“What?”
“Stop torturing yourself. If Mary matters to you, do something about it. Otherwise… let it go.”
Then he leaves me alone with Ragnar and a half-eaten sandwich.
The afternoon stretches endlessly.
More patients. More sprains. More cuts. A woman faints from the heat and needs rehydration.
And between every appointment, my eyes drift back toward the paddocks.
Mary and Jamie are inseparable.
They work together. Talk together.
At one point, I see them laughing.
Jamie rests a hand on Mary’s shoulder in a gesture that looks natural, protective, and far too familiar.
Ragnar lets out another disapproving grumble at my feet.
“I know,” I tell him quietly. “I know.”
I stay there with my throat tight.
Ragnar presses his muzzle against my foot like he’s saying, I’m here, you stupid human.
By five o’clock, I can’t take it anymore.
I need to get out of this tent.
I can’t keep watching Mary and Jamie together.
I temporarily close the medical station—one of the clan nurses will cover for the evening—and head toward the village.
Ragnar follows me like a shadow.
Apparently the sheep has decided not to leave my side, trotting behind me like a loyal dog, except significantly stranger.
“You know you’re supposed to be in a pen somewhere, right?”
Ragnar ignores me completely.
We walk through the village.
The streets are nearly empty since everyone’s at the Games. The Grumpy Sheep pub is open, of course. I’ve heard Ewan never closes during the Games.
I push open the door, and Ragnar tries following me inside, but I shake my head.
“Sorry, buddy. No sheep allowed inside. Health code.”
Ragnar gives me a deeply offended look while I leave him outside the pub.
Inside is crowded, loud, overflowing with laughter and the smell of fried food.
Perfect.
Exactly what I need.
