Eventide of the Bear

by Cherise Sinclair

  “Why were you in the forest with no one to aid you?”

  He didn’t know she’d been banished. The knowledge loosened the constriction around her throat. She chose her words carefully. “After my mother died, I had no family left. And I was…unhappy. No one cared when I left for the forest.” Truth. The town of Pine Knoll would only have cared if she’d returned. “So I was alone when I got hurt.”

  He studied her for a long, uncomfortable moment. Plainly, he knew she wasn’t telling everything.

  What would he decide to do with her? As guardians of Herne’s territories, the Cosantirs followed their own unique logic, making decisions to benefit the Daonain as a whole, not one lonely shifter.

  She looked away. Ben stood with arms folded over his chest. Beside him, Ryder leaned one shoulder on the fireplace mantel. Both were listening.

  She swallowed and returned her attention to the Cosantir.

  “I will accept your explanation for now.” Calum’s measured gaze held her. “So…for risking discovery by humans, I impose this penalty: You’ll work as a bard twice a week until Lughnasadh.”

  She gaped at him as if he’d awoken her early from hibernation. Sing? For others? Until the harvest festival in August? “Um, where?”

  “Oh, here.” His gesture took in the whole room. His lips curved. “Did I forget to mention I own the bar?”

  “You?” A Cosantir was a lowly tavern owner?

  He didn’t…quite…snort. “Your singing will draw in customers during the quiet periods, which will be good for the bar. As Cosantir, I want our people to hear their history in song and story again.”

  She would have an audience? A raging river of emotion surged over her banks, stealing her voice. She could only nod.

  Laughter lit his eyes. “I silenced a bard. Delightful.” He tapped his fingers together. “Let’s plan for Thursdays from seven to nine. Do whatever suits you. On Sundays, I’d prefer traditional teaching songs and stories. We’ll encourage families to attend with their cubs and set the time to be from five to seven. Are we in agreement?”

  “Yes.” Surely, she could do better than such a weak response. She firmed her voice. “Yes, I’d enjoy that very much.”

  “Then we have an accord.” He rose, nodded at the others, and moved toward the bar with the characteristic stalk of a werecat.

  Oh my Goddess. She turned to Ben and Ryder, and from the amused look on Ryder’s dark face, she knew she was grinning wider than a tipsy flower fairy. She ignored him and told Ben as if he hadn’t already heard, “I’m going to get to sing again.”

  Ben grinned. “And so you are. Congratulations, li’l bear.”

  Chapter Eleven

  ‡

  “DO I HAVE this right?” Emma asked the empty kitchen as she studied the peeled potatoes and hunk of beef in the pan. Had she rightly remembered how her mother’s cook made pot roast? Questionable. Since the Cavanaughs didn’t associate with hired help, Emma’d never been allowed in the kitchen for longer than it took to eat her afternoon snack.

  Unfortunately, she hadn’t located any cookbooks in Ben’s home, which meant she was on her own in the kitchen. Scary thought. But she so, so wanted to do something nice for him.

  He’d been past kind and openly pleased when the Cosantir “sentenced” her to sing as her penalty.

  Wonder filled her again. The Cosantir wanted her to sing, to be a bard. If she proved herself useful, if people came to like her, maybe she could stay in Cold Creek. She’d run her paws off to be worthy of the chance.

  First, she needed to show Ben and Ryder she understood the Law of Reciprocity. Ben had given her a place to stay, fed her, cared for her. Ryder had made her a beautiful hardwood cane, dark and smooth and glossy. With her brace and the cane, she didn’t have to be carted everywhere.

  Although, being carried by Ben was more enthralling than anything she’d fantasized about as a young female. Cared for and helpless—a very heady mixture. And Ben himself… Well. His easy-going nature concealed a formidable strength of will and an intimidating self-confidence. When he focused on her, she felt like tasty prey—and very, very female.

  She gave herself a shake. Stop daydreaming.

  The potatoes and roast beef lay like corpses in the pan, and she bit her lip. She’d managed to scour the kitchen, despite frequent breaks to let the pain ease. The countertops and table sparkled; however, cleaning wasn’t enough to balance the scales.

