Chapter 153: Rich Boys Could Wait Their Turn

"Nobody’s bringing me anywhere," Dove said before either husband moved. "Back away from the door. Unless you’d rather spend another night down there explaining how important you are."

The man stared up from the lower steps as though she had misunderstood the arrangement. Behind him, several voices asked what was happening. The narrow stairwell smelled of warm bodies and a closed room that had needed fresh air well before today.

"Do you know who owns this property?" he asked.

"At the moment, someone who needs help opening it. Move back."

Edrik’s hand settled against the railing beside hers. He was not touching her or blocking her answer, but the man noticed him properly for the first time. Thorne stood on the opposite side of the door, waiting for the mechanic to indicate where the bent metal had caught.

Dove could feel her pulse in her throat. Talking down to a man was easier when he stayed down a staircase. She kept her hand on the rail and stayed where he couldn’t reach her. Being angry didn’t mean she had to stand closer.

The spokesman finally stepped back. A quieter resident asked what they should do, and Dove answered him instead. Clear the stairs, bring the water they already owned, and let the mechanics check the exit before thirty men tried to use it together.

"We’re not children," the spokesman muttered.

"Excellent. This should go much faster, then."

The otter mechanic almost smiled. He explained that the door itself was jammed, but moving it without supporting the damaged frame could pull loose material into the stairwell. The crow brought wedges and a metal brace from his truck.

Dove asked Sprout whether the manuals it had shown her would make this safer. It reminded her that neither had been purchased and that a description was not structural advice. Annoying, useful, and considerably better than being encouraged to test a new trick under a cracked ceiling.

She asked the mechanics for their sequence instead. Brace first, ease the door, fit the wedges, then move people through in small groups. A side service exit would be checked before anyone carried heavy supplies out.

Thorne placed his palm against the door and slowly reshaped the crushed edge. Edrik held the metal brace, reinforcing it while the otter set the wedges. Dove stayed above them with the light, keeping the landing clear and repeating the count as the first men came up.

Some looked at her and forgot where their feet were. One missed the last step, caught himself, and received a deeply unimpressed look from Thorne.

"Eyes on the stairs," Dove said. "They’re doing the dangerous part of being here."

The first group moved into the open rear lot. She pointed them toward the shade beside the crow’s vehicle, away from their pickup and the work area. Two residents carried their own water and offered it to the others. Whatever their spokesman thought, not all thirty had left their common sense downstairs.

When the brace was unloaded, Edrik let go. The ordinary wedges and sound frame now held the opening. He flexed his hand once, and Dove passed him water without interrupting the count.

The spokesman emerged with a leather bag and the expression of a man disappointed by the quality of his rescue. He stopped too close to Dove and reached toward her arm as he mentioned the comfortable rooms the residents could provide.

Edrik caught his wrist before his fingers reached her. Nothing about his face changed except the disappearance of warmth.

"You heard her," he said. "Don’t make me repeat it with this hand."

The man tried to pull back. Edrik allowed it only after he stopped reaching forward, then released him with enough care to make the choice feel deliberate.

Dove pointed toward the shaded group. "Go wait with your people. If you’re offering a trade, you can offer it without touching me. If you’re offering yourself, the answer’s no."

Thorne returned from checking the side exit, took one look at the man’s wrist, and continued carrying the tool chest. Dove appreciated a husband who could recognize that a problem had already been handled.

The crow’s vehicle radio reached the base recovery crew. Dove gave the location and said thirty men had come out on foot. They had food and water and were waiting in the shade beside the crow’s truck. Thirty men needed a transport plan, not a woman being guilted into rearranging her pickup seats.

She stayed until the first crew vehicle arrived and its leader took the count. The residents kept their bags, food, and water. The mechanics retained their property. No mysterious heap of rich-man belongings became Dove’s simply because she disliked the people who owned it.

The spokesman offered cash for a private ride, then doubled it when she refused. Dove looked at the crowded cab of her truck and shook her head.

"I’d rather spend the journey with people who listen the first time. Terrible business decision, wonderful afternoon."

Once the crew had taken over, they ate generous sandwiches on a clean bench in the open bay. Edrik drew her onto his lap after she checked that his legs were not trapped beneath the table. His mouth brushed near her ear as he asked whether behaving had earned him anything.

"You stopped him touching me," she said quietly. "You didn’t stop me answering. I noticed."

His fingers settled at her waist. "Keep noticing, sweetheart," he murmured. She leaned back against him and let him look pleased with himself.

Thorne gave her the sour candy after lunch and accepted her kiss with a pleased rumble. Dove decided rescuing people was much more tolerable when there were snacks afterward.

Then the otter returned carrying a small electric cooling chest with a faded return tag tied to its handle.

"This might interest you," he said. "It stopped working, but I haven’t had time to test why."

Dove looked at it, then at the warm bottle in her hand. She had refused thirty wealthy men without much difficulty. A broken fridge was apparently where her standards became negotiable.