by Alana Hart
Contents
Title Page
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
New Releases
My Duty to Bear
A Men in Charge Romance
(The Everson Brothers: Book 2)
By
Alana Hart & Olivia Arran
Copyright © 2015 Alana Hart & Olivia Arran
All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.
Published by Hartfelt Books
Cover Design by Resplendent Media
Editing by Craft Write Editing
***
Sneak Peak!
A woman on the run…a bear with a badge…danger closing in fast.
Wow! He was built! With muscles that looked like they had been carved from granite, the lines and hollows indelibly etching themselves into my mind. A fine coating of blond curls dusted his chest, arching across the flat expanse of pectoral muscles. I followed the line of hair down to his six pack, the curls narrowing into a thin line, trailing from his belly button, down, disappearing where his hand rested on his zipper. Lightly tanned, with massive biceps and corded forearms, he was well over six feet in his bare feet, a huge man, one who seemed even larger with his clothing partially removed.
My mouth felt dry, my tongue useless, as I stared at him, the towel hanging listlessly from my outstretched fingers. Every inch of me sparked to life as he took a slow step toward me, moving with a deliberate purpose that reminded me of a predator. And that would make me his prey.
He hooked the towel, wrapping it around my fingers, trapping them in the soft cotton, and tugged.
I couldn’t stop my feet from stumbling forward. I didn’t know if I even wanted to. At that moment, all I could think about was him.
Catching me against his chest, he cradled me in his arms. Heat seared through me where flesh met flesh, my palms flattened between us, stroking with a mind of their own.
I tilted back my head, looking up at him, and time seemed to stand still. Emotions swirled in his stormy blue eyes, glowing with mounting desire, so tangible it felt like I could feel him reaching out to me, stroking me with his thoughts, connecting us in a way that transcended flesh.
“What is this?” I murmured, transfixed by his gaze, our faces inches apart, once again. “Why do I feel this way? I never wanted—”
“No, but you needed.” And he claimed my mouth with a tenderness, a slow burning ride of lips brushing, teasing and nipping, stroking and tasting. Drawing me out, taking me under, he kissed me with an intensity, stripping away any denials, coaxing my heart to respond.
He pulled away a fraction, resting his forehead against mine, his breathing strained like my own. “As much as I would love to continue this, the shower has just switched off,” he said in a husky voice. “We have something. You and me. You can’t deny it, us.” Then he pulled away, leaving me balancing on wobbly legs, my head spinning.
***
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CHAPTER ONE
Amy
Stepping inside from the cold, I closed the flimsy door behind me and took a deep breath as I looked around at what was now my new home. The motel wasn't bad—I knew I was trying to convince myself, and failing miserably—but it really wasn’t. Not for what I was paying for it, anyway. But the peeling walls and cheap furniture emphasized the fact that I had to find a job, and quick.
Resisting the urge to just kick off my shoes and collapse on the conveniently placed bed, I grabbed my discarded handbag, forcing myself back out of the door.
Turning right, I headed toward Main Street and what seemed to be the heart of this small town. I’d never been anywhere as small as Craggstone Town, having grown up in the city, but already, I could feel myself relaxing, the quiet calm and laid-back atmosphere seeping in past my defenses and soothing my tattered nerves. Encased by the forest on all sides, I should have felt out of my element, but for some reason, the wildness, right on the doorstep, didn’t bother me, not like I had thought it would when I had first arrived.
Scrunching down into my winter coat, I slowly walked down Main Street, peering in the shop windows as I passed, my eyes seeking out any potential help-wanted signs. The crisp, clean air filled my lungs, invigorating and brisk, and I dragged in deep, soul-cleansing breaths, my cheeks tingling with the cold.
A wonderful smell of freshly baked bread, cinnamon and spices drifted on the air, and I stopped outside what looked to be a charming, old-fashioned bakery, the windows piled high with succulent treats and snacks, eyeing the pasties wistfully.
My stomach howled in protest, reminding me I had not eaten breakfast yet. Having only arrived in town late last night, I hadn't had the time to go shopping yet, and the portable hotplate I had set up in the motel room made cooking a challenge. I eyed my choices, my mouth watering, and was about to fall back on the good old standby of eenie-meeney-miney-mo, when I noticed a small sign tucked haphazardly into the bottom left corner of the window.
I sucked in a breath. It had to be fate!
Determined, I pushed open the door, the humid warmth of the shop engulfing me like a warm blanket, my cheeks and nose tingling as they started to thaw.
