Chapter 2
Ripplan
The sharp ring of the brass shop bell echoed through the dusty apothecary as I ducked beneath the timber frame.
The scent hit me before my boots even settled against the floorboards.
It was an intoxicating rush of warm clover honey, sun-drenched apricots, and crushed cinnamon bark, threaded with something delicate and distinctly feminine that bypassed all rational thought.
The fragrance flooded my lungs, setting my blood on fire and making the muscles along my spine lock tight.
I stopped dead in my tracks, my nostrils flaring as my instincts reared up like an unbroken stallion.
I dragged my gaze across the dim shop, trying to locate the source of the madness.
Craig Broussard was lounging behind his polished glass display, looking like the smug, cowardly snake he had always been. Standing directly across from him was the source of the intoxicating scent.
She was remarkably small, barely reaching the middle of my chest even with the thick soles of her worn hiking boots.
Soft waves of chestnut hair tumbled over her shoulders, catching the golden light slanting through the dusty street window.
Her faded blue jeans hugged curves that no sensible male had any business noticing, but it was her eyes that pinned me to the spot.
They were the startling color of a clear summer sky over the high pass, wide with sudden panic.
She was breathtakingly lovely.
Her scent was driving me half out of my mind, causing something deep inside to demand that I cross the room, pull her against my chest, and bury my face in the soft crook of her neck until my head stopped spinning.
I forced my hands flat against the rough denim of my thighs, clamping down on the urge with ruthless discipline.
She was human.
Seth's agonizing death had torn a hole through our household, proving that our traditional herbal compresses and bone-setting were not enough when fifty-two human cowhands, our domestic staff, and our stable crew worked with heavy cattle every day.
We needed advanced medical knowledge, and Leadville's resident doctor was Craig's cousin, a worthless drunk who spent his afternoons passed out behind the tavern.
Hiring a human practitioner was a necessary business concession, but I didn't trust it. Humans smiled to your face while calculating how much gold they could extract from your pockets.
The words she had just spoken to the pharmacy owner rang through my mind like a death knell.
"The Orc owners can manage their own affairs however they see fit," she had told him, her voice smooth, composed, and utterly devoid of loyalty.
"Just remember what I told you, Miss Duncan," Craig had replied, his voice oily with satisfaction. "Humans only."
"Humans only," she had echoed without a shred of hesitation.
The betrayal hit my gut like a heavy blow from a rusted sledgehammer.
I'd heard enough.
She had reduced my brothers, my aunt, and my entire clan to disposable savages, confirming every single dark suspicion I harbored against her kind.
I stepped deeper into the shop, letting the heavy timber joists creak beneath my full weight.
Both of them jumped. Craig's smug expression instantly melted into a pale, sour scowl, while the woman went completely white. Her sky-blue eyes locked onto mine, flooded with a sudden, naked guilt that she could not hide.
She knew she had been caught.
"Ripplan," Craig muttered, taking an involuntary half-step back toward his stockroom door. "What are you doing in my shop?"
"I came to collect our new employee," I said, keeping my voice dangerously low and steady. "I wanted to ensure she did not get lost on the mountain road."
"How remarkably thoughtful," Craig sneered, though his fingers trembled as he gripped the edge of his cash register. "I assumed you would let her wander around until she realized what kind of monsters she was working for and took the first bus back east."
My temper flared, hot and sharp beneath my ribs. "StoneSteel takes full responsibility for the people under our roof."
"She is a human woman, Ripplan," Craig spat, crossing his arms over his chest in a desperate bid for authority. "She is not your kind, and she never will be."
"She accepted an employment contract," I replied, stepping up to the counter until my shadow completely swallowed him. "That makes her safety our concern."
"Until you decide proper medicine costs too much gold," Craig snapped. "Just like you did with poor Seth."
The accusation shattered my remaining patience.
"Seth died because your pathetic sot of a cousin refused to examine him," I growled, letting my tusks show as my voice dropped into the deep, grinding register of the mines.
"We carried the boy into town with a deep wound.
