Page 11 of Wedding for My Werewolf

A lump caught in her throat. Part of her wanted to open up, wanted to tell someone, anyone, what had happened. But she didn’t want anyone else involved in her mess. So she hugged Alison and made her way back down the street, her footsteps muffled by a fresh fall of snow.

The conversation at the inn left her unsettled. Eric wasn’t interested in her, not the way the women had made it sound.

A burst of laughter drew her attention to the bakery. Eric was standing outside talking to several people, and she couldn’t help watching him. He was just so big and tall and strong. His presence commanded attention, and even from across the street, his deep voice carried over the general chatter. Then his head turned, golden eyes meeting hers across the street. Her breath caught and a jolt of heat ran through her.

He took a step towards her and then a small boy with unruly green curls darted through the crowd and crashed into Eric’s knees. Instead of the frown she half-expected, the sheriff smiled and dropped into a crouch, golden eyes softening as he met the child at eye level.

“Hey there, trouble.” The warmth in his voice caught her off guard.

The boy launched into an excited story, hands waving, and Eric grinned at him, revealing dimples she hadn’t noticed before. It was like glimpsing behind a curtain, seeing past the badge anduniform to someone more… human. Or rather, more wolf, she supposed.

The thought had barely formed when he looked over at her again, his eyes still soft and warm. Heat flooded her cheeks. She ducked her head and hurried away, not sure why the sight of him being kind to a child affected her so much, or why her heart refused to slow its rapid beating.

She slipped into the market to pick up something for dinner, determined to forget about one confusing werewolf. She’d just bought some homemade pasta from a charming brownie when something caught her attention at the edge of the crowd—broad shoulders wrapped in worn leather, military-straight posture, and that distinctive swagger. Rick Thatcher. Martin’s henchman and the same man who’d tracked her through three states.

How the hell had he found her this time? The paper bag of groceries slipped from her grip as she ducked behind the stall, her heart racing. She took a deep breath and peeked around the edge of the stall.

Rick was standing at the edge of the marketplace, pretending to examine a vendor’s wares while he scanned the crowd. He looked exactly as she remembered—the scar above his left eyebrow, a scruff of beard, the way his right hand never strayed far from his concealed holster.

Blood rushed in her ears. The mountains that had seemed so protective now felt like prison walls. The bus wouldn’t run again until Monday. The hiking trails were closed for the season. Her meager savings wouldn’t cover a taxi to the next town.

She was trapped.

The irony of it twisted in her stomach. She’d finally found somewhere that felt safe, somewhere she could breathe. And now…

Her fingers trembled as she pulled her hair loose, letting it fall around her face before she ducked across the street and into the alley that ran behind the row of shops on the far side of Main Street. At every moment she expected to feel a hand on her shoulder but she made it all the way back to Garrick’s without anyone stopping her. She breathed a sigh of relief as the iron gates closed behind her.

Now what?

She took refuge in the familiar, scrubbing the kitchen until it was spotless, then turning to the copper pots hanging over the stove. The rhythmic motion failed to calm her racing thoughts. Rick was here. In Fairhaven Falls. Her safe haven had crumbled in an instant.

The copper pot slipped from her grip, clanging against the floor, and she flinched.

“Something troubling you?” Garrick’s deep voice made her jump, and she looked up to find him in the doorway, his stone features unreadable.

“No, just clumsy today.” She forced a smile, returning to her furious cleaning. The lie tasted bitter on her tongue. “These pots needed a good polish.”

Garrick’s wings rustled, a sound she’d learned meant he didn’t believe her. But before he could press further, footsteps echoed from the foyer.

“Garrick?”

Eric’s deep voice carried through the house, and this time the cleaning cloth dropped from her nerveless fingers. Not now. Not when she could barely hold herself together.

He appeared in the kitchen doorway, filling the space with his presence. Golden eyes locked onto her, and she felt exposed, transparent. Like he could see right through her carefully constructed walls to the terror beneath.

“Sheriff.” She ducked her head and pushed the pots aside. “I’ll leave you two to talk.”

“You don’t have to—” he started.

“Town matters, I’m sure.” She cut him off, already backing toward the door. “I need to finish upstairs anyway.”

She fled before either of them could respond, hurrying up the stairs. In the safety of her room, she pressed her forehead against the window, trying to steady her breathing. Had he sensed her fear? Did he suspect?

She couldn’t risk finding out. Couldn’t risk anyone else getting caught in the crossfire of her mistakes. She had to get out of town.

CHAPTER 5

Eric trudged up the path to his cabin, still thinking about Robin’s panicked expression earlier. Something had spooked her—more than just his presence. His wolf paced restlessly beneath his skin, urging him to track down whatever threatened her.

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