Okay, then.
Step one: Find a job. Not as a banfasa, even if that was where her experience and talents lay. She wouldn’t venture into that trap again—not until she found out if Rainier Territory’s treatment of her was normal or not. No, she’d do something else for a job. She was good with people, and really, anything that let her work with others would make her happy.
Anticipation filled her until her blood felt as if it was zinging in her veins. Rising, she headed for the first place Rebecca had mentioned.
Yes, the sign was there. Pushing open the door to Angie’s Diner, she walked in. Gleaming wooden floors and chairs, blue checked tablecloths, and wooden ceiling fans created a welcoming atmosphere. A couple of customers were drinking coffee and eating pastries.
A middle-aged blonde woman stood behind a glass-fronted display and counter on the left. “Hi there. Take a seat anywhere.”
“Um…” Catching the scent of the wild, Margery realized the female was a shifter. She straightened her shoulders. “Actually, I’m not here to eat. I saw the Part-time Help Wanted sign in your window.”
“You’re Daonain.” The female gave Margery a slow scrutiny, before smiling. “I heard a Dogwood villager was at the Gathering last night—one of the captives.”
Margery tried not to tense. Was being an ex-captive good or bad? “That would be me.”
“Do you drink coffee?”
Margery blinked at the way the conversation had veered. “Uh, yes?”
“Well, then, let’s talk. I’m Angie O’Neal, by the way.”
“Margery Lavelle.”
Picking up two cups and a pot, Angie led the way to a table in the corner. As Margery sat, the female poured the coffee and handed over a cup. “Where have you been living this winter?”
“In Ailill Ridge.”
Lifted blonde brows asked for more. For why she was leaving.
Anxiety set up a twisting ache in Margery’s gut. She didn’t want to present herself as a pitiful survivor of abuse who’d been taken advantage of by a town. That wasn’t how she wanted to see herself either. Her tone needed to be relaxed when speaking about the past months.
“Yes. In Rainier Territory.” She sat back in her chair. “I learned a lot from living there, but I’m ready for a change. Heather recommended Cold Creek.”
“Heather Sutharlan? She brought you to the Gathering last night?”
Margery nodded, hearing the pleasant change in the diner owner’s voice. Heather was known here—and liked.
“In that case, have you ever waited tables before?”
“No, ma’am. But I learn quickly, and I get on well with people.” Usually. Except for some of the Ailill Ridge shifters who turned every interaction into predator versus prey. By the Goddess, no matter what the mangy wolves thought, she wasn’t prey.
“That’s a good start.”
Margery offered her best smile. “I have an excellent memory, and I’m good with numbers. I work hard, and”—the Ailill Ridge grocer had complained about his late-arriving help—“I know how to show up on time.”
Angie laughed. “Sold.”
The rush of victory made Margery want to leap and dance.
“The job is five days a week. You’ll work split shifts to cover the lunch and supper crowds. Part-time at first, possibly full-time, eventually.”
As Angie spoke about waitressing, Margery’s smile widened. She could do this job. The amount of time on her feet would hurt her ankle, but there was nothing new about that.
“Where will you be staying?” Angie asked.
“I-I’m not sure. I was hoping Heather would have suggestions.”
“Do you like communal living or—”
Margery shook her head. Yet how fussy could a pauper be? “I…don’t really like living with others. Maybe with being so isolated from each other in the compound, I got used to being alone. My goal—eventually—is to rent a really inexpensive house or apartment.”
“Huh. Here I’d pegged you as a wolf.”
Wolves were supposed to be sociable, but the last thing she wanted was to be dumped in with unfriendly strangers again. If she admitted to being a wolf, that would happen. Roger had insisted wolves didn’t live alone—especially not female wolves.
But Daonain customs said a shifter didn’t have to divulge her animal and asking directly was considered rude.
“Do you know of any non-communal places?” Margery asked, ignoring Angie’s hint.
Rather than taking offense, the female huffed in amusement. “The territory provides temporary housing for shifters moving here—ones who’ve obtained a job—but the houses are shared.”
Margery’s hopes dropped.
“However, a shifter recently returned to the Mother.” Angie’s eyes showed her grief at the death. “Leo was old and ill and left his little house a mess. It’s too dirty to sell as is. However, it still has all his furnishings, dishes and linens and everything. Would you want to clean the house and yard in exchange for free rent for a couple of months? It would give you time to figure things out.”
“As it happens, I’m an expert cleaner.” The Scythe, her nurse mentor, and her communal house duties had seen to that. “I’ll take it, no matter how much of a mess it is.”
“You jump right in, don’t you?” Angie grinned. “But good enough. I’ll tell Calum you’ll take the house. You can start work here tomorrow at six a.m. sharp.”
Yes, yes, yes.
Angie held out her hand. “Welcome to Cold Creek.”
Margery grinned and shook firmly. She would be the best worker ever.
Tynan stepped back to survey their kitchen—all rearranged. Plates, bowls, glasses in this cupboard. Food items in that one. Logical enough. Well, logical to him, anyway. His littermate apparently thought canned soup should be kept beside the bowls—or maybe he’d simply been bored and shoved everything up there last time he’d shopped.
When Tynan moved in a few months ago, he learned that Donal hadn’t changed a bit since they were cubs. The healer kept everything neat in his clinic, but the house? By the Gods, he was still messier than a garbage gnome.
Smiling, Tynan shut the cupboard door. He didn’t really care about the disorder. It was too fecking great to be back where he belonged—with the Daonain and with his brother again.
After helping rescue the Scythe hostages last fall, Tynan resigned from the Seattle police force. In the mountains, he’d lived in wolf form until the wildness crept back into his soul. Gradually, he’d spent more time in Cold Creek and with Donal, getting to know his littermate again.
As cubs, he and Donal had always known they’d live together. Even with Tynan stuck in the city, their plans hadn’t changed. So they’d bought this house together, one big enough for them both, a mate and cubs, and Donal’s healing clinic—even though it’d taken years for Tynan to finally leave Seattle.
He was here now.
He smiled, remembering when he’d fostered with relatives in Ireland. As police officers, his uncles were an essential part of the village—saving lives, protecting, making things better. And they were heartily loved by their mate, cubs, and grandcubs.