Your cousin handed him a bottle of cheap aspirin, told him to sleep it off, and locked the clinic door so he could get back to his whiskey bottle.
When the infection set in, we had no access to proper medical care. "
"You didn't know what you were doing—"
"Your family let that boy rot out of pure spite," I said, leaning over the glass counter until Craig pressed his back flat against the shelving. "You are a coward, Broussard, and a liar."
"Get out of my store," Craig whispered, his face mottling with splotchy red fury. "Get out before I call the sheriff."
"I will leave when I am good and ready."
"I said get out—"
"That is enough. Both of you."
The woman's voice cut through the thick tension with the crisp authority of a field surgeon.
She moved with surprising speed, stepping directly into the narrow space between my chest and the counter.
She raised both of her small hands, keeping her chin lifted and her shoulders squared as though she truly believed her five-foot-five frame could prevent me from snapping the Craig Broussard in half.
I stared down at the top of her brown head. She barely reached the center of my breastbone, yet she stood her ground without flinching, looking directly up into my face as though she expected me to lose control like a rabid dog.
The sheer audacity of her intervention caught me off balance.
I took a slow step backward, rolling my shoulders back and forcing my hands to unclench.
She let out a quiet breath, turning her back on me to address the trembling pharmacist. "Mr. Broussard, the supply list is saved in your digital system. Can I rely on having those supplies ready for pickup tomorrow at noon?"
Craig glared past her shoulder, fixing his hateful gaze on my chest. "The supplies will be ready. But you send a human cowhand to pick them up. I do not want his kind setting foot in my shop again."
She stiffened, her jaw setting with professional restraint. "Understood. I will arrange—"
"I will send one of our human drivers," I interrupted, my voice rough and cold. "We have plenty of men on the payroll."
Craig gave a curt, tight nod, refusing to look at either of us again.
I turned my attention back to the woman. "Follow me."
She blinked, startled by the command. "Excuse me?"
"You are coming to the ranch," I said, heading toward the street entrance without waiting for her reply. "Get in your car and follow my truck."
"I have the GPS coordinates saved on my phone," she called out, hurrying after me as the shop bell jingled once more. "I know how to read a map."
I paused on the wooden boardwalk, looking down at the overloaded silver sedan parked at the curb. "That car will never clear the northern grade."
She stopped on the boardwalk beside me, resting one small hand on her hip while clutching her phone in the other. Her blue eyes sparked with fiery irritation.
Her scent washed over me again in the mountain breeze, sweet and intoxicating, making my temples throb.
I pointed toward the sagging vehicle with its out-of-state plates. "The final eight miles of our private road are unpaved washboard, steep rock shelves, and deep runoff ruts. That little city car will bottom out on the first limestone shelf."
"I assure you that I am perfectly capable of navigating a dirt road," she said, her voice sharp and combative. "I came here to practice medicine, not enter an off-road rally."
Despite my lingering anger over what she had said to Craig, a faint, grudging amusement stirred beneath my breastbone. She had a sharp tongue and a stubborn spine. Impressive.
"Suit yourself," I said, stepping off the boardwalk toward my heavy-duty Ford F-350. "When your oil pan cracks open on the gravel, don't expect me to carry your luggage."
"I would rather carry it on my back," she shot back, marching toward her sedan with her head held high.
I climbed into the cab of my truck, firing up the heavy diesel engine with a low, rumbling roar. I shifted into gear and waited at the edge of the street until she backed out of her parking stall and fell in behind my rear bumper.
As we cleared the town limits and began the steep climb into the pines, I kept my eyes fixed on the rearview mirror.
She was dangerous. I knew it the very second her honey-sweet scent filled my lungs. She was lovely, sharp-witted, and clearly willing to say whatever was necessary to keep herself comfortable, even if it meant throwing my family to the wolves.
She was the exact brand of human I had spent six years avoiding.
Yet as the mountain shadows lengthened across the highway, I could still taste the sweet spice of her fragrance in the back of my throat, and I couldn't stop watching the little silver car follow me into the hills.