Chapter 74: She Was Taking Their Boots Too

Dove took Edrik’s coat and laid it over his knees. "Sit there and look scary. If you reopen that arm, I’m making you explain it to the woman who just fixed it."

He glanced toward the cart. Thorne put the food back into his good hand before he could argue, then told Dove he’d keep watch while she decided what was worth taking.

Everything, as far as she was concerned. Not the damaged trolley itself, because dragging it around sounded like punishment, but the men who had tried to steal her didn’t get to leave a nice little supply station for their friends.

She approached the cart from the side away from the bodies. Food tubs filled the platform: canned beef, chicken, carrots, fruit, tortillas, and packets of instant potatoes. Folded blankets, rope, tools, and two spare coats filled the gaps. Three months of snow hadn’t emptied every pantry in Michigan, and she intended to keep looking. A wooden chest sat under a waterproof sheet.

Sprout reminded her that touching the crates made storage easier than dragging an entire load into her space from a distance. Repeated use still cost energy. She told it to warn her early, then placed her hand against the first food tub.

It vanished with a gentle pull through her palm. She waited to see how she felt before storing the blankets. Thorne watched from the loading porch while Edrik sat against its wall. She could ask for a hand without either of them stepping over a body to reach her.

Thorne checked the bodies and returned with the key to the wooden chest. Dove kept looking at the supplies until he had finished. She didn’t have to watch every detail to know why those men weren’t leaving with them.

Inside were ammunition boxes, ordinary cash, and records of food and fuel trades. Dove picked up the bills. "Fantastic. Maybe the dead guy takes tips." Thorne laughed despite himself, earning her one Favor. Sprout showed twenty-four normal coins and nine hundred four Favor; the bills themselves bought nothing in its shop.

"Keep the bills," she told it. "Somebody might still trade for them."

The Personal Shop menu hovered beside the storage list when she checked the chest. She could buy ammunition there too, but she wasn’t going to guess what fitted a weapon or pretend she had become an expert because a price appeared beside it.

She kept the recovered boxes closed and stored the chest for Edrik to inspect later. Tools followed in small bundles. She stopped for water before her arms grew heavy. The men could wait while she decided how much she could manage.

Thorne held up the ponchos she’d sold the crew. They had barely unfolded them before reaching for their weapons.

"Already paid for," Sprout said. "Owning them again doesn’t complete another sales mission."

"I’m aware. Let me enjoy the stupidity for a second."

Her mate laughed. She liked that he could still do that, even here, without acting as though the fight had been funny. She folded the ponchos and stored them as ordinary owned stock, with no new fee attached.

Edrik called her over from the loading porch. He had been sorting a small snack pouch with his good hand, and now he held out a sealed packet of peanut butter cups.

"You wanted these at the gas station," he said, offering the packet without opening it or keeping a piece for himself.

Dove stopped at the bottom step. He remembered the exact kind. Not just that she liked sweets, or that a woman might be pleased by a gift, but the thing she’d complained about not finding enough of.

"You could’ve eaten them yourself," she said, turning the familiar wrapper over between her fingers before looking back at him.

"I wanted to see your face when you got them."

That was much harder to dismiss than good manners. She sat beside him and opened the packet, suddenly aware of Thorne watching from the cart with a bundle of rope over his shoulder.

She offered her mate half a cup when he returned. The other piece she held out to Edrik, who watched her fingers before taking it carefully from her hand.

"It’s chocolate," she told him. "You can enjoy it without looking like somebody’s testing you."

"I am enjoying it," he told her, taking the little piece she offered without once checking what Thorne thought of the arrangement.

His eyes stayed on her. Thorne made a low sound that might have been amusement, then sat close enough to put his knee against hers. Dove decided both men could cope with sharing a snack without turning it into a territorial incident.

Edrik’s bandage stayed dry while they ate. She checked the edge anyway, and he held still for her without making another comment about having survived worse.

"That was better," she said. "See how pleasant you can be when you stop trying to win an argument with a wound?"

"Would you have stayed longer if I’d argued?" he asked, his half-eaten sandwich resting on its wrapper across his knee as though he had forgotten why it was there.

He watched her without hiding his interest. Apparently a knife wound hadn’t damaged his ability to be trouble.

"Don’t start getting ideas, because I will invent chores," she warned him, already fighting a smile she had no intention of explaining.

"He likes chores if you’re the one asking," Thorne said, as if that settled something he’d been noticing for days.

Dove gave them both an annoyed look and kept the last candy piece for herself. Some habits deserved to survive the apocalypse.

They took the dead men’s usable boots too. Thorne put them in a separate sack so she wouldn’t have to touch them, and she stored it with the other salvage. Somebody with wet feet would be delighted to trade; she didn’t need to love where the boots came from.

The empty trolley stayed at the roadside with its wheel blocked. Edrik kept the piece of steel he’d used as a shield for now, leaning it against the porch where he could reach it without lifting his injured arm.

Thorne changed behind the garden center’s delivery doors and lowered his panther body for Dove. Edrik would walk in human form until his arm settled, carrying only a light bag. Her space took the heavier load after Sprout confirmed she had enough strength for the last bundle.

Dove climbed onto her mate, thinking about coffee and how far the nearest locked bedroom might be. Then Edrik rose from the step, his expression emptying of every trace of warmth.

A man had appeared at the far end of the bridge with a small sled. He lifted a hand toward the cart, expecting an answer from the men who had been standing there.

The stranger stopped waving. Edrik set the borrowed steel door against the porch, keeping the passage clear, and reached toward his knife. Dove caught his sleeve before he could step away. They had survived one group today, and she wasn’t starting another fight because somebody had terrible timing.