Chapter 3
Wolf
The Last Stand Tavern smelled like old beer, stale smoke, and bad decisions.
“Home sweet home,” Trigger muttered, sweeping a busted barstool leg into a pile of debris. “Think we can charge people extra for the ‘authentic historic funk’?”
“Think we can charge you extra if you don’t shut up?” Havoc grumbled from behind the bar, where he was wrestling with a stuck cabinet door like it owed him money.
Saint laughed as he rolled up another trash bag. “You two are a ray of sunshine.”
I stood in the middle of the tavern with my hands on my hips, trying to see beyond the cracked wood and peeling wallpaper to whatever the hell our old Colonel had imagined for us.
“You know,” Saint said, straightening, “if we tear down that half wall and open it up, we could add more tables. People will like that. Airy. Welcoming.”
Trigger snorted. “You sound like a Pinterest board.”
Saint shrugged. “I read things.”
I half listened, my pulse ticking louder than the hammer blows and scraping wood. The front doors were propped open. Sunlight spilled across the floor in bright rectangles, dust motes drifting lazily through the air.
From where I stood, I could see straight across the street.
To the Eagle River Library.
To her.
Nora unlocked the door with a practiced twist, balancing her bag and a cardboard drink tray.
She wore jeans, boots, and another soft cardigan—green today, the exact shade of spring leaves.
Her hair was up again, like she’d twisted it out of the way without thinking about how it made her neck look way too tempting.
She nudged the library door open with her hip and vanished inside.
Something in my chest eased that I hadn’t realized was tight. Like the town didn’t quite wake up until she showed up.
Behind me, a trash bag crinkled.
“Wolf’s watching the librarian again,” Trigger sing-songed.
I didn’t bother turning. “Wolf’s deciding who’s on bathroom duty for the next week. Want to keep talking?”
There was a beat of silence.
“I’ll… grab another trash bag,” Trigger muttered.
Saint chuckled. “Coward.”
Havoc’s voice floated from behind the bar. “She’s cute, I’ll give you that. You gonna talk to her without making her run away this time?”
“She tripped,” I said.
“We all saw the part where she fled,” Trigger called.
“Trash,” I said. “Out. Now.”
He went, grinning like an idiot.
I grabbed a pry bar and headed for the warped boards on the far wall, but I didn’t get three steps before the front door rattled and a familiar hurricane blew in.
“Good morning, boys!”
The Magnolia Ladies marched into the tavern like they owned the building. Agnes in dusty rose. Mabel in powder blue. June in mint green. All three carried covered dishes, thermoses, or foil-wrapped mysteries.
Trigger stopped mid-sweep. “Oh good, reinforcements.”
Agnes pointed at him with her Tupperware. “You look pale. You didn’t eat breakfast, did you?”
“I—”
She thrust the container into his hands. “Biscuits and gravy. Real food. Not those protein bar abominations. We are so happy you boys are fixing this old place up.”
Mabel slid past Saint, patted his bicep, and headed straight for me. “Wyatt, honey, your porch steps are loose. I nearly broke a hip coming up here.”
My stomach clenched. “You okay, ma’am?”
“Oh, I’m fine. My bones are made of rebar,” she said. “But you’re fixing those steps today. We didn’t raise you boys to die on liability issues.”
“You didn’t raise us,” Havoc muttered.
June whacked him lightly with a dish towel. “Don’t sass.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said automatically.
The ladies only stayed a few minutes, but in that time they:
They assigned us a rotating dinner schedule (“Because men left unsupervised will eat cereal for every meal.”)
Informed us that the town council was “watching” what we did with the place (“Do not paint anything black,” Mabel warned Trigger specifically.)
And asked a frankly alarming number of questions about our romantic lives.
Saint fielded half of it with his usual good humor. Trigger flirted back shamelessly. Havoc glowered and got his cheek patted like a grumpy grandchild.
Me?
I mostly tried not to get adopted.
When they finally bustled out, leaving the tavern full of the smell of gravy and cinnamon rolls, Trigger opened a lid and groaned. “I would commit crimes for these women.”
“Don’t,” I said, pulling the list I’d written last night from my pocket. “We’ve got enough problems. Saint, you’re with me upstairs. Havoc, Trigger, stay down here and start pulling the floor by the bar.”
Trigger saluted with a biscuit. “Sir, yes, sir.”
We headed up the narrow staircase to the second floor. The seven-room apartment was still a disaster—dusty, cluttered, the kind of place time forgot. But it had big windows, sturdy bones, and one hell of a view over Main Street.
Saint paused in the hallway, looking at the cracked doorframes, the peeling paint. “You think Colonel really thought we’d do this?”
“Someone did,” I said, glancing at the faded note taped near the first bedroom door. My old CO’s handwriting. You’re still needed. Find a way.
I cleared my throat. “We’ll make it work.”
We set to work clearing one of the front bedrooms. The window overlooked the street, the library, the mountains rising in the distance like a promise we didn’t quite believe yet.
“Which room are you taking?” Saint asked.
I shrugged. “Don’t care.”
He snorted. “You say that, but you keep lingering front and center like you’re claiming this one.”
“I’m lingering near the best vantage point,” I corrected. “Security.”
“Uh-huh. Security.” He shoved a box toward the hall. “You know the Magnolia Ladies are already placing bets on which of us gets married first, right?”
“Not it,” I said automatically.
He laughed. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”
It was nearly noon by the time we cleared the room and started patching old nail holes. I’d just stepped back from the window to inspect a crack in the plaster when something moved in the corner of my eye.
