Chapter 3
Dungar
The Pottery Barn sat at the far end of the main street, its large windows displaying a bunch of beautiful ceramics that caught the afternoon light. Even from outside, I could hear the soft murmur of voices inside, punctuated by Allie’s laugh.
Riley paused to study a series of glazed bowls in the window. “Your brother and his mate make all of this?”
“Hail’s been working with clay since we were younglings. Allie’s new to the craft, but she was an artist before she came here. You may have seen some of her paintings for sale in the general store. Humans find her and Hail’s work particularly appealing.”
“I can see why. This pottery is gorgeous.”
I pushed open the door, and the familiar scent of clay and glazes filled my nostrils.
The workshop area took up most of the space, with several pottery wheels and wooden tables arranged to give students room to spread out.
Hail was bent over a wheel in the back, guiding a small human girl through the process of centering clay.
“Gen-gently,” his deep voice rumbled. “Let-let the clay tell you what it wants to be.”
Allie demonstrated glazing techniques to an older couple nearby, explaining color theory and firing temperatures. She looked up as we entered, and her face immediately brightened.
“Dungar,” she called out, setting down her brush to approach us. “Perfect timing. We’re finishing up with today’s class.”
Allie was tiny, even smaller than Jessi, with brown hair that caught the golden light streaming through the front windows.
But a steel core lurked beneath her delicate appearance, a strength born of surviving things that would’ve broken most people.
That strength had called to Hail’s protective instincts.
“Allie, I’d like you to meet Riley Smith,” I said, performing the introduction with the same careful formality I’d used all afternoon. “Riley, this is Allie, Hail’s mate and co-owner of the Pottery Barn.”
“Welcome to Lonesome Creek.” Allie held out her hand with a warm smile.
But she took in Riley’s appearance, from her defensive posture to her carefully neutral expression, and the way her eyes constantly scanned for exits.
Recognition flashed across her face. The look of someone who’d been in similar circumstances.
I’d read it right. Something bad had happened to Riley in her past. I wanted to howl, to tell her I’d watch out for her always. But I couldn’t. Not yet.
Maybe never.
“Thank you.” Riley glanced around. “Your work is beautiful. I was admiring the pieces in the window.”
“That’s all Hail.” Allie’s gaze remained thoughtful as she studied Riley’s face. “He’s the potter here, though I’m pretty good at making mugs now.”
From across the room, Hail’s voice rose. “Your work is am-am-amazing, love. See-see-see how the walls are even now? You’re a na-natural with art.” He patted the girl’s shoulder as she held up a lopsided vase she’d just finished. “Just like this vase so re-re-recently made.”
The girl grinned, and Riley’s expression softened as she observed the interaction. There was something almost hungry in the way she watched Allie and Hail work with their students, as if she was trying to memorize what genuine contentment looked like.
“Would you like to try the wheel?” Allie asked, gesturing toward an unused station. “We’ve got about twenty minutes before cleanup, and I’d be happy to give you a quick lesson.”
“Oh, I couldn’t impose—”
Allie waved away her protests. “It’s not an imposition. Besides, there’s something therapeutic about working with clay. It helps quiet the mind.” Again, that flash of recognition in Allie’s eyes. She knew. Somehow, she understood exactly what Riley needed to hear.
Riley glanced up at me as if seeking permission, and the trust in that look made my heart stutter against my ribs. “Would that be alright? Only if we have time, of course.”
“We have time.” My carefully planned schedule would be shot, but what did schedules matter if my mate would have the chance to relax?
I watched from a respectful distance as Allie guided Riley through the basics of centering clay, her voice calm and encouraging. Hail joined them after dismissing his young student, pointing out various techniques in his usual, kind way.
Even Tressa, their pure white wolf with amber eyes came over and after delicately sniffing Riley’s outstretched hand, laid her chin on Riley’s thigh. Riley stared down for a moment before gently stroking the wolf’s head.
Hail had found Tressa in the woods after she’d been abandoned by her pack and raised her. She was highly protective, and she had a good sense about people. Her acceptance of Riley only reinforced what I’d already seen myself.
Riley was special.
“So, Riley,” Hail said. “How-how long will you b-b-be in Lonesome creek?”
“As long as you’ll have me, I guess.”
“Then al-al-always.”
