Page 42 of Down Knot Out (Pack Alphas of Misty Pines #3)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chloe

T he parchment paper crinkles beneath my fingers as I smooth it around the final roast beef sandwich. Holden works beside me, putting together containers filled with sliced apples and strawberries, which he arranges into the wicker basket sitting on the counter.

Steam still rises from the last batch of lemon muffins cooling on the wire rack, their citrus scent mingling with the lingering aroma of fresh bread. He hums under his breath, a tuneless melody that vibrates through the comfortable silence between us.

“This doesn't need to be perfect.” I watch him fold napkins into triangles before tucking them into the basket’s corners. “It’s just lunch for the construction crew. ”

His eyes crinkle at the corners. “There’s no such thing as ‘just lunch’ when it comes from this kitchen.”

Warmth spreads through me at his quiet conviction. Everything Holden touches becomes an act of care. Even his sandwiches, wrapped in parchment, are small gifts.

As I reach for the thermos of iced tea, our shoulders brush, and the contact sends a familiar tingle through me, the bond between us humming.

Holden pauses, leaning into the touch, his temple resting against mine.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “For all of this. For taking care of everyone.”

His breathing hitches. “It’s what I’m good at.”

“It’s what you’re perfect at.” I cup his cheek, tracing the faint freckles scattered across his skin. “And we’re lucky to have you.”

Before he can respond, the kitchen door bursts open hard enough to rattle the hinges. Quinn barrels in, a pink-and-white tornado with curls flying wild around her face, clear evidence of a morning spent rolling on her bedroom floor.

“Are you ready? Are you ready?” She bounces on her toes, hands clasped behind her back. “Uncle Blake said you were bringing lunch, and I could help carry things! ”

Holden straightens, reaching out to smooth down her flyaway hair with gentle fingers.

“Almost ready, princess.” I lift the basket from the counter, testing its weight on my hip. The wicker handle digs into my palm, but it’s manageable. “Are you sure you want to walk all the way to the construction site?”

Her face scrunches with indignation. “I’m not a baby! I can walk anywhere!”

I grin at her unwavering confidence.

“Of course you can.” I hold out my free hand, palm up. “Want to be my trail guide?”

Without any hesitation, her small fingers wrap around mine and she tugs me toward the door, as if I really do need her to lead the way.

I look back at Holden, “See you soon. Love you!”

He hurries forward to catch the door before it can swing back on him. “I love you, too! Both of you!”

When we step out of the Homestead, the morning air carries the sharp bite of early spring, and the pine trees rustle. The scent of sap and fresh pine chips drifts on the breeze, mixed with the salt tang of the ocean beyond the treeline.

“Come on!” Quinn tugs on my hand, pulling me toward the path that leads down to the docks. “Uncle Blake gets grumpy when he’s hungry!”

As we walk, her chatter fills the air, bright as birdsong. She points out squirrels, sunlit patterns on the forest floor, and mushrooms growing in perfect fairy rings. Each time, she steps into one with her breath held, convinced a fairy prince might appear and whisk her away.

The trees begin to thin as we approach the construction site, and the sounds of work drift through the remaining branches.

Hammers ring on nails in a steady rhythm, punctuated by the high whine of power saws and the rumble of heavy equipment.

Voices call back and forth, coordinating deliveries and discussing measurements.

We emerge from the forest into bright sunlight that has me squinting after the dappled shade of the trees. The construction site spreads before us in a controlled chaos of activity. The cabins look almost done, and stonework is going in around them for the fireplaces and sitting areas.

Blake braces a carved stone block with both hands as another worker levels the base beneath it. Sweat darkens the shoulders of his flannel, and his bun has mostly given up, curls plastered to his jaw as he shifts the weight with practiced ease .

Emily stands near the far wall, a tape measure stretched between her hands as she calls measurements to a worker with a clipboard. Her steel-gray hair catches the sunlight, and her broad shoulders move with the easy confidence of someone who’s spent years building things with her hands.

Nathaniel moves between the various workstations, his tablet tucked under one arm as he gestures toward different areas of the construction. Sweat beads at his temples despite the cool breeze coming off the ocean, and sawdust clings to the knees of his khakis.

The sight of them all working together, building something lasting and beautiful, fills me with bone-deep satisfaction. This is what we’re working toward. Not just cabins for guests, but the base of the life we’ll share.

