His Dragon Daughters (Laurel Gap Dragons #1)

Chapter 1 Tash

Tash

The moving truck's taillights blinked ahead of us, punching dull red holes in the gray air. Two days past Thanksgiving, miles from everything we knew. Well, miles from everything the girls knew. I'd been to Laurel Gap many times.

The drive from Knoxville took less than an hour, but it might as well have been a trip to the other side of the planet if you went by the mood in my car.

I kept one eye on the winding two-lane and another on the rearview. "How's Huey doing? He make it through the last set of curves?"

Fiona, who'd become Fifi moments after she was born, scratched behind his ears. "He's snoring. He slept straight through the construction zone." She didn't look up. Her arms curled around Huey's warm, pudgy body like she was afraid he'd vanish if she let go.

"Wish I could've napped," Meredith muttered. She'd been flipping through animal fact websites for thirty minutes. "You know, there are black bears here. Laurel Gap is full of them this time of year, right before winter. We should probably get bear spray."

"Bear spray," I repeated, mostly to have something to say. The idea of Mere wielding a can of any kind of chemical weapon was enough to make me almost smile.

"Seriously, I read an article." She twisted in her seat, her ponytail bouncing. "They raid trash cans all over town."

"They're not going to come in the house and eat your homework," Fifi said, poking at her phone. "Pretty sure our snack inventory isn't up to bear standards."

Meredith shot her a look, but didn't answer. That was their dynamic since day one. Mere the researcher, ready with a dissertation on any new threat, and Fifi, queen of sarcasm, always pretending nothing could get to her. In reality, everything did. Especially lately.

On the left, Laurel Creek shimmered through the trees, yellow leaves fluttering above the dark water. Early frost still rimmed the grass in shady spots. We'd be in town in minutes. I should've felt more triumphant, like we'd really made it, but mostly I hoped I was doing the right thing.

Sometimes you just had to make a call and jump.

As we rolled into Laurel Gap, the main street looked the same as always.

A tidy row of brick shops, a few glowing window displays, the whole place ringed with mountains that leaned close like nosy old neighbors.

I slowed to a crawl, letting the truck get a block ahead.

The bakery sat on the corner, right where Gran used to take me for cinnamon rolls as a treat on the weekends.

A half-hour drive, but worth it. They were that good. I hoped they hadn't changed the recipe.

"Hey, look, guys," I said, tipping my chin toward the passenger side. "See the sign?"

There it was, plain as anything. A green dragon, coiled around a cake, was painted right up on the swinging wooden shingle. Someone had gone all-in on the fantasy theme. Cute.

"Oh my god, is that a literal dragon?" Fifi straightened up, like she'd just caught a whiff of sugar. "That's amazing. I want to go."

"Same," Meredith said. "Look at the window. There's like a mountain of bread."

I slowed down so we could catch a good look.

Trays of rolls and pastries waited on the other side of the glass.

The kind of place with real flour dust on the counters and probably a woman behind the register who called everyone honey.

I had a weakness for fresh bread. So did my daughters, especially if you added bacon, cheese, or any protein source approved by carnivores.

"That'll be our first stop," I promised. "We'll go as soon as we get the last box inside. You two can pick out anything you want."

Fifi grinned. She had a lopsided smile that always caught me off guard, because lately she went days without showing it. "I vote for the whole left side of the bakery case. But if I can only pick one, I'll just… suffer."

Meredith turned back to her phone. "Does the bakery have Wi-Fi?"

Probably. I hoped the house did, too. Another mental note for my growing checklist. Set up the router, keep the peace.

The town moved past in slow motion. Painted shopfronts with old-fashioned awnings, a hardware store with a wooden bear out front, and one tiny café with mismatched chairs on the porch.

The trees had dropped most of their leaves, but red and gold scraps still clung to the sidewalk.

Laurel Gap had character. It was nothing like the suburbs, more like a place people actually lived, not just slept.

Gran used to say every mountain town was haunted. Not by ghosts, but by memories. I didn't want to spook the girls with nostalgia, but I couldn't help it.

"You remember coming up here with Gran?" I asked. "When you were little?"

Meredith shrugged. "Sort of. I remember the swings at that old park by the gas station. And that hike where Fifi fell in the creek."