  Surely, something as basic as roast beef couldn’t be easily ruined. Right?

  After some puzzling, she turned on the oven. Now, what was the correct temperature?

  Ryder had made a frozen pizza one night and set the oven to 425 degrees. The pizza was very thin, the roast very thick, so surely the temperature needed to be higher? She turned the dial to 450 degrees.

  She did know that a roast should bake for a long time. Their cook had put the meat into the oven when Emma had been snacking, so the beef must have cooked for around three to four hours. She’d check it in three…to be on the safe side.

  There. Done. Biting her lip, she hesitated. Maybe she should watch it?

  Staring at the oven door would be silly. She looked around, wishing for someone to talk with. The house was so empty even the dust motes seemed to echo.

  If she went outside, the flower fairies would keep her company while she planned what to sing at the tavern. The food didn’t need her help to cook, after all. And when the males and Minette returned from the construction site, she’d treat them all to a tasty hot meal. Wouldn’t they be surprised?

  *

  THREE HOURS LATER, Emma limped into the kitchen and gasped in horror at the black clouds of smoke pouring from the oven.

  “Oh, no. No, no, no.” Leaving the back door open, she turned off the oven.

  With true dismay, she heard the front door open and the stomping sound of boots.

  Ben and Ryder had returned.

  “Fuck. Did Emma set the place on fire?” she heard Ryder ask. “I told you not to tease her about her reading. Females get all gooey over those lovesick stories.”

  “I smell burnt meat,” Ben answered mildly. All too quickly, he entered the kitchen with Minette and Ryder.

  Gritting her teeth, Emma opened the oven door, already knowing she wouldn’t see the perfect, juicy, tasty meal she’d planned.

  Far from it.

  The smoking, shriveled carcass was surrounded by black lumps of potatoes. By the Mother, how could she have messed this up so badly? Been so stupid? She was every inch as worthless as her mother had always said.

  She’d spoiled good food and wasted Ben’s money.

  “Well, there’s a…” Ryder glanced at her and didn’t finish. Instead, he moved her to one side, grabbed a potholder, and pulled out the disgusting mess. After setting the pan in the sink, he turned the water on. Steam rose with an angry hiss.

  Ruined. She tried to blink back the tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “It’s not worth worrying about, darlin’.” Ben gave her loose hair a teasing tug. “We appreciate the effort, even if it didn’t turn out.”

  His kindness ruined her attempt at composure, and her eyes filled completely, blurring her vision.

  “Sit, Emma.” With strong hands, he pushed her into a kitchen chair. Crouching in front of her, he took her hands.

  “I wasted your money. I shouldn’t have tried to prepare a meal.” She hung her head, her mother’s voice in her ears. Worthless. Stupid. Awkward. Ungrateful. “I don’t know how to cook.”

  Ryder frowned. “I thought all females were taught to cook and clean.”

  Did he think her not only incompetent, but a liar as well? Her spine straightened. “We had a cook.” Her gaze dropped back to her lap, where Ben’s rugged hands still held hers. “I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen.”

  When her breathing hitched in a prelude to tears, she controlled herself. No crying. She was a grown female.

  “A cook. Interesting.” Ryder’s black eyes we
re unreadable. He walked over to the doorway and scooped up Minette. “C’mon, kitten, you can work on your puzzle while I get cleaned up.”

  After a second, she pulled her gaze from the empty doorway and realized Ben hadn’t let go of her hands. A tug not only didn’t gain her freedom, but also tightened his grip.

  After a second, he stroked his thumbs over the backs of her hands, sending a thrill of awareness through her. “Look at me, honey bear.”

  Honey bear? The tone of his voice was as affectionate as when Ryder called Minette “kitten.” It sounded as if…as if he really did like her.

  His level gaze was as open and easy to read as Ryder’s was impenetrable. He wasn’t upset. “This isn’t a world-ending event; you simply burnt dinner. We’ve all messed up and more than once.” His lips twitched. “Now, I’m an okay cook, but Ryder’s damn good, yet he’s concocted some real disasters.”

  “Really?”

