Sel straightened, wiping a flour-dusted hand on the front of his apron before rounding the cabinet and approaching us with the same careful grace I was beginning to associate with the Bronish males. But where Dungar exuded all controlled intensity, Sel radiated warmth and easy confidence.
“Welcome to Lonesome Creek,” he said. “Welcome to the family.”
“Oh, I’m not?—”
“Riley comes to us from Denver PD,” Dungar said smoothly. “She has extensive experience.”
The pride in his voice made my heart flutter.
“Denver’s loss is our gain,” Holly said, joining us. “I hope you’ll be happy here. There’s something special about this place. It has a way of healing people who need it.”
Another too-perceptive comment that hit closer than I was comfortable with. I dragged up a smile and hoped it looked natural. “It’s nice to be here.”
Sel rounded the counter again and opened a white paper bag. “In addition to one of my famous cinnamon buns, Riley, I’ll give you one of Holly’s apple turnovers. They’re legendary.”
“Oh, I couldn’t?—”
“On the house. New deputy privileges,” Holly said with a wave of her hand. She joined Sel behind the counter, pointing to what looked like a bear claw sprinkled with sugar.
She leaned into his side, and they shared a sweet smile. I watched the easy interaction, noting the way Sel’s eyes tracked his mate at all times and how Holly leaned into his space when he passed behind her. They moved around each other like dancers who’d perfected their routine, comfortable and connected in a way that spoke of a deep partnership.
“My brother has good taste,” Dungar said, his voice pitched for my ears alone. “Holly brought light into his life when he needed it most.”
The wistfulness in his tone made me look up at him. His carefully controlled expression had slipped, and I caught a glimpse of something raw and lonely in his dark eyes.
Then Holly was offering me the paper bag across the counter, and the moment passed.
“Next stop?” Dungar asked, consulting his list again.
“The general store,” I read over his shoulder. I had to stand on my toes to see the paper, bringing us close enough that I caught his scent, something clean and masculine with hints of pine and leather. “Aunt Inla?”
“My aunt runs the general store. She’s the heart of this community.”
We left the bakery with goodbyes and promises to return soon, both of us carrying bags full of goodies.
“Nothing happens in Lonesome Creek without Aunt Inla knowing about it,” Dungar said. “Just so you know, she also has a tendency to adopt strays.”
The way he said it made me suspect I was about to be adopted whether I wanted it or not.
The general store was larger than it appeared from the outside and crammed with everything from tourist souvenirs to actual necessities. A female orc with silver-threaded hair and wearing a yellow dotted floor-length prairie gown complete with a poke bonnet tied under her chin, stood behind the counter, wearing the kind of smile that could probably coax secrets from stones. She must be Aunt Inla.
A dad and teenage girl browsed the merchandise on my right, the daughter aiming for the big display of stuffed animals. Some must be replicas of creatures from the orc kingdom because I didn’t recognize the species. She held up a plush replica of a small creature with glowing ridges on its spine, her blonde ponytail swinging as she turned to her father, who adjusted his glasses while examining the price tag dangling from the creature’s leg.
“Do luminooks need special habitats?” the girl asked, directing her question to Aunt Inla.
The orc lady’s eyes crinkled, and she gave the girl a soft smile. “Luminooks like dark, cozy spaces, dear. As for the stuffed version, it would prefer a shelf where it can see the stars at night.”
The teenager nodded, holding the luminook stuffy with the care someone might show a real creature.
“Dungar,” the older orc woman called out as we strode down the aisle toward her, her voice carrying the warmth of someone who’d spent decades mothering everyone around her. She strode around the counter, joining us partway down an aisle with racks holdingeverything from toddler-sized cowboy hats to bags of trail mix. She beamed my way. “You must be our new deputy.” Her arms stretched toward me. “Come here. Let me give you a hug.”
Before I could protest, I found myself swept into arms that smelled like honeysuckle and sage, held against a frame nearly as tall as Dungar but softer. It was the kind of hug I hadn’t received since my own grandmother had died when I was twelve, fierce and protective and completely unconditional.
Tears sprang up in my eyes, and I leaned into her, closing my eyes for a moment before opening them again.
“So nice to meet you.” Aunt Inla pulled back to study my face with knowing eyes. “You look like you’ve been carrying the weight of more than you should for much too long. You can set it down. We’ll help you carry it from now on.”
My throat closed up. After years of hypervigilance and constant fear, I wasn’t sure what to think of her statement. I blinked, trying to keep from sobbing, something I hadn’t done for a very long time.