“Uncle Blake!” Quinn drops my hand to wave with both arms above her head. “We brought lunch!”

Blake's head turns toward us, sweat gleaming on his skin as he straightens. His flannel is soaked through at the collar, and more curls escape what’s left of his bun to stick to his jaw. But the second he spots us, his entire face lights up with a grin so warm it sends my heart racing .

Emily spots us and lets out an earsplitting whistle. “Break for thirty!”

“Perfect timing.” Blake waits for the worker’s nod before he releases the heavy stone and dusts his hands on his jeans as he steps away from the fire pit structure. “What treats did Holden put together for us today?”

“Come see!” Quinn skips ahead toward the canvas tent that has been designated as the break area and set up near the tree line.

I follow, ready to empty the heavy basket.

As the crew trickles in and washes up at the pump, I set the basket on the food table to unload the containers of fruit and sandwiches while Quinn arranges the perfect triangles of napkins.

Steam still rises from the thermos of soup Holden insisted on including, and I pour it into paper cups, which Quinn drops spoons into.

Workers come by, gathering paper plates and loading them up with murmurs of appreciation directed at Quinn and dips of their chins for me.

Blake joins us, wiping his hands on a dusty rag.

“Here, Uncle Blake!” Quinn grabs a roast beef sandwich with his name on it. “Holden made this one special!”

“Extra horseradish,” I add. “Enough to burn your nose hairs, he said. ”

“Much appreciated.” He gives me a sweaty kiss, his beard tickling, and accepts the sandwich from Quinn. “Thank you, princess.”

He unwraps the parchment, and the first bite draws a groan of appreciation from his throat, and his shoulders relax as he chews.

“Holden always outdoes himself,” he says around another bite. “That man could turn cardboard into a gourmet meal.”

Emily approaches, her work boots covered in dirt, and I pass her a BLT with her name on it.

“Much appreciated.” She settles into a chair at the nearest table. “Cabin three’s down to final touches on the inside.”

Blake nods, wiping horseradish from his beard with one of the napkins.

While they talk shop, I walk around the tables with Quinn, offering cups of iced tea, and the workers all praise Quinn for being such a good helper.

She beams under all the compliments, and I can already see the farmyard-chic turning into construction boss.

We’ll have to buy her little flannel shirts and everything.

Footsteps crunch on wood shavings, and Nathaniel appears at the edge of the tent, his tablet tucked away in favor of joining his crew for lunch .

When he settles at the table with Blake and Emily, I bring him a lemon muffin. “Holden made these for you.”

He takes it and wraps an arm around my waist, his skin hot through the sweater I wear. “Thank you for bringing down food.”

“Hey, it’s the least I can do.” I lean against him. “This is crunch time, after all. When I'm under deadline, I always neglect myself.”

A rumble rises from his chest. “You’ll be doing none of that from now on.”

“Oh, my darling Alpha, you haven't even met goblin Chloe yet.” I tickle him under the chin. “Just you wait. You’ll have to hose me off and pry the cookies from my claws.”

Easy camaraderie settles around us, conversations flowing between bites of food and sips of cold tea. Workers swap progress updates, Emily answers a quick measurement question, and Quinn continues her tea rounds with unwavering focus.

This is what happiness feels like. Shared sandwiches, sun-warmed shoulders, and the quiet joy of building something that matters.

Eventually, containers run empty, and I stack them back into the basket for the return trip home as the crew returns to their jobs. I help Quinn collect the last of our supplies and hook the much lighter basket over the crook of my arm.

I give Blake and Nathaniel pecks on their dirty cheeks and turn to Quinn. “Ready to head back?”

She bolts ahead. “I’ll race you home!”

“Little cheat,” Blake grumbles.

“Wait for me!” I yell, running after her but already accepting her win. I don’t have the stamina to keep up with a six-year-old.

A sharp crack splits the air, so suddenly that my body reacts before my brain processes what’s happening. Quinn’s laughter cuts off mid-note as she freezes, her head whipping toward the stack of lumber braced on the hill as it buckles with a screech of tortured metal.

The basket falls from my arm. “Quinn! Get out of the way!”

For one suspended heartbeat, the massive beams shudder before gravity takes hold.

I lunge forward and seize Quinn’s wrist, her small body fragile in my grip as I yank her backward, away from the path and the thunderous avalanche of lumber coming down the hill.

