6
M y heart pounded in my chest as I peered out into the dimly lit corridor. The sheriff’s office lay just beyond, a thin strip of light visible beneath the closed door.
I took a deep breath, steadying my nerves. I had to get out of here, had to warn Martha and Thompson. And Jack and Elijah... God, I needed to see them, to make sure they were safe.
Slipping out of the cell, I crept down the hallway on silent feet. Years of tiptoeing around the shop to avoid waking my grandfather so he could get an extra hour or two of much-needed rest had taught me how to move quietly. I pressed my ear to the sheriff’s door, straining to hear any movement inside.
“...just get it done,” Dawson’s muffled voice growled. “We need to tie up these loose ends before the state boys start sniffing around.”
I froze, hardly daring to breathe. Deputy Smith mumbled something I couldn’t make out.
“No, you idiot,” Dawson snapped. “We can’t just dump ‘em in the river. It’s got to look like an accident. A fire at the tannery, maybe. Kill two birds with one stone—get rid of Thompson and his brat, and destroy any evidence linking us to the theft.”
My blood ran cold. They were planning to murder Martha and her father. I had to get out of here, had to warn them.
The sound of a chair scraping against the floor sent me scurrying back down the hallway. I ducked into a supply closet just as the office door opened, my heart thundering so loudly I was sure they’d hear it.
“I’m heading out,” Dawson said. “You stay here and keep an eye on things. And for God’s sake, don’t let anyone near that cell.”
Footsteps echoed down the corridor, followed by the slam of the outer door. I waited, counting to a hundred before daring to peek out.
The coast was clear. I slipped out of the closet and made my way to the back exit, praying it wouldn’t be locked. The handle turned easily under my hand, and I stepped out into the cool night air.
Freedom. But no time to savor it. I had to find Jack and Elijah.
I ran through the darkened streets, keeping to the shadows. Sterling’s Fine Footwear lay just ahead. But as I rounded the corner, my heart sank. The shop was dark, no sign of the brothers. A bitter wind whipped through the alleyway, carrying stinging flurries of snow that bit at my exposed skin. My thin shirt offered little protection against the biting cold. I longed for my grandfather’s old coat, threadbare but warm, still hanging on its peg back at the shop. Even that worn-out garment would have been a blessing in this frigid night air. My teeth chattered as I hugged myself, trying to conserve what little warmth I had left.
A car engine roared to life nearby. I ducked behind a parked truck, watching as Sheriff Dawson’s patrol car sped past, heading in the direction of Thompson’s Tannery.
No time to search for Jack and Elijah. I had to get to the tannery before it was too late.
I ran faster than I’d ever run in my life, my lungs burning with each gasping breath. Slipping through old Mrs. Peterson’s yard, I scaled her weathered wooden fence with practiced ease, then headed toward the railway. My boots scattered gravel as I darted between two abandoned boxcars, their rusted sides towering like steel sentries in the dark.
This shortcut behind the industrial district—a route learned during childhood escapades—cut through the old rail yard where locomotives once thundered past. The tannery’s sharp, chemical tang stung my nostrils as I drew near. Sheriff Dawson’s Model A rumbled in the distance, still winding along the main road that curved past the mill’s grain silos.
A flash of headlights caught me mid-stride, and I stumbled on loose track ballast. The Model A’s engine snarled closer as I crashed to my knees, stones biting through my trousers. Dawson’s headlights swept across my back, pinning me like a butterfly to cork. I wedged myself between stacks of rusted barrels, their chemical stench burning my throat. The Model A’s engine cut off at the tannery’s loading dock, and Sheriff Dawson’s boots crunched across gravel before the heavy door groaned shut behind him.
A faint light flickered in one of the tannery’s windows as I approached. Creeping around to the back of the building, I found a door slightly ajar and slipped inside. The acrid smell of chemicals and leather hit me in full force, assaulting my nose.
Voices drifted from the office upstairs. I climbed the steps carefully, wincing at every creak of the old wood.
“...can’t do this,” Martha Thompson’s voice, trembling with fear. “Please, Hank. We’ll leave town, never breathe a word to anyone.”
“It’s too late for that,” Dawson growled. “You’ve caused me enough trouble already.”
I peered through the crack in the door. Thompson sat slumped in a chair, his hands bound behind him. Martha stood beside her father with Deputy Smith’s hand clamped on her upper arm, holding her firmly in place… or upright. Her eyes, wide with a mix of fear and defiance, darted between Thompson and Dawson. Tears streamed down her face as she struggled against her own bonds.
Dawson paced the room, a gun in his hand. “You just couldn’t leave well enough alone. And now look where it’s got you.”
Dawson’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Martha. “We had it all planned out. The leather, the money, our new life. But you couldn’t keep your trap shut, could you? Had to go crawling back to daddy. And then you tried to take back that scrap we planted?”
“Sloppy, Martha.” Dawson sneered.
