28. Allie
Allie
I was sitting on the steps outside the bakery with a piping hot cup of tea and the yummiest scone I’d ever tasted, watching mist rise from the valley when more vehicles started to arrive in town.
We’d filled the hotel and overflow people had pitched tents.
Some opted to stay in Hail’s brothers’ hay lofts, while more chose to throw sleeping bags onto the function hall floor.
Tressa lay on the boardwalk behind me, her eyes alert.
“They’re here.” I scratched behind her ears, and she stretched, yawning.
Margaret and her husband got out of a car, followed by another couple I remembered from the pottery class. Dungar’s truck pulled up loaded with lumber, tools, and other assorted building materials.
Yesterday, we’d done an inventory of what needed to be accomplished and assigned appropriate tasks to those with the most skill. Others who didn’t know construction would work as assistants to those who did.
A few more vehicles parked next to Margaret’s, and people I hadn’t met yet got out.
“Allie,” Margaret called, shooting me a big smile. “We brought reinforcements.”
“You sure did. Thank you so much.” I stood up. These people barely knew us, yet they wanted to help. I thought about how much this meant as I walked toward them, gravel crunching under my sneakers while wind rustled through the tall grass beyond town.
Margaret hugged me.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I said.
“Of course we did. This place is special. What happened was wrong, and we’re going to fix it.”
We walked over to join the others, helping them unload the truck.
Dungar had already removed the tools with Ostor’s and Greel’s help. Some of the other brothers were hosting tourist events and couldn’t help, but we had such a large crew, we’d get by fine.
Jessi’s grannie strode down the boardwalk in our direction, her cane tapping on the planks.
She’d pinned her silver hair neatly at her nape and skipped the authentic Wild West gown in favor of jeans and a western style shirt.
She’d plunked an oversized cowboy hat on her head, and it kept slipping forward.
“Your supervisor is here,” she shouted, her voice commanding the entire clearing.
“There she goes again,” Aunt Inla said dryly from nearby. She held baskets releasing the smell of fresh bread and cinnamon rolls. Food for the hungry crew. “She’s pretty good at telling people what to do.”
Grannie, who’d just joined us, laughed. “Finally, someone appreciates my talents. I notice how you’re not mentioning that I fixed our dating app.”
“Fixed?” Aunt Inla’s eyebrows shot up. “My name change tripled our membership. That’s the most important thing.”
“Details,” Grannie waved her cane, her eyes twinkling. “We can barely keep up with matches now. Had to talk Gracie into helping on the technical side.”
“Because you insisted on approving every profile personally,” Aunt Inla said, but she sounded happy. “As if you’re the romance queen.”
I spotted Hail coming around the building.
His bruises were a deeper purple on his jaw, but his eyes were clear.
I’d woken him every hour the night before, and while he’d grumbled, he’d kept wrapping his arms around me, rolling me over, and…
Well, it was all I could do to insist that he needed to rest, not exert himself.
Sawdust clung to his pants, and his hands had clay dust on them.
“How’s the kiln?” I asked, moving over to put my arm around him.
“Salvageable.” He kissed my forehead. “We need new par-parts, but I ordered them this morning. They’ll be here Thursday. I know exactly how to f-f-fix it.”
The solid feel of him against me made my throat tighten. I’d almost lost him. I kept remembering cutting the ropes, seeing his bloody wrists. The blood on his face and head. I pushed the images away, focusing on him now, already planning ahead, already rebuilding.
“What can I do?” Margaret asked, rolling up her sleeves. Her shirt looked brand new, but her face showed she was ready for dirty work.
“Sorting.” Holly pointed to the big open room inside. “We need to finish separating what we can save from what we need to throw away.” She gestured to the dumpster we’d had delivered this morning.
We kept busy over the next few hours. People moved through the pottery barn carrying boxes of broken pieces, sweeping, checking for further damage.
Hammers and saws made a constant background noise as Dungar’s team repaired the exterior of the structure.
The air smelled like paint, freshly cut wood, and clay dust. I found the familiar smells comforting.
I worked with people I’d just met, sorting pottery while they talked about their lives.
A retired teacher from Kansas wrapped intact mugs in newspaper.
The young California couple sorted through animal figurines, delighted by each tiny wolf and chumble that had survived.