Fifi made a fake-offended noise. "Excuse me, I was pushed. A mysterious force grabbed my ankles in the name of science."

"Yeah, well, you were sampling macroinvertebrates, and you leaned way too far," Meredith shot back. "I just watched it happen."

I outright laughed. "That was the year you tried to bring home a garter snake. Told me you'd keep it in a shoebox under your bed."

"You wouldn't let me!" Fifi giggled, shaking her head. "Dream-killer."

I made a wounded sound. "I'm not the dream-killer. I'm the realist who didn't want a terrified garter snake loose in my house."

A little lightness crept into the air. Small as it was, I'd take it.

The truck took a hard right turn out of the main drag, up toward the cabins strung along the creek.

Our home for the next, well, who knew how long.

I'd signed the lease for six months, but if things worked out, I wanted to buy a house.

Maybe a fixer-upper, something with a porch and a little bit of land.

I'd squirreled away the money from selling Gran's place for years, letting it grow with the market.

The proceeds sat untouched in a savings account, waiting for the right moment.

One day, I'd give these girls a forever home.

For now, we had a three-bedroom rental, seven minutes from town and fifty-five from my office in Knoxville if I needed to go in.

Nothing fancy. Just a sturdy cabin with a metal roof and a broad deck out back.

But we'd have our own slice of woods. No more neighbors fighting at two in the morning, no more car alarms, no more traffic headaches.

I'd take some peace and quiet. Maybe Fifi could, too.

The last year had been rough on her. The anxiety had started at twelve and ramped up every semester.

Then last year, the bullying got mean. It crept in with the locker graffiti, the notes left in textbooks, the sudden cold shoulders in the hallway.

We tried everything, meetings with the principal, emails with teachers, even a peer mediation counselor, but it only made things worse for Fifi.

Like they'd singled her out for caring too much and not fitting in.

Mere was better at blending in. She had friends, or at least enough people on her side to buffer the worst of the social fallout.

Fifi never figured out that trick. She went from the loud, reach-for-everything kid who cannonballed into the deep end, to someone who measured every word, eyes always scanning for incoming meanness.

When Fifi's therapist had suggested a "fresh setting, preferably close to nature," I wasn't surprised. I'd seen how she unwound outdoors. She hiked for hours without complaint, sat by rivers scribbling stories in battered notebooks, and seemed lighter in the woods than in any classroom.

I wanted her to have that back. Mere needed space too, but mostly, I wanted them both to feel safe.

The house came into view at the end of a gravel drive. The creek ran just past the property line, close enough that I could hear water from the porch. Two yards past the steps, and we were surrounded by trees. I pulled in behind the moving truck and killed the ignition.

"Home sweet home," I announced, doing my best to sound like this was the adventure of a lifetime and not just me faking confidence. "All hands on deck. Let's check it out."

Huey, who'd been catatonic in Fifi's lap most of the ride, perked up. Cavapoo senses at full alert. He tripped over his own paws scrambling out of the car.

Fifi slung her backpack over one shoulder, hood pulled up to hide her face.

She looked almost grown-up, long and lanky, but as soon as she stood on the path, she moved like she was waiting for a trap.

Mere bounced out next. She had a new jacket, marigold yellow, that made her look like a wildflower in the November gloom.

The movers barely glanced at us before starting the unload, which was fine. I liked the anonymity. Let someone else wrestle with the couch while I staged my pep talk.

"Here's the plan," I told them as we hit the porch. "We run a perimeter check, make sure Huey doesn't get eaten by bears, then bags to your rooms. Then Wi-Fi, snacks, and maybe we'll scope out the bakery before they close."

"Do bears really eat dogs?" Fifi's eyebrows shot up. She was being funny, but I could tell she wanted the answer, just in case.

"Not if the dog is inside. Or, you know, bite-sized and annoying." I ruffled Huey's ears as he bee-lined for the yard, nose to the ground.

Meredith did an expert eye roll. "Well, that's comforting." She examined the porch, then eyed the bird feeder hanging from a rafter. "You know, bears can open most feeders. They have, like, super thumbs."

"Good thing we don't have birdseed yet." I unlocked the door and shoved it open with my hip.

Inside, the rental smelled like floor polish and faint pine. The property manager had left all the lights on, so the shadows weren't bad. Bare floors, clean walls. Zero personality, but that would change.