“Dungar,” she called out, setting down her brush to approach us. “Perfect timing. We’re finishing up with today’s class.”
Allie was tiny, even smaller than Jessi, with brown hair that caught the golden light streaming through the front windows. But a steel core lurked beneath her delicate appearance, a strength born of surviving things that would’ve broken most people. That strength had called to Hail’s protective instincts.
“Allie, I’d like you to meet Riley Smith,” I said, performing the introduction with the same careful formality I’d used all afternoon. “Riley, this is Allie, Hail’s mate and co-owner of the Pottery Barn.”
“Welcome to Lonesome Creek.” Allie held out her hand with a warm smile. But she took in Riley’s appearance, from her defensive posture to her carefully neutral expression, and the way her eyes constantly scanned for exits. Recognition flashed across her face. The look of someone who’d been in similar circumstances.
I’d read it right. Something bad had happened to Riley in her past. I wanted to howl, to tell her I’d watch out for her always. But I couldn’t. Not yet.
Maybe never.
“Thank you.” Riley glanced around. “Your work is beautiful. I was admiring the pieces in the window.”
“That’s all Hail.” Allie’s gaze remained thoughtful as she studied Riley’s face. “He’s the potter here, though I’m pretty good at making mugs now.”
From across the room, Hail’s voice rose. “Your work is am-am-amazing, love. See-see-see how the walls are even now? You’re a na-natural with art.” He patted the girl’s shoulder as she held up a lopsided vase she’d just finished. “Just like this vase so re-re-recently made.”
The girl grinned, and Riley’s expression softened as she observed the interaction. There was something almost hungry in the way she watched Allie and Hail work with their students, as if she was trying to memorize what genuine contentment looked like.
“Would you like to try the wheel?” Allie asked, gesturing toward an unused station. “We’ve got about twenty minutes before cleanup, and I’d be happy to give you a quick lesson.”
“Oh, I couldn’t impose?—”
Allie waved away her protests. “It’s not an imposition. Besides, there’s something therapeutic about working with clay. It helps quiet the mind.” Again, that flash of recognition in Allie’s eyes. She knew. Somehow, she understood exactly what Riley needed to hear.
Riley glanced up at me as if seeking permission, and the trust in that look made my heart stutter against my ribs. “Would that be alright? Only if we have time, of course.”
“We have time.” My carefully planned schedule would be shot, but what did schedules matter if my mate would have the chance to relax?
I watched from a respectful distance as Allie guided Riley through the basics of centering clay, her voice calm and encouraging. Hail joined them after dismissing his young student, pointing out various techniques in his usual, kind way.
Even Tressa, their pure white wolf with amber eyes came over and after delicately sniffing Riley’s outstretched hand, laid her chin on Riley’s thigh. Riley stared down for a moment before gently stroking the wolf’s head.
Hail had found Tressa in the woods after she’d been abandoned by her pack and raised her. She was highly protective, and she had a good sense about people. Her acceptance of Riley only reinforced what I’d already seen myself.
Riley was special.
“So, Riley,” Hail said. “How-how long will you b-b-be in Lonesome creek?”
“As long as you’ll have me, I guess.”
“Then al-al-always.”
Riley’s breath caught. “Right now, that sounds amazing.” She glanced over her shoulder at me. “Everyone’s been so kind.”
“That’s Lone-lone-lonesome Creek,” Hail said. “We t-t-take care of our own.”
That’s what Riley was now, whether she knew it ornot. Not just because of the mating mark on my wrist, but because she belonged here.
With us. With me.
As I watched her work with the clay, her shoulders gradually lost their rigid tension. I could sense a feeling of purpose settling into my bones, the absolute certainty that everything in my life had led to this moment, this woman, this chance to build a beautiful future.
Riley Smith had come to Lonesome Creek running from something. But if I had anything to say, she’d never have to run again.
“And this,”I said, pushing open the door to the sheriff’s office restroom. “Is where things get complicated.”
The bathroom was barely large enough for a human of average height, let alone a seven-foot orc. I had to duck to get through the doorway, and once inside, my shoulders nearly touched both walls.
