Page 13 of Wedding for My Werewolf

He frowned out at the water, reluctantly considering her suggestion. His wolf immediately approved of the idea but his human side suspected it wouldn’t be as simple as Flora was making it sound.

“What about—” he began, but Flora had vanished as quickly as she’d appeared.

Fuck.He headed for the cafe, even though his wolf was already urging him to go to Garrick’s.

He strode into the cafe, the bell’s chime mixing with the clatter of plates and morning chatter. The familiar scent of coffee and bacon wrapped around him, but something else tickled his nose—an unfamiliar cologne mixed with gun oil.

Rona swooped by with his usual coffee as he reached the counter, then leaned in, her face worried.

“See the guy in the corner?” She tilted her head toward a man in a leather jacket. “Been here two mornings straight. Keeps asking questions about new folks in town.”

His wolf stirred. The stranger sat with his back to the wall, a position that gave him clear sight lines to both exits. A professional’s choice.

“Thanks, Rona.”

He strode over to the corner table. Big, blond, two days’ worth of stubble. Cold dark eyes studied him before a practiced smile crossed the man’s face.

“Howdy, Sheriff. Nice town you’ve got here.”

The slight Southern accent did nothing to disguise the coldness beneath the greeting.

“We like it.” He remained standing, using his height to full advantage. “Though most visitors don’t stick around this long without introducing themselves.”

“Rick Thatcher.” He offered his hand. “Just passing through, doing some… business research.”

He ignored the handshake and the man’s jaw tightened.

“Fairhaven Falls isn’t much for outside business. Might have better luck in the city.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Thatcher drawled. “Small towns have their charms. Never know what—or who—you might find.”

“Word of advice?” He let his wolf surface just enough to flash gold in his eyes. “Our charm wears thin pretty quick when folks come looking for trouble.”

Thatcher’s hand twitched toward his jacket. “No trouble here, Sheriff. Just a friendly conversation.”

“Keep it that way.”

He turned and walked back to the counter, every sense focused on the threat behind him. He didn’t think the man would be foolish enough to take a shot in front of all these witnesses—and it took a lot to kill a werewolf—but he wasn’t taking any chances.

“He’s bad news,” Rona whispered as she put his plate in front of him. “There’s something evil about him.”

He believed her.

“Just stay away from him, Rona.”

She nodded and hurried off to deal with another customer, while he turned back to watch Thatcher.

The human calmly finished his breakfast, then pushed back from the table and left without a backwards glance.

“Don’t like the look of that one,” a gnome sitting at the counter muttered.

“Me either, Reggie. Me either. Spread the word, will you?”

“You got it, Sheriff.”

He finished his breakfast and left, then hesitated outside the door. He had plenty of work waiting at his office, but instead he found himself heading for Garrick’s. The timing was too perfect—a stranger asking questions right after Robin arrived. Her skittish behavior, the way she flinched at sudden movements. It all clicked into place.

He found her in Garrick’s library, dusting the shelves with quick, precise movements, but her shoulders tensed at his approach.

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