Bearly Living
by
Kizzie Waller
Copyright © 2016 by Kizzie Waller.
All rights reserved.
Published by Kizzie Waller
Cover Design: Bookin’ It Designs
No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the author.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblances to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
For Mom and Dad, who think I can do anything.
(But seriously Dad, you can’t read this one either.)
Chapter One
Grant Wright pushed through the front door of his family’s hardware store at five minutes to closing. The first thing he noticed was that the store’s aisles had been rearranged again. He shook off the irritation. It didn’t matter, the store wasn’t his. The second thing he noticed was his brother Ray, who stood behind the counter attaching paper clips end-to-end making a silver chain that dangled to the floor.
“I see you’re working hard.”
Ray stayed immersed in his paper clip art. “Ah, lil’ bro. Welcome back. How was native time?”
“Boring, and I’m really h—”
“Horny?”
Grant hadn’t missed his brother’s annoying habit of interrupting his sentences, or his ability to bring sex into every conversation. “I was going to say hungry.”
“Whatever. In about a week, every female in a fifty-mile radius will smell like sugary cotton candy. You’ll be hungry all right. For a mate.”
“I told you before. I’m not as weak-willed as you when it comes to women. Going from bear to regular guy does not mean I’ll need a hook up.” He moved up and down the aisles looking for supplies, unwilling to listen to yet another animal-urges sex story.
“I remember the last time I came back from going native. I rolled Kristin in the garden. In fact, Marla and Karla were conceived that week.”
Grant growled. “Stop talking.”
“Fine. Any sign of Caroline?”
He tensed at the mention of their absent sister. He knew she probably wasn’t out on the land bearing it up, but he’d promised to keep out of her business as long as she checked in from time to time. A promise he’d keep for now. “She’ll come in when she’s ready. Where are Mom and Dad? I need to talk to them.”
“Juneau for a couple of weeks. Mom needed a break. I’ve got temporary custody of the trouble makers and the store.”
Grant grabbed a shovel from a hook on the back wall. He couldn’t blame his mom for needing a reprieve. She’d born three sets of twins, and out of the six kids, at least four gave her constant indigestion. “I’ll give them a call later.”
“Why? Something exciting happen?”
“Baiting stations on the east corner of The Hideaway. Three metal containers with fish guts. I want to warn everyone to stay away until I catch the trespassers.” The Hideaway allowed his family and their kind to go native without fear of coming into the crosshairs of a rifle scope. It gnawed at his gut that someone would put them all in danger with bait. Traps were sure to follow. While in bear form, the temptation would be too hard for their kind to resist.
“You’d think they’d be smart enough to heed the ‘no trespassing’ signs. Well, I got plenty of stuff in here to bury the bodies. I’ll even give you the family discount.”
“Burying bodies? Where do we sign up?” Their youngest brothers ambled in from the back. Both wore identical mischievous grins.
Grant didn’t have the patience to deal with Tony and Trevor until he’d been fed. He set the shovel aside. “No bodies. Stay away from The Hideaway until I bury a fish guts bait mixture. I’m going to get a steak.”
“Not from Moose Run you won’t.” Ray finally looked up.
Grant cracked his knuckles. “Why not?”
“It got bought out and turned into a gourmet donut shop while you were gone.”
“The hell it did.” That little hole-in-the-wall steakhouse was the best thing about Foxhollow. “Who would do that?”
Ray nodded towards the door. “Speak of the devil. Here she comes.”
The twins tripped over each other to get out the back entrance of the hardware store while a tall, curvaceous blonde came through the front. Her purple shirt read Total B.S. Donuts on the front. Grant sensed her inner bear the minute her body came within three feet of his. He would never admit it to his brother, but he did pick up a faint sugary smell.
“Where are they?” She tossed a red spray paint can onto the floor. The can clanged as it bounced twice and then rolled toward the back near the shovels. “Your brothers vandalized the back of my café.”
“How do you know it was them?” Ray asked.
“They spelled vagina with a ‘J’.” She placed her hands on jean covered hips. “I’m tired of their pranks.”
Grant grabbed the spray paint can from the floor and tossed it to Ray. The eldest Wright sibling might pretend the fourteen-year-old twins didn’t live for making others miserable, but Grant knew better. He stood close to the woman. “We’ll pay for more paint.”
“Who are you? Another Wright?” She shook her head, and her long hair swayed back and forth. “There are so many of you.”
Her gaze met his directly, and he could tell by the set of her jaw she didn’t think too highly of his family. “Yes. I’m one of them.”
“I don’t need the paint. I need your brothers to stop sabotaging my café. No more dog crap in flaming bags, no more eggs on the windows, and no more profanities.” Her face reddened while her brown eyes flecked gold, and she took several shaky breaths. She put a hand to her chest and closed her eyes.
Grant sensed her bear trying to break to the surface. He raised a hand to Ray who also braced for a possible shift fight. If she changed, she’d make one hell of a mess in the store. And they’d have to pin her down until she got under control. Anger could push a body into a shift. That’s why his family and some of the other bears in their region took regular native trips to the family hideaway to calm the beast within.