  Ben considered for a moment. “I think the worst stink was when he forgot he’d put potatoes on to boil. The water evaporated and burned the shit out of the potatoes. By Herne’s hairy balls, the whole house stank for days.”

  The tightness in her chest loosened. “But I ruined dinner. Now there’s nothing to eat.”

  “That’s why the Mother gifted us with restaurants and diners. Let me take a quick shower and we’ll all go out to eat.”

  He released her and curved his hands around her waist, rising and pulling her to her feet. Rather than stepping away, he moved close enough she felt the warmth of his body from her thighs to her shoulders. “By the God, you smell good.”

  His lips brushed her hair.

  He was so tall, her eyes were level with his chest. She couldn’t help but see how his blue work shirt strained over his thick pectoral muscles. The opened top buttons revealed springy brown hair, and she wanted to unbutton more, to run her hands over him.

  How would the hair feel against her skin? Against her breasts? She blinked. By the Goddess, how inappropriate was that thought?

  Tilting her head back, she tried to ignore the strong line of his throat, the square jaw, the dent in his chin. No, Emma. She mustn’t allow herself to be so drawn to him.

  Too late. His slow smile informed her she’d revealed her desire. Oh, humiliation. Where was a deep, dark cave to hide in when a bear needed one?

  “Um. I’ll just…” Her words dried up under the hunger in his eyes.

  His voice came out a low rumble. “Since it’s a bit soon to ask you to join me in the shower, you’d best take yourself off, darlin’.”

  Shower. With him?

  Heat flamed up her spine, seared her face with a flush, and sizzled right to her core. “Ah, right.” She eased away and moved toward the stairs. With luck, her limp would conceal the way her knees were wobbling.

  He chuckled.

  Guess not.

  *

  AT ANGIE’S DINER in downtown Cold Creek, Ryder sat with his “family” as he enjoyed a massive slice of cherry pie. With scuffed, wooden floors and blue-checked tablecloths over square tables, the old-fashioned restaurant served home-style food and pies that would do any chef proud.

  He thought back to the shriveled mess of a roast Emma had pulled out of the oven. The poor bear’d been so upset, she’d nearly burst into tears. For a second, he’d thought she was putting on a Genevieve-style act, but Emma didn’t wear perfume, and he had smelled her distress. She hadn’t been playacting.

  Discomfort inched up his spine. Since Genevieve, he’d only interacted with females at the straightforward, all-about-mating Gatherings. But his avoidance might have gone on a bit long. Possibly Genevieve had a more adverse effect on his life than he’d acknowledged. Possibly he’d become a bit cynical. Or maybe just smarter. Difficult to say.

  He was coming to realize that Emma was easily hurt. Vulnerable. Hell, at least she’d tried to cook for them, which was more than Genevieve had ever done. He should’ve seen her embarrassment about not knowing how to cook and been gentler. Ben had figured it out quickly enough.

  His brother wasn’t smooth with words—not like, say, the sheriff—but Ben had a bluntly honest kind of charm. It was good his littermate had been there to soothe the little bear.

  Ryder took another bite of pie and listened to Ben filling Emma in on some of the local “celebrities.” The drunk who danced on Calum’s bartop sounded intriguing, although foolhardy, considering the Cosantir could fry him with a touch.

  As Ben told the tale of a female-hating cahir chasing an overly forward female out of his rental—both of them sans clothing—Emma laughed. A beautiful, throaty laugh.

  Ryder leaned back in his chair and studied her without cynicism, which took an appalling amount of effort.

  She was a lovely female. Under Ben’s care and the quiet evening, she’d relaxed. Her happiness gave her a glow like a late summer moon. She’d shone as brightly when singing at the tavern last night.

  Her singing…

  By the God, her exquisite contralto could seize a male by the balls and tow him after her. When she’d sung to Minette, the entire bar had quieted to hear her, and she hadn’t noticed. All her attention had been focused on Minette, and she’d kept the cub’s attention with a very skilled bard’s talents. He could still hear her.

  The two of them had looked…heartwarming…cuddling on the couch. His daughter had looked more content than he’d seen her in a long time. Emma was good for the cub. Hell, better than he was. The mite made him feel too big, too rough, and totally at a loss. Males didn’t raise cubs—especially female ones.

