Page 20 of The Cobbler and His Elves

I opened my eyes to see Dawson on the ground, clutching his shoulder. Jack stood in the doorway, a smoking pistol in his hand.

“Sorry we’re late to the party,” Jack said, flashing me a grin. “Had a nice chat with the state bulls about the sheriff’s extracurricular activities.”

Relief overwhelmed me, so intense I nearly collapsed. “How did you?—”

Elijah rushed past Jack, his eyes wide with concern as he made a beeline for me. His hands gripped my shoulders, warm and steady.

“Are you alright?”

“I am now,” I managed, my voice shakier than I’d like.

Eli’s brow furrowed as he rubbed my arms. “You’re frozen solid.”

Before I could protest, he shrugged off his coat and draped it over my shoulders. The weight of it settled around me, and I couldn’t help but breathe in deeply. Eli’s scent enveloped me—sandalwood, citrus, and a touch of honey. My racing heart began to slow, my alpha’s pheromones working their magic.

I watched as Eli’s deft fingers picked at the ropes binding Martha. The rough hemp threads fell away under his touch, each loop unraveling with practiced ease. Martha’s soft whimpers subsided at his gentle murmurs.

“Easy now. You’re safe.” His voice carried that honey-sweet tone that made even Gus Thompson’s scowl soften when Eli turned to tackle his bindings next.

The floorboards creaked under Jack’s boots as he kept the sheriff in his sights. Sweat beaded on the lawman’s temple, his adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow.

“Not one move, Dawson. I’d hate for my finger to get twitchy.” Jack’s words dripped with ice. The revolver gleamed in the dim light, steady as stone in his grip. “Though I reckon lead poisoning might improve your disposition.”

The screech of tires on gravel cut through the tension. Three state police cars roared up the drive, kicking dust everywhere. Half a dozen officers spilled out, guns drawn.

“Drop the heater!” one bellowed at Jack.

“About time you bulls showed up,” Jack said, lowering his weapon. Jack passed the revolver grip-first to the nearest officer, who tucked it into his belt.

A officer slapped cuffs on our not-so-fine sheriff and hauled him to his feet. My gaze drifted to Jack. “How did you know I was here?”

“Frank Holloway saw you running towards the tannery,” Jack explained. “He came and got us. We figured you might need some backup.”

As if on cue, Frank’s burly form appeared in the doorway. “Everything alright in here?”

“Just peachy.” Jack leaned against the doorframe, a half-smile playing across his lips as his keen eyes scanned me from head to toe. His cedar scent mingled with the acrid remnants of gunpowder in the air and the sharp chemical bite of lime and tannic acid.

I walked the officers through the whole sordid affair—the missing leather shipment, the blackmail letters, the trail of doctored ledgers that pointed straight to our crooked sheriff. My hands still shook from the confrontation, but my voice stayed steady.

A cobbler’s hands should never shake.

A warm hand pressed against my shoulder blade as Jack stood to my right, while Elijah’s fingers brushed my left arm. The Sterling brothers flanked me like protective bookends, their pheromones wrapping around me like a shield.

The cop taking my statement flicked his gaze first to Jack, then to Elijah, and then back to me, but he scribbled in his notepad without comment.

“That should do it, Mr. Hart. We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.”

“Come on,” Jack’s fingers pressed into the small of my back. “Our automobile’s just around the corner.”

“Let us drive you home,” Elijah’s hand slid down to my wrist, his thumb brushing over my pulse point.

I nodded, watching as Frank stalked off toward his shop, boots crunching on the gravel. Gus placed a weathered hand on Martha’s elbow, guiding her away. The sharp clip of her heels faded as they rounded the corner toward Frank’s house. My legs felt like lead, but I let Jack and Elijah steer me toward their Cadillac V-16, too drained to protest their fussing.

“You know,” Jack said conversationally, “most people just give us a call on the horn when they want to see us. You didn’t have to stage a jailbreak and foil a murder plot.”

I chuckled weakly, the events of the night finally catching up with me. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Elijah’s arm slipped around my waist, steadying me. “Let’s get you home. You look dead on your feet.”