Joy to the Wolves (Red Wolf #1) - Terry Spear Page 0,133

pirates in the old days, and were still trying to cheat or steal from others in this day and age. Robert epitomized cunning and deviousness. He was a cutthroat who wouldn’t hesitate to kill someone who got in his way. His brother went along with everything he did.

She wanted to tell them they weren’t welcome here, but she didn’t want to cause a scene in front of her customers. As long as they were behaving themselves and had only come in to shop, she just had to deal with it and leave her feelings out of it.

The wolves dealt with their own kind if they were involved in criminal acts. They didn’t want a wolf incarcerated long-term, even if the rogue wolf could control his shifting during the full moon phase. So if the Kilpatricks caused any trouble, she couldn’t call anyone other than her own wolf pack leaders to handle it.

A chill ran up her spine as she eyed them with a wolf’s wariness. Sometimes there were MacNeill clansmen working in the shop, but not right this minute.

There were three women in the back cooking, and Lana was still baking bread, while another two servers were in the back filling trays with the meals. Another was handling takeout orders in the back.

Robert Kilpatrick, the older of the two brothers, gave her a tight smile. It wasn’t warm or friendly or reassuring in the least. More calculating. She didn’t trust him or his brother.

Robert had never forgiven the MacNeill clan for the time Heather’s cousin Cearnach MacNeill had rescued the Kilpatrick’s cousin, Elaine Hawthorn, and her Highland properties from their greedy grasp. Too bad.

Cearnach had given Elaine a good home with the pack and loved her with all his heart. All the pack did. Her relatives had only cared about the properties she’d owned and wanted her mated to someone loyal to their clan.

To their way of thinking, Elaine had mated with the enemy. Cearnach and his brothers had to kill a couple of Robert’s cousins, as there was no stopping them in the fight the MacNeills had wanted to avoid. A grudge between the clans would go on forever because of it.

Another couple of customers entered the shop, two men, all smiles, wearing T-shirts from the Big Apple, jeans, and sneakers. Americans? Maybe.

The Kilpatrick brothers glanced at them, but the Americans ignored them and continued to the counter. “We’ll take two of the steak pies,” one of the men said.

She knew that face. He looked suspiciously like Guy McNab, the star of the movie they would be filming at the MacQuarries’ castle. Heather smiled brightly at him. “Aye, sure.” She rang up their orders and noticed that when Lana glanced at the two men, her jaw dropped.

Don’t burn the bread or drop it, Heather wanted to tell her.

She wanted to ask if they were here because of the film, but she couldn’t in front of the Kilpatricks. She was dying to know if the man was Guy—or maybe it was his stunt double.

The Kilpatrick brothers were reading the sign listing all the meat pies. Realizing she was watching them, Robert smiled at her a little again. It still wasn’t a friendly smile. Patrick didn’t bother. They sauntered over to the glass case filled with sweet desserts on display: clooties, black buns—Scotland’s version of a fruitcake—shortbread cookies, empire biscuits—shortbread filled with jam, with a bit of icing and a cherry—and Heather’s favorite, millionaire’s shortbread, filled with caramel and chocolate, with a shortbread base.

A Canadian customer was taking pictures of the medieval décor: brass lanterns and swords and shields, and a bow and quiver of arrows, and was sharing them with friends and family, which always helped Heather’s business. Paintings of Highlanders in ancient kilts and even wolves and Irish wolfhounds standing with them in full color, with a textured look to give them an aged appearance, hung on the stone walls. Of course, it seemed like a paradox since wolfhounds took down wolves in the old days, but with the wolf packs, the lupus garous raised wolfhounds as pets and hunting dogs from early on. Of course their dogs hadn’t hunted the wolf kind.

Heather smiled at a lady from Wales who came up to the counter to get a sweet dumpling to go. She chose a clootie dumpling filled with sultanas and currants, made with breadcrumbs, sugar, spice, milk and golden syrup all mixed into a dough, boiled in water, then dried in the oven. Heather boxed it up for