Swiftcurrent Creek wild women don't get the blues

She knew that voice. She knew that face, too; the strong jaw, the golden gaze; the broad shoulders and cinnamon-splattered body.
Shock, at first, and then something like anger, and something else like discomfort. It'd been months since she'd last seen him — he'd left her for so long! And here he is, crawling back to her, new scents radiating from him and still wearing that same charming smirk.
A coldness curdles within her stomach. Why now, when she was building a life? Why now, when she was busy? Why now, when she'd found—
Marcus, she blurts, a flatness to it, shifting to her feet as the fur of her nape bristles. what are you doing here?