  Emma’s song had been about the courage it took to try something new. Well, a ready-made family was one “new” he’d never anticipated, but damned if he wouldn’t do a better job raising his cub than either his father or Ben’s had done with them.

  From what she’d told Calum, the bard had even less family than he and Ben did. He’d noticed that when singing about the kitten’s homecoming, Emma’s voice had turned wistful. Now he knew—she had no family to return to.

  Why had she been reluctant to share she was a bard? The Daonain valued bards highly. Never plentiful, the story masters had grown even scarcer over the last century. Shifters distrusted change, and bards were even more conservative, as if learning the ancient songs engraved tradition into their bones. The human encroachment drove many bards to the isolated Elder villages or to death. Few remained to teach the new generations.

  Calum’s opinion had been clear enough. He’d pounced on the little bard like a tasty mouse and had her obligated to sing before she could even think. Yeah, the Cosantir was canny, and Emma’s past was a puzzle he might enjoy piecing together.

  Smiling, Ryder returned his attention to the table.

  Finishing off his apple pie with a gigantic bite, Ben leaned back with a groan. “The third piece was a mistake.” He grinned at Minette. “I think only a crane will get me out of this chair. What do you think?”

  Minette’s eyes danced. Earlier, Ben had shown her his company’s construction equipment. Now she knew what a crane was used for.

  Ryder listened, longing to hear a little girl giggle from her, but it never came. Her smile was a delight though.

  So was Emma’s smile. Unfortunately for him, however, it was far too appealing. She made him feel as if he was standing on a rain-sodden cliff, the soil shifting beneath his paws as he watched rocks fall, knowing he’d be next. Well, he was an older and wiser cat now. Hopefully.

  As Ben scarfed down the last bite of pie, he raised his eyebrows at Ryder. “Your dessert didn’t last long, either.”

  “Says the grizzly who devoured three pieces to my one.” Ryder grinned. “It’s a wonder you aren’t even bigger than you are now.”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Emma nudge away her half-finished cheesecake—the same dessert she’d been enthusiastically eating a second ago.

  Ben frowned and pushed the plate back to Emma. “Eat, honey bear. You need the calories to heal.”

&nbs
p; “I’m not hungry any longer.” Her eyes didn’t meet Ben’s.

  Genevieve had done the same to get attention. Was always fishing for compliments. However, Emma didn’t display the posture of a female seeking admiration, but rather one trying not to be noticed.

  By the Hunter, he hadn’t been trying to hurt her feelings; he’d merely been teasing his littermate about being a big bear. But…Emma was also a bear. Fuck.

  Although Genevieve never doubted her own appeal, he’d known females who worried over their attractiveness. He’d also noticed that, whereas males fought their rivals physically, females often battled with words. Had Emma taken a few verbal slashes? Perhaps she hadn’t lived enough years to understand how alluring she was.

  Compassion slid tender fingers between his ribs. He’d inflicted the blow; he needed to fix the damage.

  “Little bear.” He waited until her eyes lifted. “Ben’s right. You need extra calories to heal your wound and to keep those lovely curves.” He ran his gaze over her, letting his appreciation show. “And you’re still underweight.”

  The flush pinkening her cheeks was damned pretty. When she glanced at his littermate, as if for support, Ryder couldn’t help but think of the many carnal ways he could unsettle her and have her clinging to Ben.

  “I like curvy females, too,” Ben stated. “Ones I can enjoy without feeling as if I’ll break them. Your size is perfect.”

  “Aye,” Ryder agreed, smothering a laugh at her wide eyes.

  As she started to eat again, his smile faded. Rather than possessing Genevieve’s arrogance, this one wasn’t at all sure of her charms. Hadn’t anyone told her how beautiful she was?

  Why was she out in the wilderness, anyway? He stopped himself before asking a question that would only disconcert her more. Belatedly, he realized she was as uncomfortable in public as Minette was. She’d chosen the chair facing the room, not something a female usually did. Like Minette, she’d needed a while to relax and join in the conversation. A loud laugh would still make her stiffen, which didn’t make sense. Bards liked people; they weren’t afraid of them.