Martha sobbed, her shoulders shaking.
“We could’ve let the Hart boy take the fall, but now?” He shook his head, his tone cold and calculated. “Now it’s all gone to hell.”
I felt my heart racing, blood pounding in my ears. This was worse than I’d imagined. The pieces were falling into place, but the picture they formed was uglier than anything I could have dreamed up.
I had to do something. But what? I was unarmed, outmatched. If I burst in now, all three of us would end up dead.
A floorboard creaked beneath my foot. Dawson whirled around, his gun trained on the door.
“Who’s there?” he barked. “Show yourself!”
My mind raced. There was nowhere to hide, no way to escape. So I did the only thing I could think of.
I stepped into the room, hands raised. “It’s just me, Sheriff.”
Dawson’s eyes narrowed. “Hart? How the hell did you get out of your cell?”
I forced a sheepish grin. “You’d be surprised what a man can do with an awl needle and some ingenuity.”
“Milo, run!” Martha cried. “He’s going to kill us all!”
Dawson backhanded her, the crack of flesh on flesh echoing through the room. “Shut up!”
Rage boiled in my chest. I took a step forward, but Dawson’s gun swung back to me.
“Don’t be stupid, boy,” he sneered. “You’re in over your head.”
“I know about all of it,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. “I know you’ve been blackmailing Mr. Thompson. Using Martha to keep him in line.”
Dawson’s face twisted with fury. “You don’t know anything.”
“I know enough,” I countered. “Enough to bring you down. The state police are on their way, Sheriff. It’s over.”
It was a bluff, but I prayed he’d buy it. For a moment, uncertainty flickered in Dawson’s eyes. Then his face hardened.
“Nice try, kid. But you’re not talking your way out of this one.”
He raised the gun, and I closed my eyes, bracing for the impact. A gunshot rang out, but the pain I expected never came.
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.”
Home. The word had never sounded so sweet.
The next thing I knew, I was waking up in my own bed, sunlight streaming through the window. For a moment, I thought it had all been a dream. Then I heard voices drifting up from the shop below.
I made my way downstairs, wincing at the various aches and pains that reminded me of the previous night’s adventures. The sight that greeted me stopped me in my tracks.
Jack and Elijah bent over my workbench, their heads close together as they worked on a pair of shoes. Mrs. Thackeray’s pumps, I realized with a start.
“Well, well,” I said, unable to keep the smile from my voice. “What’s all this then?”
They looked up, matching grins spreading across their faces.
“Good morning, sleepy head,” Jack teased.
Elijah’s smile was softer, filled with a warmth that made my heart skip. “We thought we’d get a head start on these. You’ve been through enough lately.”
I moved closer, examining their work. To my chagrin, it was actually quite good. “Not bad,” I admitted.
A wry smile tugged at my lips as I recalled my favorite bedtime story. As a kid, I’d beg Grandpa to tell it each evening before bed. “Seems I got my very own pair of elves.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Elves?”
I felt my cheeks heat. “It’s... it’s a story my grandfather used to tell me. About a poor cobbler and some elves. How sometimes, when a kind-hearted cobbler was in trouble, magical elves would come in the night to help him finish his work.”
“Elves, huh?” Elijah’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Is that what we are to you?”
The teasing note in his voice gave me courage. “No,” I said softly. “You’re both so much more than that.”
The atmosphere in the room shifted, charged with a sudden intensity. Jack set down the shoe he’d been working on, his eyes dark with an emotion I was only now beginning to recognize.
“What are we to you, Milo?” he asked, his voice low and husky.
My heart pounded in my chest. This was it. The moment of truth.
“Everything,” I whispered. “You’re everything to me. I... I love you. Both of you.”
For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then Jack moved, crossing the distance between us in two long strides. His hands cupped my face, and he kissed me with a passion that left me breathless.
When he pulled back, Elijah was there. His kiss was gentler, but no less intense. “We love you too,” he murmured against my lips. “God, Milo, we’ve loved you for so long.”
Joy bubbled up inside me, bright and effervescent. I laughed, the sound mingling with their own chuckles as we held each other close.
“So,” Jack said, his eyes gleaming with mischief, “about those elves...”
I grinned, reaching up to tangle my fingers in his hair. “I think they deserve a reward for all their hard work, don’t you?”
Jack’s arm snaked around my waist, pulling me flush against him. “What did you have in mind?”
In answer, I kissed him again, pouring all the love and desire I felt into the gesture. Elijah pressed against my back, his lips finding that sensitive spot just below my ear. I turned, my lips finding Eli’s and kissing him just as passionately. I leaned into him, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. Our kiss deepened, a perfect counterpoint to Jack’s embrace behind me.
As we stumbled towards the stairs, shedding clothes along the way, I sent up a silent prayer of thanks. For unexpected allies and helpful elves.
And most of all, for two alphas who had stolen my heart and given me both of theirs in return.