When she opened her eyes, the gold flecks were gone. “Just make them stop.”
Grant watched her stomp down the sidewalk and cross the road to what used to be his favorite little diner. Her jeans hugged the curves of her shapely ass, and even though he wasn’t one to ogle women, he found it hard to look away. When she’d vanished through the front door, he glanced sideways at his brother. “Great job on the temporary custody.”
“Boys will be boys.” Ray shrugged his shoulders and slung his paper clip rope across the room, hooking a trowel. “Score. Ten points.”
“We’ll see how calm you are when Karla and Marla hit their teens.” Grant watched the cars pass on Main Street. He’d known grizzlies with uncontrolled shifting problems, but the black bear families like his who inhabited this area tended to have a calmer demeanor. But then, his baby twin brothers could cause a nun to want to strangle them with her habit. “Where’d Ms. Donut Shop come from?”
“Florida. Samantha’s cousin. Kristin said she had some sort of meltdown at a high profile ad agency, so she’s hiding up here. Aggress
ive little thing, isn’t she?” Ray hooked another tool on a shelf.
“You and your wife are terrible gossips.”
Ray grinned and prepared for another paper clip rope assault on the hand tools. “We do what we can.”
The unkempt hair growth on his neck itched, and he needed to eat, but first he had a mess to take care of. “What color paint do I need?”
“For what?”
“The back of the donut shop.”
“Brother, don’t get involved with the Taylors.”
“I won’t get involved, but I will do the right thing.”
∞∞∞
Bobbie Taylor kicked the door to the back entrance of her new café. Her fingers itched, but she knew better than to scratch. Last time she’d been left with some nasty cuts, and hand abrasions were not a good look for pastry chefs. Pastry chef? Donut connoisseur? She still wasn’t sure what to call her new, temporary occupation.
She walked in a circle and ate three apple cinnamon donuts from the taste batch she’d made earlier. The sugar helped calm the anger, and before long the prickliness of an unfinished shift disappeared. Things were supposed to be different here. Less stress. Less chance of run-ins with jerks. Less chance of shifting at the most inappropriate times.
Who knew she’d walk right into the midst of an on-going feud between the Wrights and the Alaskan Taylors. Something her cousin, Samantha, had failed to mention when she’d convinced Bobbie to sublet her condo in Florida and spend the summer in Foxhollow.
She piled her hair into a bun on top of her head and covered it with the purple checkered toque her cousin made her. This was their business together. For now. At least until things calmed down in Florida. Samantha would be the face of the café, while Bobbie stayed away from the public and enjoyed her newfound love of baking gourmet donuts. With their deadline for opening in three weeks, neither had time for the constant pranks from the terrible teen twins of anarchy.
After washing up and tying an apron around her waist, Bobbie began work on her first attempt at a berry-glazed donut with walnut accents. With a small batch she could get away with hand stirring the batter. No need to waste electricity on the bigger mixers for taste batches, and she needed to work out some of her aggression anyway.
Deep in her thoughts and batter, a bang from behind the café startled her. Her senses were dulled courtesy of the sugar high, and the fact there was an annoyingly large population of shifters in one concentrated area. Back home she would’ve smelled them coming. She usually avoided her own kind as much as possible, but those Wright boys needed to be kept on a leash. At least this time she’d catch them in the act.
Bobbie grabbed the nearest wooden spoon and screamed “aha” as she pushed through the door. There was a Wright brother standing at her back wall but not the ones she’d been expecting.
The scruffy, dark-haired Wright she’d seen earlier in the hardware store pried open a can of paint with a screwdriver. “I’ll put on primer and come back tomorrow with the paint. I’ve got to go down to Fairbanks to get the right color mix.”
Bobbie put the wooden spoon in her apron pocket. “I told you I didn’t need more paint.”
“I’m not going to be able to get the boys to apologize. They’ll never admit they did it unless you’ve caught them in the act. This is the best I can do.” He stuck a brush in the primer and slapped it on the wall above the V. “But I can make sure it won’t happen again.”
“How?” she asked. No one else from the Wright family had offered the same commiseration.
His gaze connected with hers, and he didn’t have to answer the question. The fierceness in his honey eyes let her know he’d handle the terrible two.
“Thanks. I’m Bobbie Taylor.”
“Grant.”
He turned away from her, and she took the opportunity to study him. Black bears were some of the smallest shifting bears, but Grant still held his ground at six feet. His faded jeans were ripped in several places, and his checkered shirt hung loose over a fitted T-shirt. She’d bet her entire inventory of multi-colored sprinkles he had smooth skin on his stomach with a light sprinkling of dark hair trailing downward.
She lifted her eyes to a less tantalizing area. His arms were the right kind of muscular. The bulgy muscle-men with popping veins had never really attracted her attention anyhow. Not that she was attracted to Grant. Well, maybe a little. She pushed a stray hair back under her toque. “After you’re done with the primer, you can come on in and grab a few donuts.”
