Page 2 of Pixie Problems
“Miss Hart, I'd love to talk more with you, but I'd love to do it at the office, and get out of this rain.”
I wanted to laugh. Yes, that would be great except I hadn't figured out where I was going to stay yet, and my truck was currently deceased.
As if the sheriff could read my mind, he said, “Chance will tow it to her shop and get to work on it, and you and I can head to the office, dry off, and talk.”
I nodded, disconnected my truck and bike keys from each other, and handed Chance the truck keys.
She was a tiny woman with dark red hair up in a messy bun, which was getting drenched, and big, expressive, hazel-green eyes. “Thanks. I'll take good care of her. You want to pick up the bike later,” she gestured to my bike in the back, “so you have something to get around town in? It works, right? If not, I can work on that too. Don't see many motorcycles of that class in our town.”
I grinned. A fellow motorcycle enthusiast. If my truck was a link back to Montana and family and friends, my bike was just for me. It was the one thing I had bought just because I wanted to, and not because I needed to.
“Yeah, that sounds good. As soon as I'm finished with the sheriff. Thanks.”
She nodded and got busy hooking up my truck to the tow truck while I slid into the leather seats of the sheriff's SUV.
He got in and handed me a towel from the back so I could dry off a bit. I was really grateful. My leather pants were so stuck to me that I didn't think even the jaws of life would get them off at this point. And my shirt, thankfully a dark color, was dripping a constant stream of water. I squeezed and scrunched at my shirt with the towel, getting as much water as I could off, and then handed the sheriff back his towel.
He made a face and threw it in the back.
Huh. Interesting.
“I don't smell good to you, Sheriff?”
“Call me Finn. And please excuse my poor manners. It's not that you smell bad, but I can smell the cow pastures you passed a few hours ago.”
I laughed. Shifters.
“Good to know,” I said, grinning at him.
He laughed and looked sheepish for a moment or two, before he pulled out onto the highway and got back to business. “Okay, explain to me what's been happening.”
I nodded, and then remembered the guns I'd left in the cabin of my truck. “Pixies and pestles!”
“What's wrong?”
I blew out a frustrated breath. “I left my guns in the cabin of my truck.”
He side-eyed me. “Good to know. I assume you got those firearms legally?
“Yep, and according to Montana law, if I have a gun license, I can conceal carry, but I'm guessing it's different here?”
He nodded. “You'll need to pass a firearms training course, which, assuming you have some shooting experience, shouldn't be a problem. That will let you conceal carry. You can open carry anytime. You're packing a lot of firepower. I think you'd better tell me what's going on.”
I nodded, but before I could say anything, we passed the border for the town. There wasn't a sign, but there was a translucent purple magic that surrounded the town, and I felt the slight buzz as we passed through the translucent barrier. I almost slumped in relief.
Unfortunately, the town magic would still allow Hux and his pack in, but I'd come here because it was a magical community that protected their own, and between the various citizens that made up the community, there were enough people that I would have some protection against the insane alpha and his pack that were following me.
Moonhaven Cove was one of the few magical communities in the states. There were a few others around the world, but this was one of the best.
Or so I'd heard.
Already, I could feel my heartbeat slowing down, and I bet Finn could hear it as well.
I blew out a breath and got into the nitty gritty details of the alpha stalking me.
“I grew up in a small town in Montana. My family owns a ranch there that's been in the family for generations. It's called the Circle P.”
“P for pixies?”
