The Reaper's Runaway Princess novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Four in the Waiting Room

All four Garrison brothers show up, the widower threatens them with a permit, and Mara sets three rules before letting them stay until Friday; then she spots a Reaper in a vest watching her clinic from the diner.

By seven the next morning, there were four Garrison brothers in her waiting room.

Mara stood behind the front desk with a mug of coffee she had not made and looked at them one at a time.

Dean leaned on the counter with a cardboard carrier of drinks and the same crooked grin he'd had at fifteen.

Boone filled the doorway, so tall he had to duck under the hanging ivy.

Nash sat on the arm of the waiting-room couch with his boots on the cushion and a new split in his eyebrow.

Wyatt stood by the exam room door, saying nothing, with his eyes on her face.

"I didn't invite any of you," Mara said.

"You didn't unlock the door either," Dean said. "We found it open."

"I unlocked it for him. To get his dog."

"And we're the dog's moral support." Dean held out a cup. "Oat milk, two sugars. You still take it like a dessert?"

She took the cup. She hated that she took it.

Boone nodded at the sagging front gate through the glass.

"Your hinge is going to fall off, Mara. I can fix it while we talk."

"You can fix it and leave."

"Yes, ma'am," Boone said, and was gone with a toolbox before she could finish the sentence.

Nash did not move his boots.

"You look different," he said.

"Taller?"

"Meaner." He grinned slowly. "I like it."

The bell over the door jingled.

The old widower came in with the golden retriever puppy under one arm and stopped dead.

He looked at four large men in his vet's waiting room, and then at Mara.

"Sweetheart," he said, "do you want me to shoot any of these?"

"Not yet."

"I have a permit and a bad hip. I'll do it sitting down."

Nash held up both hands. "Sir, we're friends."

"Nobody who has to say so is a friend." The widower put the puppy in Nash's lap without being asked. "Hold him. If he likes you, I'll think about it."

The puppy sniffed Nash's chin, sneezed, and went to sleep.

Dean snorted into his coffee.

Wyatt didn't smile, but the line between his eyebrows eased.

Mara watched the four of them, big and out of place among the plants and the pet-food shelves.

Six years ago these men had been the only home she had.

She set her cup down.

"Listen carefully, because I'm only going to say this once."

The room went still.

"My husband is coming. If what you told me is true, I can't stop that, and I won't run again."

"Mara..." Wyatt began.

"I'm not finished." She held up a hand. "You can stay until Friday. That's because this clinic is full of animals who can't leave, and you're bigger than I am. It is not because I forgive you."

"Fair," Dean said quietly.

"I have three rules."

Nash raised his hand. "Can I write them down?"

"One. Nobody decides anything for me. Not where I sleep, not what I do, not who I talk to."

Wyatt gave a short nod.

"Two. Nobody touches me unless I start it."

Nobody in the room breathed.

Wyatt's jaw moved, and Dean looked at the floor, and Nash looked at her mouth and then very carefully at the puppy.

"Three. Anyone who lies to me is out. Doesn't matter why. Doesn't matter if it's kind."

"Agreed," Wyatt said. "All three."

"Say it like you mean it."

"I mean it, Mara." His voice was rough. "Every word."

The old widower cleared his throat.

"I'd like to add a fourth rule," he said. "Nobody breaks anything in this building. We've had enough of that this week."

"Done," Dean said, and shook his hand solemnly.

Mara turned to the exam room, because her face felt hot and she needed something to look at.

The brindle dog lifted his head and thumped his tail against the table.

She scratched behind his torn ear and felt her breathing slow.

Then she looked through the front window and went cold.

Across the street, the diner's big plate-glass front was lit up against the gray morning.

A man sat in the booth by the window with a coffee in front of him and his back to the wall.

He wore a leather vest, and over the heart was a patch she knew, a skull in a crown ringed with flames.

The Iron Reapers.

He wasn't eating, and he wasn't looking at a menu.

He was looking at her clinic.

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