A bell tinkled, signaling my arrival, and a woman bustled out from what must be the kitchen. She was wearing an old-fashioned apron, and was busy wiping her flour-coated hands on a cloth. She looked to be about my age, late twenties, maybe early thirties, with a wide smile on her pretty face. Her long brown hair, the same color as the sticky cinnamon buns in front of me, was pulled back into a high bouncing ponytail, and her wide blue eyes exuded a friendly, welcoming warmth.
“What can I get you?” she asked, indicating the cabinet in front of me.
I took a deep breath, trying to pull myself together, to look a little more professional. I needed this job.
“I see that you've got a help-wanted sign in the window?” I asked, trying for confident.
“Yes! I just
put that there this morning. The girl who I'm looking to replace, she had to leave on short notice. So, if you're looking for work, you'd be a lifesaver! What experience have you got?” she asked, her eyes lighting up, tell-tale signs of weariness casting shadows under her eyes.
I hesitated. For some unknown reason, I didn’t want to lie to her. Even though I had lied many times since escaping my old life, dodging the truth and weaving a web of deceit, I realized with a jolt that I was tired, exhausted from the effort it took to not be caught. This small town had fascinated me ever since I had arrived, tugging at something inside, and maybe that was why I wasn’t willing to pretend to be someone I wasn’t. If I did end up staying, I didn’t want to have to constantly watch what I was saying, trying to remember each little lie.
The silence dragged on as I searched for something to say. Something that wouldn’t be outright deception but couldn’t be linked back to my old life. I kicked myself mentally for suddenly developing a conscience and not just rattling off a fake list of prior jobs.
“I've worked in retail before…” I eventually offered, breaking the silence.
“That's great!” The other woman seized on my answer gratefully. “I'm Connie, by the way, you are…?” She extended a hand across the counter, letting the question hang in the air.
“Amy,” I replied, grateful at least I didn’t have to lie about that. She would want references… I tried to think up an excuse on the fly. “The problem is…the shop I used to work at, well, it closed down…”
Connie frowned, her eyebrows raising slightly. “And…that's your only reference?”
She stared at me, skepticism plain on her face.
This had been a mistake, coming here. I should have lied, I knew better.
I met her eyes, forcing a smile. “I'm sorry, this was a mistake. I'm new to town, and, well…I just really needed a job.” I turned to leave.
“Hold on!” Connie’s voice stopped me in my tracks, desperation and…maybe a little understanding in her voice. “How about a trial run?” She made the offer casually, but her eyes told me that she knew.
My chest tightened, hope and gratitude making it hard to breathe. “That's— That would be amazing,” I murmured, feeling overwhelmed by this woman's kindness.
“No time like the present.” Connie gestured for me to come around the counter. “I'm short-handed, and you look like you need somewhere to be. We can sort the pay out later if that’s okay? So, why don't you grab yourself a cup of coffee from the back, and an apron, and I'll show you the ropes.” She paused, looking me over, her shrewd eyes taking in my ill-fitting jeans and the obviously brand new hiking boots. “If that sounds good to you?”
Nodding silently, I followed her into the back. Pouring a cup of coffee, I added cream and sugar, and wrapped my hands around the mug, absorbing the comforting warmth. Maybe things were starting to look up for me? “I-I just want to say, I'm really grateful for the chance…”
The other woman looked at me, concern in her gaze. “Honey, we all deserve a chance. When you need to talk, you know where I am.” She laid a hand on my arm, squeezing gently. “Now, let's put you to work.”
***
Ryan
“Morning, Sheriff!” a voice called out to me from across the street. Waving a hand in reply, I quickly shoved it back into my pocket. It was brisk today, the wind biting at my ears. Dammit, when would I learn to wear a hat? I shoved my hands deeper into my jacket pockets, digging around and coming up with some lint, a couple of hard candies, some loose change — but no gloves. It sure was going to be a long day without any gloves. Breaking into a jog to keep warm, I loped across the street, heading for my brother's place. Ralph, one of my older brothers – although, to be honest, all of them were older – owned the imaginatively named restaurant ‘Ralph's’. It sat bang in the center of Main Street, conveniently located for me to go pilfer some gloves, and maybe a hat, if I was lucky.
Pushing open the door to the restaurant, I grinned to myself as I heard the low sound of cursing accompanied by staccato cries of complaints.
“Hey, bro,” I called out, walking across the empty dining room, making my way back to the kitchen.
Ralph not only owned the place, he was also the head chef. And he was a damn good one. Then again, he had enough practice. Many, many years of practice. Being a bear shifter like me, we enjoyed an extended lifespan, and Ralph was nearing the century mark—unlike myself, who, being the youngest brother of five, still had a few more years to go until I reached that particular milestone. It might explain why Ralph was acting a little grumpier than usual, but it was no excuse. We were all feeling the strain. Ever since Craig, our middle brother, had found his mate—his true mate—we had all been on pins and needles, waiting anxiously for our own to show up. Which was just damn stupid, of course. It wasn't like our mates were going to start falling from the sky—just because one of us was lucky enough to find the other half of our soul, it didn't mean the rest of us were going to.