“Not much of a donut guy.” He worked his arm up and down with the brush, the muscles flexing with each stroke. “I like steak.”
The smile that inched across her face felt foreign. Almost as if she’d forgotten what smiling a full smile was like. Samantha warned her there’d be a few in the community upset they’d taken over the old steak house. Grant must’ve been at the top of the list. “Then I’ll make you a steak.”
She didn’t give him time to object and dashed back into the kitchen to defrost two steaks. Then she’d convince him to be a donut guy.
Chapter Two
Grant finished applying a third coat of primer and could still make out the red lettering. His siblings were jerks. He’d suggest to the Taylor woman that she let him paint the back wall black tomorrow. Or maybe a dark purple to match the tight-fitting T-shirt she wore.
The smell of pan-fried steak wafted out through the outside cooking vents. He should’ve told her no before she’d gone through the trouble of cooking. Now that his favorite eating establishment was owned by a Taylor, he wouldn’t be able to set foot inside. The two families didn’t mix. Couldn’t mix.
Grant stared at the back door wondering how long he could stall.
The door popped open. “Steak’s ready. Come on before it gets cold.”
Not as long as he’d hoped. He raked his hand through his overgrown stubble. “I appreciate the offer, but I have other obligations to attend to.”
He could see disappointment crease the middle of her forehead as her eyebrows scrunched together.
“It’s not that I don’t think you’d cook a good steak. I’m sure it tastes great.” Why was he blabbering on? All he had to do was say no and walk away.
She folded her arms under her chest and continued to stare. A hint of cleavage peeked out of the top of her shirt.
If anyone asked, he’d pretend he put up a good fight. “Okay. Lead the way.”
She gestured for him to walk ahead of her, and his sensitive nose took in an onslaught of sweet smells mixed with cooked meat. One look at the stove, and he no longer regretted the reassurance he’d given her about the steaks. His mouth watered. They looked amazing.
He’d been gone two months. No one from his family would notice him gone a few minutes more.
Bobbie’s warm smile captured his attention as she slapped both steaks on one plate. “The previous owners left a few steaks in the cooler. It’s your lucky day.”
Lucky? His stomach hummed in anticipation. “You’re not having one?”
“No. I’ve been tasting donuts all day.”
Great. All for him. He eyed the tasty-looking donuts covering several cooling racks. One label perched in front of about dozen pink-frosted donuts had Cotton Candy written in hot pink. I’ll be damned.
Bobbie passed in front of him adding a knife and fork to the plate. “Come out to the dining area.”
His brain shut down, and he followed as if she’d attached a harness to his neck. She placed the plate on a table and sat down in the chair opposite. Purple paper placemats lined the table, and she picked at the corner of the one in front of her. Her calm demeanor was a stark contrast from the on-edge woman he’d met about an hour ago in the hardware store. Too bad he couldn’t get to know her better.
This family betrayal could be over quick if he stayed focused. There’d be no pleasantries. No small talk of any sort. He’d eat the steaks and thank her and then he’d be on his way. The knife cut into the tender steak with a qui
ck slice, and his inner bear appreciated all the pink of the rare cooked meat. The first bite practically melted in his mouth. An appreciative moan purred its way to his throat, and when he looked up, Bobbie’s lovely brown eyes were fixed on his lips.
A beautiful woman who cooked a magnificent steak, baked a room full of sweets, and truly smelled like a hint of cotton candy.
He was in so much trouble.
“I’m sorry about my outburst earlier in the store.”
He cut faster and shoved more steak in his mouth. Do not engage. Her inability to control her animal side had nothing to do with him.
“How come this is the first time I’ve seen you? Do you travel for work?”
If he didn’t respond to any of her questions or comments, he’d come across as more of a dick than his brothers. “My parents own a lot of property around Foxhollow. I manage the majority of the property.”
He didn’t want to get into the fact that his being native for two months had more to do with the constant boredom of managing The Hideaway than with keeping his bear from showing up unannounced. But even the mental challenge of survival had held little enjoyment. If he hadn’t come across the bait, he’d probably have come back anyway, hoping for a glimpse of excitement. No, excitement wasn’t the right word. He didn’t really know what he’d been looking for. Something different, maybe.
She stopped pulling at the placemat and leaned her elbows on the table. “But still, I’ve been here over a month, and I’m sure I would have noticed you.”
He planned to grumble out another noncommittal answer when a crack against the large plate glass window of the café stopped him. Three more cracks followed. Not gun shots or rocks. The sounds were soft. A slight turn of his head confirmed his suspicions. Gooey egg yolk and broken white shells slid down the glass. A red truck squealed its tires and took off down the end of the street. His red truck. It wouldn’t be the first time the boys had stolen his truck, but their pranks were more than out of hand.
Bearly Living: Foxhollow Den #1 (Alaskan Den Men) Page 1