The lumber crashes down where Quinn stood moments ago, hitting hard enough to rattle the ground beneath us. The impact shatters the afternoon’s calm, splintering wood, crushing undergrowth, and sending a jolt through my body sharp enough to rattle my teeth.

I throw myself over Quinn, my arms and legs wrapping around her small frame as debris erupts in all directions. Wood chips and sawdust whirl through the air in a choking cloud, and I bury my face in her curls to keep from breathing it in.

Debris bounces off my shoulders, and I curl tighter around Quinn, my body the only shield between her and the destruction raining down around us.

The roar fades to settling crashes, then to the whisper of wood chips drifting through tree branches, and finally to an awful silence broken only by our ragged breathing.

“Count off!” Emily’s shout cuts through the dust and destruction. “Nobody moves until everyone is accounted for!”

“Blake here!” The response comes from somewhere to our left, closer than I expected.

“Nathaniel, accounted for!”

“Emily, obviously!”

Other voices join the roll call, workers scattered across the construction site confirming they’re unharmed. The litany of names forms a lifeline in the chaos, proof that the worst hasn’t happened .

I lift my head cautiously, blinking through the haze left in the air. Quinn lies beneath me, still except for the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Her pale brown eyes stare up at me, shocked but clear.

“Are you hurt?” I run my hands over her small body, checking for injuries.

She shakes her head, her curls rustling over the grass. “Are you?”

I do a quick inventory of my body, cataloging the ache in my shoulder where debris struck and the burn in my lungs from the dust, but nothing that won’t heal. “I’m okay, princess. We’re both okay.”

The sound of boots crashing through undergrowth gives Blake away before he emerges. He steps through the settling dust, his face pale beneath the sawdust and his expression wild with panic.

He drops to his knees beside Quinn, his hands skimming over her arms and legs, doing the same check I had for hidden cuts or fractures that might not be immediately visible. His fingers shake as they probe gently for injuries, and his breathing comes in sharp bursts of controlled fear.

“Princess? Talk to me. Does anything hurt?”

Quinn sits up slowly, helped by Blake’s steadying hands, and brushes dirt from her dress. “ I’m not hurt, Uncle Blake. Aunt Chloe saved me.”

The simple statement hits Blake like a physical blow, and his shoulders slump with relief so profound it transforms his features. He pulls Quinn into his arms, one hand cradling the back of her head while the other spreads across her back, holding her close enough to catch every breath.

More footsteps pound across the construction site, and Nathaniel appears at the edge of the destruction. He scans the scene, taking in the fallen lumber and the crater it carved out of the earth.

When he locates me still kneeling in the debris, he rushes over to us.

His hand settles on my back, fingers spread, and a tremor runs through him, the fine vibration of an Alpha whose protective instincts have been triggered beyond reason. “Are you hurt?”

“We’re fine.” I lean into his touch, drawing comfort from his solid presence. “Scared, but fine.”

His fist clenches and unclenches at his side, the only outward sign of the rage building behind his controlled expression.

Emily crouches beside one of the support beams, her weathered fingers tracing something out of my view. “This wasn’t an accident.”

She lifts a piece of metal, holding it up to catch the afternoon light. Even from here, the clean edge where the beam was cut stands out.

Nathaniel spits a curse under his breath, his usual professional composure cracking as he stares at the evidence in Emily’s hands.

Blake’s jaw tightens, and his grip on Quinn shifts from comforting to protective. “Someone cut through the supports.”

“But not all the way,” Emily corrects, rising to her feet with the severed beam still in her hands. “This was calculated. They understood exactly how much to weaken the supports to allow the weight to do the rest.”

This wasn’t random vandalism or opportunistic theft. Someone studied the construction site, learned its vulnerabilities, and planned this destruction.

Nathaniel’s hand moves from my back to cup my shoulder, his thumb brushing the spot where debris struck me. “This wasn’t meant to just damage one of the cabins. It was meant to hurt someone.”

“We didn’t have security cameras positioned up here.” Emily stands, the broken piece of support clenched in her hand. “There’s no way to know who did this.”

“I want them found.” Rage vibrates through Nathaniel. “And god help them if I get to them first.”

Blake reaches out, yanking me into his arms alongside Quinn. My cheek presses into her hair as my body starts shaking. Whoever has been sabotaging their worksite almost killed Quinn.

And they’re escalating.