Page 12 of Bound to the Griffin (Hillcrest Hollow Shifters #3)
Gwendolyn
I woke up wrapped in heat. The kind that seeped into my bones and made me never want to move again. For the first time in days, I hadn’t been shivering under a pile of mismatched quilts, listening to the winter wind moan through the B the next, six feet of blond lawman in a pressed uniform, golden eyes locking on me.
For half a second, I thought I’d heard wings—a rush of feathers in the wind—but the evergreens were swaying, so maybe that was it.
“You’re up,” he said, already steering me back inside with a firm hand at my elbow. Heat pressed against my back even through the clothing; it curled against my body as though Jackson could block all of the winter wind. He was so confident, so unabashed about what he thought or felt.
“I was just…” I started to protest, but I faltered at the look in his eyes.
My mind flashed back to the darkened kitchen and the way he’d held me while the doctor treated me.
The way his arms felt around me, all protective and take-charge.
He’d definitely been in charge then, ordering people about, including me.
I was already halfway back inside, wanting to obey him almost instinctively.
“You need rest.” His voice left very little room for argument, but I’ve never been great at taking orders.
That same impulse that had caused me to do the exact opposite of pretty much whatever my mother wanted of me rose now.
I dug in my heels and twisted against his hand, not expecting him to keep it on me when I changed trajectory.
He did, though, it slid around my side and now splayed against my belly: an intimate and possibly inappropriate touch that sent heat shooting through my abdomen.
Raising my chin, I looked him square in his golden eyes and braced myself for a fight.
“I need to get back to the B no groaning, no rusted hinge shriek.
The back door was perfectly straight in its frame, closing flush for the first time since I’d moved in.
“Uh…” I blinked, but I was still seeing the same thing.
“This wasn’t like this yesterday.” I had been bracing myself for a fight with that door for days now.
It wasn’t the kind of task I’d done before, and it had seemed daunting.
Before Jackson could answer, the door opened and out stepped a guy the size of a linebacker.
I mean, pretty much everyone I’d met in town was tall, Jackson was no small man himself.
This guy, though? He was wide as a barn door and imposing.
Then I saw his face: an easy grin, gentle eyes, and a kind of excitement bubbling inside him that just had to spill over.
He gave us a quick nod before jogging past us toward town.
It was only when he leaped the gate with a practiced move that I registered the same green-tan uniform on him that Jackson wore.
So that was his deputy. I dug around in my foggy memories of last night and vaguely recalled a guy showing up with blankets, ordered by Jackson to guard my house.
Was that him? Had his name been...Drew? I wasn’t sure, and then it was too late to ask, we’d reached the straight, non-squeaking back door, and all my thoughts were abruptly consumed by fear for what I’d see inside.
We stopped just beyond the threshold, mostly because I froze.
My feet simply refused to carry me further as I took in the transformation.
Jackson said nothing, but patiently closed the door behind us against the crisp morning air.
The air was warm, the kind of warm you get from a real fire, one that had been stoked high to catch all the cold corners of the house.
The kitchen didn’t look any different from before, but someone had gone around and closed all the cupboards again. The warmth made all the difference, turning this into the cozy place I’d envisioned once when I’d impulsively bought this place sight unseen.
Flames danced in the living room hearth, fed by a huge stack of logs someone had piled to one side.
The gaping holes in the floor? Gone. The boards looked better than they had before the break-in, though they still needed to be sanded and treated to bring out their potential.
None of them creaked as we stepped onto them, and there were no shards, no scattered remains of my tea collection either.
I rubbed at my eyes. “Did… did you do this?”
“No,” Jackson said simply. He stood by the door, hat in his hands, his sharp eyes on my face.
I felt studied, under a microscope, but it didn’t feel entirely bad when it was him.
That expression also said: I never left your side.
Then a smile softened his expression, as if he relented and decided to let me in on a secret. “Kai volunteered.”
“Who’s Kai?” I asked, confused. Spinning around in place, I looked at the broken furniture that had been piled in one corner, and the other, sturdier pieces that had been put back where they belonged.
Someone had worked hard to take care of the worst mess in here.
You could barely tell a burglar had worked over this floor, looking for secret treasure.
“Son of the plumber. Cowboy hat.” That was all the explanation I got, but it turned out I didn’t need much more.
I’d seen a guy with a cowboy hat on my first day in town.
Something tickled at the back of my brain about last night, too, had he been here?
It was all a bit of a blur, but I thought so, however little sense it made.
I stared at my sheriff like he’d grown a second head.
Why would a stranger—a grumpy one at that—feel guilty about a burglar wrecking my floor?
Was it a scare tactic after all? Was Jackson covering for his friend?
“The one who snarled at me and gave me the silent treatment?” That first interaction still stung the most; it had been so rude and unexpected, and I’d been bubbling with cheerful, hope-filled excitement.
“Mm.” No explanation. Just that amused little sound that shot straight down my spine.
The look on his face was still that vague smirk, like he knew things I didn’t.
Before I could demand answers, a brisk knock rattled the front door.
It was silly, but the noise rattled my nerves too.
Obviously, this whole debacle had put me on edge.
A wolf attack and a burglar in one day, that would shake anyone, wouldn’t it?
Jackson seemed calm, though, so I pulled myself together and went to open the door.
Only to find a grandmotherly woman, cheeks pink from the cold, arms full of a gift basket so big I could barely see her face.
“Welcome to town, Gwen!” she said in a voice like cinnamon and clove tea, bustling right past me down the hall and into the kitchen.
She started unpacking jars of tea blends and clattering a kettle onto the stove without waiting for an invitation.
“Right mess, this. Our Jackson will catch the culprit, don’t you worry!
He’s a good man. Best man I know.” She talked with her hands between the brisk, practiced motions of making tea, and all I could do was stare at the woman taking over my kitchen.
That whirlwind was wrapped in a tiny package of colorful skirts and a hand-knitted cardigan.
Gray curls, nearly gone white, bounced around her smooth but tan face, only the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes giving way to the test of time.
She had dozens of bright, colorful bangles around her wrists that chimed merrily along with everything she did.
She was a lot , but she was also… warm, welcoming, motherly.
A heavy knot of feeling settled in the back of my throat, and I swallowed roughly against it, hoping it would go away.
I’d followed the small woman in, but Jackson was still by the kitchen doorway.
He leaned against the doorpost, arms crossed, watching her with an amused glint in his eyes.
Then he tilted his head at me and winked.
It eased the tight feeling in my chest, and I could take a mental step back again, feeling that same amusement he seemed to be experiencing.
“Oh!” the woman said, turning toward me, bangles jingling. “I’m Liz. Grandma Liz, if you like. Mayor of Hillcrest Hollow.” I blinked, halfway between overwhelmed and oddly comforted, and just nodded. Somewhere deep down, I had the feeling my life had just taken a sharp turn I wasn’t ready for.
The biggest question was: Had I just been accepted into the small-town fold? Was this what I’d been looking for all my life?