Page 5 of Easy, Tiger

But it's her interactions with the townspeople that truly capture my attention.

"You've got steady hands," Ben comments as she helps repair a section of damaged trail railing. "Ever consider carpentry?"

"I'll stick to drawing wood instead of working with it." Testing the stability of her repair work, she adds, "Less chance of losing fingers."

"Nolan Maren might disagree. Man's got all ten digits and builds furniture that could survive the apocalypse."

Her head turns slightly at the mention of my name, and I catch the flicker of curiosity that crosses her features.

Each evening finds her at Ellie's café, nursing a cup of tea while sketching the locals who meander in and out. The older woman has clearly adopted her as a project, fussing over her meals and introducing her to every regular customer.

"This is Halsey," Ellie announces to whoever happens to be within earshot. "She's documenting our wildlife for posterity. Make sure you tell her where to find the best bird-watching spots."

The memory of that introduction burns sharp as yesterday's sawdust. I'd been picking up supplies at Ellie's when she practically dragged me over to the corner table where Halsey sat sketching the afternoon light streaming through the café windows.

"Nolan, meet our visiting artist." Ellie's matchmaking radar had been pinging at maximum frequency. "Halsey, this is Nolan Maren—the carpenter I mentioned who builds those gorgeous pieces."

Halsey raised her eyes from her sketchbook, and the mating bond slammed through me, knocking the air clean out of my lungs. Up close, her features betrayed depths I could spend lifetimes exploring, and when she smiled, something fundamental unlocked in my understanding of the universe.

"Nice to meet you." Her handshake was firm, calloused from years of wielding pencils and hiking gear. "Ellie says you work with local wood."

"Mostly salvage and stormfall." I fought to keep my voice monotone while every instinct screamed to claim her and protectively never let her leave my sight. "Less waste that way."

"Smart approach. I've been documenting the forest ecosystem—it's incredible how everything connects."

If she only knew how connected we already were.

Ellie bustled away to help other customers, leaving us in that awkward space where strangers search for common ground. Halsey filled it by sharing with me her sketch of the café's interior, her pencil work capturing the physical space alongside the warm atmosphere that made Ellie's place the heart of Red Pine.

"You've got good instincts," I said, appraising how she'd rendered the afternoon light. "Most people miss those details."

"Details are everything in my line of work. Or were, anyway."

Something in her tone made me inspect her closer. Pain flickered behind her professional smile, a dull ache born from wounds in the process of healing.

That night, alone in my workshop with her memory vividly haunting my mind, I did what any protective mate would do—I researched everything about Halsey Gallagher I could find.

The internet painted a damning picture. Headlines screamed about falsified illustrations in a major conservation publication. Comment threads devolved into character assassination. Her professional website had been scrubbed clean except for a brief statement about "taking time to reassess."

But I dug deeper, following threads through scientific databases and archived articles. Her work spoke for itself—meticulous and accurate, the product of a decade's worth of rigorous, patient study. The accusations made no sense when weighed against it.

Something about the whole thing didn't sit right, though I couldn't have said exactly what. I leaned back in my chair and turned it over anyway, unwilling to let it go.

The protective instinct that came with my tiger nature tangled with the mating bond until I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. Whatever she needed to reclaim what she'd lost, I intended to give it to her.

That was three nights ago. Now, sitting taciturnly at a corner table inside the café, I watch her cap her water bottle and tuck the sketchbook back into her bag, the light going thin and gold behind her. She has no idea what walked through these woods on her first night here. No idea something is hunting closer to town than she realizes.

I intend to keep it that way for as long as I possibly can.

3

HALSEY

The week in Red Pine has settled around me like a familiar sweater, surprisingly comfortable when I first arrived in town with my career in shambles and my confidence scraped raw. Ellie's morning coffee tastes like home now. Ben's trail recommendations have led me to sketching spots that feel handpicked by the mountain itself. Meanwhile, even the quiet carpenter—Nolan—acknowledges me when our paths cross, which counts as practically effusive by local standards.

But today I need distance from human voices and the exhaustion of rebuilding myself one polite conversation at a time. The field guide commission requires more than birds and wildflowers visible from established trails. I need the creatures that inhabit the deep forest, the ones that emerge only when human footprints grow scarce.

"Going exploring," I announce to my empty cabin, shouldering my pack loaded with water, trail mix, a first aid kit, an extra jacket in case the temperature plunges once I lose the sun, and enough sketching supplies to document whatever the mountain decides to reveal to me.