I watched the care they took and thought about how strangers could become friends so quickly through shared work.
“This one’s adorable,” the woman said, holding up a small pottery rabbit. The glaze caught the light, showing all the color variations in Hail’s work. “The detail is incredible. How do you get such precision in something so small?”
“Practice,” I said, remembering Hail working on those pieces with tools that looked like toothpicks in his big grip. “And patience.” My mate could transform a lump of clay into something amazing.
Tressa moved between the workers, sniffing everyone. She’d appointed herself greeter and security guard, wagging her tail for friends and watching strangers until she’d decided they were okay.
“That wolf is something else,” a man said during a break, wiping sweat from his face with a bandana. “I swear she understands every word we say.”
“She does.” I watched Tressa stop by Grannie’s chair for a pat. The old woman’s weathered fingers stroked through her white fur gently. “She saved our lives.” I still couldn’t believe she’d brought those chumbles when we needed them most.
Everyone got quiet, remembering the danger.
Then Grannie spoke up from her shady spot. “This wolf has got good sense. Can’t say the same for all the humans around here.” She looked pointedly at Max, who was supposed to be helping but had started edging toward the rodeo ring Becken was constructing.
“Max,” Holly called in that universal mom tone. “Get back here and help with the siding.”
By noon, the change was amazing. The main room was clear of debris, damaged walls fixed and primed.
New shelves waited to be installed, smelling like fresh lumber.
The sorted pottery sat on temporary tables where sunlight showed off the glazes.
Clay dust hung in the air, but it was now mixed with hope.
“Lunch break,” Aunt Inla announced, unpacking sandwiches and iced tea from baskets, placing them on tables we’d set up in the shade. “Time to eat.”
Tired but satisfied with our progress, we grabbed food and sat wherever we could find a place, me and Hail on the clipped lawn behind the alley.
The cool grass felt good under my legs as I snuggled into Hail’s side.
Margaret settled nearby, her clothes dirty, her hair escaping its ponytail. But her face glowed with satisfaction.
“This is wonderful,” she said, biting into a sandwich. “Work stimulates the appetite, doesn’t it?” She glanced toward the barn. “I feel like we’re making a difference.”
“You are,” Hail said. Tressa lay on his other side, her head on his outstretched leg. He stroked her spine. “This place means everything to us.”
I looked around at everyone, taking in the locals who’d shown up, the tourists, the orc brothers and their mates, all working together to rebuild something beautiful.
My swallow got caught in my throat. For years, I’d been alone, running, trusting no one.
Now I had people who dropped everything to help rebuild not just a building but our life.
“The afternoon shift should focus on painting,” Dungar said, checking his notes on his phone. “The primer’s dry enough, and we need the first coat on before evening.”
“I’ll organize the volunteers.” Grannie, sitting in a chair beside Aunt Inla, tapped her cane on the ground for emphasis. “You young people don’t know how to delegate properly.” I smiled at her confidence, wondering if I’d be that sharp at her age.
The afternoon work went even faster. Paintbrushes moved across walls while people chatted and laughed.
The paint smell mixed with lumber as white primer turned into warm cream.
Hail’s pottery wheel hummed from the corner where he’d set up a temporary workspace.
I watched him shape the clay, the familiar motion calming me after all that had happened.
I painted beside the California couple, listening to their quiet talk about pottery techniques. Each brushstroke felt like we were erasing Will’s violence, covering it with something new and clean.
It wasn’t just the place. It was the people. This community welcomed strangers and protected their own. It was Hail’s gentle strength, his brothers’ loyalty, and how Tressa had accepted me from the start. I belonged here in a way I’d never belonged anywhere else.
By late afternoon, the pottery barn looked like itself again. Fresh paint shone on the walls. New shelves stood ready for Hail’s work, and the kiln waited for parts. The wooden floors showed their honey color again, the grain patterns telling stories of everyone who’d walked there.
“It’s beautiful,” Margaret said from the doorway as the sun began to set. Golden light slanted inside, making everything look warm and inviting. “Better than before.”
She was right. The repairs had improved things. We’d installed better lighting, more storage, and expanded the workspaces. Will’s destruction had become a chance to grow. His violence only made us stronger.