Gwen set two plates of food on the table. “Here. Enjoy.” She was about to walk away, but then a large hand rested on her leg. She froze, watching as Zander used his thumb to scoop a little red sauce from her thigh. She had no idea why the movement seemed almost . . . sensual.

“You had something on your leg,” he told her. “Of course, if you’d been wearing jeans . . .”

“Are we still on that?” she snapped, impatient.

“Yeah, we are.”

Gwen stifled a smile at his hard tone. “Hmm. I see.”

“See what?”

“You’re one of those people.”

“What people?”

“You can’t let it go when you don’t get your own way. You can’t just chuck shit in the ‘Fuck It’ bucket and get on with your day.”

His mouth curved, and he shrugged one shoulder. “I like to get my own way.”

Well, Gwen could see that. She could also see that although he sat alone, he didn’t look alone. Maybe because he dominated his space so completely. He appeared at ease with his own company, not lost or lonely the way many pack animals did. “I realize that shifters are tactile, but could you move your hand?”

“You don’t need to be so uneasy. I won’t bite. Yet.”

“Whatever,” she scoffed, going for aloof. He slowly removed his hand and then licked the sauce from his thumb, holding her eyes the entire time. She swallowed hard. “Enjoy your meal.”

“I will.” Zander’s eyes followed her as she walked away, only shifting from her when Bracken returned and blocked his view.

Immediately, Bracken dug into his food. “Damn, this is good. I wish we could take the chef home.”

The door swung open, and in walked a male who, going by his uniform, was the sheriff—the same male who’d been standing on Gwen’s porch when he and Bracken first arrived at the B&B.

Zander noted that none of the patrons greeted the sheriff warmly. They either gave him a simple nod or avoided his gaze. Most of them sneered at his back. It seemed that the guy wasn’t well respected at all. Maybe if he wasn’t looking down his nose at everyone, it would be different.

Zander tensed when the sheriff made a beeline for Gwen. Spotting him, she simply greeted, “Sheriff.” There wasn’t an ounce of respect in the title, which was probably why the human narrowed his eyes.

“I heard two strangers are hanging around you.” The sheriff adjusted his gun belt. “Yvonne said they’re wolf shifters. They’re staying at the B&B for a while, and they’ve offered to help with the Brandt situation.” Suspicion laced every word.

Zander suspected that Brandt had contacted the sheriff, which led him to then call Yvonne. She’d probably told the sheriff they were shifters in the hope that it would scare him and the Moores.

Gwen nodded. “Yep.”

“What do they want in return? No shifter does something for nothing.”

That was true for the most part, thought Zander.

“They never asked for anything,” said Gwen. “Some people actually help those who are being wrongly persecuted. A novel thing for you, Colt, I’m sure.”

A muscle in Colt’s cheek ticked. “Are you paying them?”

“Mostly with sex,” she said, deadpan. “Turns out shifters are fond of threesomes.”

The sheriff’s lips thinned. “Don’t be crude, Gwen. Why would they help you?”

“Ask them. They’re over there.” She gestured at their booth.

“Sheriff’s on his way over,” Zander said only loud enough for Bracken to hear.

“Yeah, I heard him and Gwen talking.” Bracken’s response wasn’t surprising. No matter how absorbed he was by something, the enforcer wolf was always aware of his surroundings.

The sheriff arrived at their booth, planting his feet. “I’m the sheriff here.” Like that was some sort of achievement. The noise level of the entire place lowered as people subtly tried to eavesdrop.

Zander’s wolf took an instant dislike to him and stalked forward, teeth bared.

With a fry, Bracken gestured at himself. “I’m Bracken. This is Zander.”

The sheriff’s mouth twisted. “Where are you from?”

“California,” Bracken replied.

“I see. What pack?”

“The Mercury Pack.”

The human adjusted his hat. “So, you’ll be staying until the Brandt situation is resolved.”

“That’s right.”

“Sadly for you, I don’t approve of that.” His eyes narrowed as they danced from Bracken to Zander. “Not because you’re shifters, but because this situation is already heated—I want things to calm down, not worsen. Shifters aren’t known to be diplomatic. You’ll just aggravate the entire situation.”

Zander leaned back in the booth. “Sadly for you, your disapproval means nothing to us.”

“Not a thing,” confirmed Bracken.

The sheriff’s eyes tightened. “It should, considering what position I hold in this town. I could have you thrown out.”

“You could try,” said Zander. “It won’t work out well for you.”

Bracken’s mouth curled. “I’m kind of hoping he does try, Z. My wolf’s itching for some action. We should probably cut this guy some slack though, right? I mean, he must be under a lot of pressure right now. He has those Moore people bugging him to side with them.”

“Yeah, Brack, you’re right. If he had even a little of Gwen’s strength, he might just be able to pull his head out of his ass and stand up to the pricks.” Zander tilted his head, staring at the sheriff. “I guess you’re one of those ‘If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em’ guys, right?”

His face flushed. Eyes hard, he cast them each a menacing glare. “I want you both out of my town by tomorrow morning.”

“And I want you to keep the Moores away from Gwen.” Zander shrugged. “We don’t always get what we want, do we? There’s no sense in pushing this. We don’t answer to your laws. That shiny badge means nothing to me.”

For a long, tense moment, the human just glared at them, face like a thunderstorm. Then he crossed to the door and wrenched it open, yanking out his cell phone as he did so. Zander noticed that many of the patrons smirked, happy to see their sheriff’s butt shot down.