeing—or punching me—because of my badge.”
When she snorted, his smile widened.
“It’s pretty obvious you like what you do.”
“I love it. Law enforcement—for some of us—is a calling.” His eyes held a determination, a purpose that she recognized in herself. That was how she felt about being a banfasa. Or it had been.
Her grandmama would be so disappointed in how she’d turned tail and fled. Because it was also her heritage, in a way.
She winced away from the uncomfortable thought. “Is your mother or father a cop?”
“No, our mother was a healer. Since Donal and I were Gather-bred, we don’t know our sires. But I fostered in Ireland with Mother’s old clan, and my uncles were in the gardaí.”
Seeing her confused look, he added, “The Irish police force.”
“Oh. The law is in your family, in a way. You wanted to be like your uncles?”
His smile was crooked, the right slightly higher than the left, adding a rakish charm. “Absolutely. I was a pup with an advanced case of hero-worship.”
How could she not love how humble he was? “But isn’t what you do dangerous?”
“Aye, it can be.” He ran his big hand up and down her arm as if to dispel the goosebumps that had appeared.
And more goosebumps appeared at his touch. His palm was warm. Callused.
“But someone must stand between danger and the cubs, aye? That’s my job.” He chuckled. “Or maybe it’s to provide good stories for the clan. Like when Uncle Turlough saw a flock of sheep on the road and tried to herd them back to their field. A pushy ram knocked him head over heels.”
“You were there?”
“Aye, on a ride-along. He bribed Uncle Odhran not to tell that he’d landed in a mud puddle.” Tynan grinned. “He forgot to bribe me.”
Margery laughed. “You told on your uncle?”
“For months afterward, the villagers were telling sheep-versus-man jokes.” Tynan’s lips quirked up. “And when I rewired the doorbell to sound like baaaa, Uncle Turlough busted out laughing every time he heard it.”
Tynan’s uncle was a police officer, but he could laugh at himself. That was totally opposite to how a Scythe guard would react.
From the fond tone in Tynan’s voice, he loved his uncles.
Why did the knowledge make her feel all happy inside? She dropped her gaze.
Then, after a second, she realized she was staring at his chest…at the way the shirt fit over his formidable musculature. How the open top button revealed his corded neck. Her lips could press under his jaw—there—and nibble…
She gave herself a shake and looked up, trying to recall what he’d been talking about.
Bending down toward her, he breathed in. “Well, this is more than I’d hoped for,” he murmured and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Turning his hand over, he rubbed his knuckles so gently over her cheek.
It felt as if her bones were melting.
“Margery,” Albert Baty called from a nearby table. “Did you try the recipe?”
She jumped and laughed because the old gruff grocer was grinning at her. “I did. It’s great.” Okay, maybe she’d scorched the bottom a little, but the rest had been really tasty.
Besides, the gnome that lived under the street grate had