“There,” he said. “As long as this one’s standing watch, dogs’ll think twice about crapping on your lawn.” Her brother was exceptionally tall and broad, with blond hair and a thick, well-kept beard. Handsome the same way the Cascades were, craggy and rough, but solid as hell. The odor of gasoline and fresh-cut cedar clung to his plaid and Carhartt ensemble as he projected the appearance of full “mountain man” for the tourists.
“I see,” said the customer with a bemused smile. “Thank you.”
It was clear the woman didn’t believe it, but Stephan wasskilled with protective magic. The stall radiated his power, and a sense of safety overcame Rowan when she stepped inside.
As the woman moved on, Stephan called out, “She’ll ship out Monday.” Then his eyes caught Rowan, and he ambled over with a grin.
“Hey, dork! Welcome home!”
The russet flash of a baying hound beat him to the punch. Ozzy, Ozzy Dogbourne, slammed his face into Rowan’s hands, licking and demanding pets. She scratched and rubbed at the many folds of his face, dodging his swaying elephant ears. The dog wore a tartan coat with a fluffy sheepskin liner, and the hair around his droopy eyes was graying.
“Chill, Ozzy,” said Stephan.
The hound obeyed, heading into the booth to claim his spot on a well-worn checkered blanket. He landed flat, head between his front paws, gaze fixed on them. While his body was calm and obedient, his tail had zero chill, continuing to wag his rump back and forth.
“Did you really develop a charm to keep dogs from pooping on lawns?” asked Rowan.
Stephan grinned. “I cut her a general protection charm. Anyone who looks at that bear with mischief on the brain’s gonna think twice about it. Won’t affect the dogs. They’re just doing their business, but their owners’ll feel guilty as hell.”
Leaning against the side of the booth, Rowan traced the grooves on an eagle in flight with a finger.
“So,” she said, “you work here full time now?”
He shrugged. “Only full time during the holidays, otherwise part time.”
“Do you doanythingfull time?”
“What would be the point of that?” he asked with a wink. He was her big brother, but his life almost made the hot mess of her own look settled. Almost.
“So,” he said, “you here to appease your Anglophilia?”
Rowan rolled her eyes at her brother’s gentle teasing of her love for the Dickens carolers that would be performing soon. “Yes, yes, I know you think the Wassailers are corny.”
“Eh, they’re not so bad.” At Rowan’s surprised look, he added, “I’m getting way less cool in my old age.”
“Dude, you wield achain sawfor your job.”
“Even so…I’ve come around to ‘embrace the cringe and be free’ philosophy of living.”
Rowan leaned in. “Does that mean you’re finally owning up to liking My Chemical Romance?”
His face went blank. “Don’t know what you mean.”
“I found their CDs under your bed.”
“Must’ve been someone else’s bed.”
“Hmm. Maybe not so free.”
“We’re all works in progress.” He studied her for a moment. “So where’s your head at about tonight?”
She let out a low groan. “Did Mom pay you to ask me that?”
“You know Mom doesn’t have money.” Rowan winced. “Besides, I’m your big brother. No one’s gotta coerce me to hold your feet to the fire.”
Twisting and untwisting a curl around her finger, she looked at the ground and said, “I’m surprised you guys even want me there. After what happened?”
Stephan snorted. “You really dragging yourself around for that still?”