I looked down.
Nora stood on the sidewalk just outside the tavern, a foil-covered plate in her hands, shoulders squared like she was about to charge a battlefield.
Saint followed my gaze. “Oh look. Courage in a pretty sweater.”
“Get out,” I said.
He grinned. “I live here now.”
I headed for the stairs anyway.
By the time I reached the bottom and crossed the dim interior, the front door opened and let in a rush of sunlight, cool air, and Nora.
She froze halfway over the threshold, eyes adjusting, cheeks faintly pink. Her hair had started to escape its knot, a loose strand brushing her jaw. She looked… nervous. Determined. Like someone who’d given herself a pep talk all the way across the street and wasn’t about to waste it.
I stepped forward. “Ma’am.”
Her lips twitched. “If you call me ‘ma’am’ again, I’m putting a donation box in here labeled Swear Jar for Sir and Ma’am.”
I blinked.
Trigger coughed to cover his laughter.
Saint straight-up choked.
Havoc’s mouth curved in the smallest hint of a smile.
Something warm unfurled low in my chest.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said deliberately.
Her eyes flashed. “You did that on purpose.”
“Maybe.”
She took a breath, like she refused to be redirected by my nonsense. “I, um— I brought you something. Well, technically the Magnolia Ladies sent it, but they used my oven, so I’m taking partial credit.”
She held out the plate. I stepped closer, the scent of chocolate and sugar hitting me like a memory of better days.
“Brownies?” Trigger guessed, drifting closer.
She shot him a look. “For the group, yes. Not for your hollow legs alone.”
“Ouch,” he said, hand to his chest. “Nora, that hurts.”
“Maybe it’ll slow you down,” she murmured, then looked back at me. “They said you’re working yourselves into the ground. So. Sugar break.”
I reached for the plate, careful not to brush her fingers.
“Thank you,” I said. “You didn’t have to do that.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “You’re… neighbors now. And I do enjoy not having my shelves vibrate off the wall, so I figure bribery is in order.”
“See?” Trigger said. “She likes us.”
“I like that you’re investing in Eagle River,” she corrected. Then, with more steel in her voice than I’d heard yesterday, “Don’t make me regret it.”
I almost smiled.
Almost.
“We won’t,” I said. “You have my word.”
Her gaze held mine for a beat. Those green eyes were sharp today, not startled. Guarded, but not running.
Saint appeared at my shoulder. “Nora, do you want to see the renovations? We’re in the ‘before’ stage right now. The ‘during’ is gonna be impressive. The ‘after’ will knock your socks off.”
She huffed out a laugh. “That sounds… structurally unsafe for my feet, but sure. Five minutes. I have story time at one.”
She stepped fully inside, and just like that, it wasn’t just a bar anymore. It was a place. A future.
“Watch your step,” I warned, gesturing at the warped floorboards. “Until we fix that, this side’s a twisted ankle waiting to happen.”
“Duly noted.” She picked her way around a bucket, then glanced over her shoulder. “You know the Magnolia Ladies are already telling everyone in town what color they think you’re painting the walls, right?”
Trigger groaned. “Please tell me they didn’t say beige.”
“They said ‘a nice cheerful peach,’” Nora said.
Every man in the room went still.
“Peach,” Havoc repeated slowly, like it was an insult.
Saint shuddered. “I did not survive three deployments to drink beer in a peach bar.”
Nora smiled, and this time it reached her eyes. “Then you’d better pick something before they do it for you.”
I watched her as the guys bantered, Saint pointing out where he wanted to knock down a wall, Trigger dramatically describing his future “corner of glory” where the jukebox would go, Havoc complaining about all of it and getting ignored.
She asked questions.
Real ones.
ABOUT business licenses and opening dates, about where people would sit, about whether they’d serve food or just drinks. Her voice was soft but steady, and when Trigger got too ridiculous, she cut him off with a single raised eyebrow that could have made a drill sergeant proud.
The guys noticed.
Respect—that quiet click of it—settled into the room.
After a few minutes, she checked her watch. “Okay. I have three-year-olds about to descend on my puppet collection. If I’m late, they mutiny.”
Saint winced. “Scariest age on the planet.”
“True,” she said. “Good luck with the tavern. And… welcome to Eagle River. Officially, I mean.”
“Thanks,” I said. My voice came out rougher than I meant.
She hesitated near the door. “And, Wolf?”
The way she said my call sign made something coil tighter inside me.
“Yes?”
“You don’t have to stand in the window to check I got across the street safely,” she said quietly. “Main Street isn’t exactly a war zone.”
I froze.
Trigger’s broom squeaked against the floor.
Saint went very still.
Nora’s mouth curved, just a little. “But… thank you.”
She stepped outside into the sunlight, the bell over the door jingling softly as it shut behind her.
Trigger whistled low. “She’s got your number, man.”
Saint clapped me on the shoulder. “At least she didn’t say it was creepy.”
Havoc grunted. “He’s been worse.”
I exhaled slowly, pressure easing from my chest.
“I wasn’t—” I started, then stopped. There was no point denying it. “Just get back to work.”
Trigger hummed under his breath. “Oh, Wolf’s in trouble. Wolf’s in trouble…”
But when I went back upstairs and picked up the pry bar again, the cracked walls and dusty floor didn’t look quite so hopeless.
Because across the street, in a quiet brick building with a wooden sign and a thousand stories, Nora Bennett knew my name… and wasn’t running.
Not anymore.