I shoved open the swinging doors to the kitchen, chuckling to myself at the scene in front of me. Ralph stood in the center of the stainless steel jungle, his large frame bristling with pent-up frustration, as he cursed a blue moon at the sous chef who cowered in front of him. In one hand, he gripped a ladle, which he was waving around in emphasis, punctuating his f-bombs. Dark and dangerous, he had been described as such by members of both sexes—all seemingly mesmerized by his daredevil charm and obvious disdain for social niceties. Personally, I couldn’t see it. But then again, I was his brother—he was just a grumpy asshole to me.
Today, he looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, the t-shirt he wore proclaiming to the world ‘Bear with me…like I give a f@@k’ paired with jeans that had seen better days—several years ago. His black hair spiked up all over his head, and one cheek still bore crease marks from his pillow.
“…Fix it!” he hissed at the quivering sous chef, who was blinking rapidly while stuttering an apology. Turning to me, he grinned, ineffectually trying to pat down his hair. “What’s up, bro?” he drawled.
I glanced pointedly at the ladle, still grasped in his hand.
Shrugging, Ralph dropped it into a sink, the steel clattering noisily, causing the sous chef to nearly jump out of his skin. Letting the doors swing shut behind us, Ralph made his way over to the coffee area, and grabbing two cups, started poking at the machine, his brow screwed up in concentration.
“You’re a lost cause…” I shoulder bumped him out of the way and quickly canceled the order he had just placed for a triple, tall, double froth, extra shot, decaf latte. That would have been just plain…weird. I shuddered, punching the buttons for two cups of black.
“It’s not my fault that technology is just so…” Ralph muttered, slouching onto a stool.
“…technological? You’re a caveman, or at least stuck in the eighties.”
“Things were a lot less complicated then. None of this being available all the time, having to rely on machines for everything…”
“Alright, Gramps…” I thrust a cup of steaming coffee at him and grabbed a stool. It was always the same complaints with Ralph. Time was moving on, and he just didn’t want to. If I had to admit it, he worried me. It was like he’d quit trying to adapt.
Wrapping my hands around the mug, I stopped for a second to appreciate the warmth—and to remember why I had come in here in the first place. “Need to borrow some gloves, and a hat,” I added, remembering my cold ears.
Leaning over the bar, Ralph rooted around, coming up with one black glove, one green mitten, and one red hat. “Here you go.” He slid the mismatched assortment down the bar to me, smirking at the look on my face. “Maybe next time you’ll remember…”
Lost property, by the looks of it. Gritting my teeth, I tugged the hat on over my unruly hair. Cursed—blessed, my mom would say—with a mop of curls, at least they could have had the decency to be a muddy brown color, rather than a golden blond. I personally thought they looked pla
in dumb—like angel curls, or something—so I attacked them on a regular basis with a pair of scissors. Which meant they ended up sticking up all over, like I’d stuck my finger in a socket.
The hat was knitted with big, chunky wool, and was bright red. That wouldn’t have been so bad, but the final insult was the large pom-pom stuck on the top.
Ralph just looked at me, daring me to complain, a grin threatening to split his face in two.
Throwing back the rest of my coffee, and scalding my throat in the process, I tugged first the black glove on, then, catching Ralph’s eye, stuffed my other hand into the green mitten. Or at least tried. I wasn’t a small man, and by human standards I was definitely on the large side at six-foot-five with big bones, and the mitten perched on the top of my fingers, refusing to go any further.
Giving up, I shoved it into my pocket, my lips quirking up in an answering grin.
“Thanks, bro. I won’t forget your generosity,” I mock warned Ralph, clapping him around the shoulder on my way out of the door. “Laters.”
“Where’re you going?” he called after me.
I pulled open the door, the cold immediately wrapping its icy fingers around me and swirling through the bar. I glanced up at the sky, tasting the air on my tongue. It was going to snow…and soon. Best do a check on the outlying houses, make sure the roads were clear. My stomach growled, protesting the impending exertion. My eyes lit on the bakery across the street. Maybe some snacks for the road, keep the bear happy?
“Food,” I called back, turning to go.
“Not from that damn bakery—” Ralph’s curse was muffled by the door swinging shut behind me. I’d never found out exactly what the deal was with him and the bakery, but I wasn’t going to let it stop me from visiting. Connie made the meanest bear claws known to man—or bear. And the rest of her pastries weren’t half bad either.
