***
Jamie’s house was a brick Victorian on several acres just outside town. It used to belong to his grandfather. Jamie spent a lot of time there. That’s where he’d met Marcas and Lachlan, on a camping trip nearby. They’d been friends ever since. He’d put a lot of work into the place. It was the picture of domestic tranquility. Shay touched the white porch swing and felt a twinge of regret.
“The door’s open,” Bree said.
“Jamie, we’re coming in.” The first thing they noticed was the overturned table. “Jamie?”
“Oh no.” Bree hurried toward the living room, and Shay followed. Jamie lay face down on the floor.
Shay knelt and checked his pulse. “He’s breathing. Jamie? Can you hear me? Help me turn him over.” He groaned as they rolled him. “There’s a phone in the kitchen. Call 911.” Shay cradled his head. He had a knot on his forehead and a large gash on his arm.
“No hospital,” he said, voice uneven.
“You need a doctor.”
“No,” Jamie mumbled. “No doctor.”
“He sounds like Faelan,” Bree said.
“Where does it hurt?” Shay asked Jamie, but he closed his eyes again. She checked him over, hands prodding body parts she once touched in other ways. “I think his head and arms took the worst of it. Let’s get him to the couch. You get his feet.”
Bree eyed Jamie’s six-foot, two-inch muscular frame and touched her stomach. “He looks heavy.”
“He is,” Shay said, remembering exactly how heavy he was.
Bree grabbed his feet while Shay put her hands under his shoulders and pulled. “Lord, what’s he made of?” Bree grunted.
“I think we’re doing more damage than good,” Shay said. They were both panting, smeared with blood, and still hadn’t lifted him onto the couch.
“I’ll get a washcloth,” Bree said.
“There’s some in the hall closet, and get some ice from the kitchen.”
Before Bree could leave, Jamie opened his eyes and groaned.
“What happened?” Shay asked.
He touched her face. “You’re safe. I was afraid you’d get here before they left. Who’s she?”
“My friend, Bree. What happened to you?” Shay asked.
“There were four of them.” He groaned and sat up. “Felt like twice that. Didn’t even hear them come in.”
“Sit still,” Shay said. “You could have other injuries.”
“I’m fine,” he said, flexing his arms. “Just banged up.”
Shay looked at his wound. “Your cut doesn’t look nearly as bad as it did a minute ago.”
“Uh… I need a bandage,” he said, grimacing as he quickly stood.
“I’ll get it,” Bree offered.
“No. You two check out the table,” Jamie said, holding his hand over the cut. “They seemed more interested in it than me.”
“The table? Are you serious? You could’ve been killed,” Shay said.
“I’ll be back as soon as I wash off this blood.” He walked toward the bathroom. Shay and Bree examined the table while they waited for him.
“What is it with these tables?” Shay asked.
“It’s pretty,” Bree said, touching the top.
“But not that valuable. It’s only 1890s… Bree, are you okay?”
“That’s better,” Jamie said, entering the room. He had washed off the blood, put on a clean shirt, and bandaged his arm.
“You scared the heck out of me.” Shay wrapped her arms around his waist, and he pulled her close, dropping a kiss on her head.
“What the hell?” said a voice from the doorway.
Shay and Jamie turned. Cody stood just inside the door, his face drained of color. A flush of anger crept up his neck. “Jamie Waters? He’s your boyfriend?”
Shay stepped away from Jamie. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
Cody stormed across the room. “You know the rules. Does the clan know about this?”
“The clan?” Shay asked. “Jamie knows about your clan?”
“You didn’t tell her, did you? You bastard!” Cody threw the first punch. It hit Jamie’s chin, and he staggered.
“Stop it! He’s hurt,” Shay yelled.
