Chapter 57: Her Welcome Basket Had Competition

The gate swung wide enough for Thorne and both sleds, then closed before the storm could follow them into the truck yard. Dove looked over his head at a long brick building behind a row of parked trailers. Its sign read MILEPOST REST AND RECREATION, with SHELTER painted beneath it. Finally, somewhere had bothered to label itself.

The diner filled the front of the building. A gym stood behind it, with two smaller wings for offices, washrooms, and meeting rooms. The trailers held fuel and supplies inside the fence. Men hurried between them with crates, while others stopped working so suddenly that one nearly walked into his own load.

"A grown female," someone said, as though the gate had delivered a unicorn. Another man stared at her white tail and asked whether anyone had ever seen one that beautiful.

Dove tightened her grip on Thorne’s fur. "You could say hello before discussing me like I fell off the back of a truck." She loosened her coat at the sheltered entrance, revealing the thermal knit pulled snug over her full breasts and tucked into tactical pants at her narrow waist. A man’s gaze followed the curve of her hips until Thorne growled. "Eyes up here," she told him. "You’re going to trip, and I’m not kissing it better."

A gray-eared man in a kitchen apron cleared the way. He introduced himself as the keeper and led them through the diner doors, where guarded stoves warmed the room. The pantry shelves held flour, tins, and labeled jars; meat and onions simmered behind the counter. They had food and fuel, with men assigned to guard both.

Thorne lowered her onto a bench and shifted behind a coat screen beside it. While he dressed, the keeper explained that about two hundred and fifty adult men lived here, along with eighty orphaned cubs. Most slept in the gym. The youngest had quieter side rooms with carers.

"One girl’s among the cubs," he added. "She’s our only female resident. We haven’t had an adult woman stay here in months."

That explained the staring without making it less uncomfortable. Dove asked for a private room through the storm and somewhere to trade. The keeper offered a former first-aid office off the diner, meals included, and the far end of the counter for her goods.

A man immediately offered her oranges. Another brought a blanket, while a third explained that his bed was much softer than the office pad. Dove accepted the fruit and blanket, then looked at the hopeful owner of the bed.

"Does your offer include you? Because I already have one enormous man taking up my bed, and he’s terrible at sharing."

Thorne sat beside her, close enough for her to tuck her cold hand into his. When she said she wanted to see the room, he took their packs while she stood. Men crowded the narrow aisle anyway, offering bowls, rooms, and themselves in an order that grew less subtle by the second.

One stopped talking halfway through a sentence. He caught the back of a chair, breathing hard, his gaze fixed on her. The man beside him swore and grabbed his arm before he took another step. A second friend helped hold him back while Thorne moved between Dove and the chair.

"Heat," one friend told the keeper. "We’ll get him into the washroom. He isn’t going near her."

Dove stayed by Thorne, grateful for the plain refusal to make this her problem. Her clean scent carried more strongly since the pool washes; she had noticed men reacting. She had not agreed to manage a room full of noses.

The other suitors still blocked the aisle. Then a roar cut through the diner, loud enough to make Dove’s ears flatten. A huge pale-haired man stood beside the cub-room doors, his round white ears low against his head.

"Clear the aisle so the children can get through," he said, and the men finally moved. When Dove thanked him in passing, he told her he had done it for the cubs.

"You could have just said you’re welcome, but sure, make it weird." His golden-brown eyes followed her without a smile. Thorne named him quietly as Edrik, a polar bear mercenary he knew from road work. The bear was built like he could carry the diner if he disliked its location, but she would have settled for him carrying an ordinary conversation.

Their office had a table, hooks, a broad sleeping pad, and a solid door. Dove tested the latch twice. That night she slept against Thorne while the wind shook the shutter, their belongings safely stored. Nobody demanded a favor before letting her keep the room.

Day Twenty-Three brought four full bags of rice. Three sales paid twelve normal coins; six fresh Favor unlocked a warm dress for eighteen. After her pool wash, Dove inspected the bags. "Whole meals now? Did you finally decide I deserved to eat?" A new storage task appeared too: store one newly found or traded item on settled days, three on travel days. It trained handling and paid no coins. Stored possessions could not be taken out and counted again.

"Your new bond opened this tier," Sprout said. "Larger goods require practice. Touch each item to store it, and never try a living creature."

"Yes, the deluxe boyfriend. I’m aware." Thorne heard and pulled her between his knees while she fastened her shirt. She kissed his cheek, then warned him not to look smug near a woman holding buttons. His delight met the Favor target, and the daily mate extra brought that purse to one thousand fifty-six.

All four rice bags sold before lunch for clean cloths, butter, and salt. She stored one traded cloth, completing the new task. Sprout paid the twelve-coin mission reward once, raising her normal purse from six to eighteen. She bought the dress privately and owed nothing for leftovers because, for once, there weren’t any.

An older cub dropped his cup near her counter. Dove caught it before it rolled under a bench and asked if his lunch was making a break for it. He laughed, and Edrik watched from across the diner with the same doubtful expression he had worn at the gate.

The keeper passed him carrying bowls. "Watch her yourself," he said. "Don’t let road gossip do your thinking."

Dove pretended she hadn’t heard. She was tired of kindness becoming a public exam, even when she seemed to be passing. She turned toward a customer holding an empty leather sheath. He said his knife had been on the counter before he left to fetch his trade, and now he couldn’t find it.

A man behind him pointed at Dove’s bag. "Isn’t she the fox they were warning people about at the Warren? I’d look in there before you let her leave." Thorne’s hand covered the strap before the stranger could grab it, but Dove was already stepping up to the counter. "Try asking me instead of reaching for my stuff."