Riley’s breath caught. “Right now, that sounds amazing.” She glanced over her shoulder at me. “Everyone’s been so kind.”
“That’s Lone-lone-lonesome Creek,” Hail said. “We t-t-take care of our own.”
That’s what Riley was now, whether she knew it or not. Not just because of the mating mark on my wrist, but because she belonged here.
With us. With me.
As I watched her work with the clay, her shoulders gradually lost their rigid tension. I could sense a feeling of purpose settling into my bones, the absolute certainty that everything in my life had led to this moment, this woman, this chance to build a beautiful future.
Riley Smith had come to Lonesome Creek running from something. But if I had anything to say, she’d never have to run again.
“And this,” I said, pushing open the door to the sheriff’s office restroom. “Is where things get complicated.”
The bathroom was barely large enough for a human of average height, let alone a seven-foot orc. I had to duck to get through the doorway, and once inside, my shoulders nearly touched both walls.
“Complicated is one word for it.” Riley peered past me into the cramped space. “Why did you build it so small?”
“That’s a very good question. We hired a few outsiders to help, but they somehow forgot orcs would be using the space.”
“How do you even—”
“Very carefully.” I backed out before I got stuck. “And with a lot of contortion that’s probably undignified for a law enforcement officer.”
Her laugh burst out, and the sound went straight to my head. This was what I wanted. Her easy humor and the gradual relaxation of her defensive walls. A glimpse of who she might be when she wasn’t constantly looking over her shoulder.
“I suppose this is one of those times when being human-sized has its advantages,” she said.
I caught a teasing note in her voice, and it made flames sear through me.
I was in trouble.
“I’ve learned to adapt.” Turning, I gestured toward the jail cell area. “Shall we continue the tour? The tourist experience is what really brings in the revenue.”
The jail cell was as authentically Old West as the rest of our reenactment town, complete with iron bars and a narrow bunk that would be uncomfortable for anyone larger than a child.
I’d designed it specifically to be intimidating enough to feel real, but safe enough that even the most nervous visitors could enjoy the novelty of being arrested by an orc sheriff.
“So how does this work exactly?” Riley asked, running her fingers along the iron bars. “Do people actually request to be locked up?”
“You’d be surprised how popular it is.” I pulled out my keys and unlocked the cell door, leaving them dangling in the lock.
“Families love it. We do fake arrests for everything from disturbing the peace with excessive fun to aggravated tourism. The bail money goes to an animal shelter one town over.”
“That’s actually really sweet,” she said, stepping inside to examine the cell. “And clever. You’ve turned something that should be scary into a force for good.”
Her proximity was playing havoc with my concentration.
This close, I could catch her scent, something clean and floral with an underlying sweetness that made my mouth water.
The golden flecks in her brown eyes really stood out, and her hair caught the afternoon light filtering through the front windows.
It was all I could do not to touch it. Touch her.
Best of all, I could see the way she was starting to relax around me. The tension in her shoulders had eased, and she no longer positioned herself near escape routes. She was beginning to trust me.
The realization made something warm and protective unfurl in my chest.
“Would you like to try it out?” I asked, gesturing toward the cell. “Get the full experience?”
“Are you offering to arrest me, Sheriff?” The teasing note in her voice came stronger now, and I had to bite back a groan at the images that question conjured.
“This might be the only way to keep you in Lonesome Creek.” I immediately regretted the words. Too much, too soon. She was running from something, and jokes about being trapped probably weren’t appropriate.
But instead of tensing up, Riley’s smile widened. “Is that your standard recruitment technique?”
“Only for special cases.” I was relieved that she was taking my clumsy humor for what it was and not seeing it as a threat.
She ran her hands along the wooden wall. “It’s quite well constructed. Authentic without being threatening.”
“That was the goal. We want people to have fun, not feel scared.” I leaned against the doorframe, watching as she sat on the narrow bunk. “Though I have to admit, the accommodations aren’t luxurious.”
“I’ve slept in worse places,” she said, then stiffened as if she hadn’t meant to reveal that much.
What kind of life had she been living, and how many nights had she spent in places that made a tourist jail cell look appealing?
Before I could figure out how to respond, the front door of the office burst open with enough force to rattle the windows.
“Sheriff! Sheriff, you gotta help us,” a young voice called out.