Boarlander Bash Bear (Boarlander Bears 2)

by T. S. Joyce

  The long, syringe-like instrument on the tray taunted her. Was that what she needed to have a normal child? She didn’t think so.

  Zero percent.

  Dr. Mallory knocked and came in. “You aren’t dressed,” she said, her ruddy brows furrowed.

  “I can’t do this,” Emerson whispered.

  “What?”

  “I can’t do this,” she said louder, moving toward the door.

  “Emerson—”

  “No, you listen to me. You have these judgmental, rude thoughts about shifters, but I love Bash. I love him, and he cares about what happens to me and a child I don’t even have in my belly yet. He bought a damned car seat already. For a human, normal baby. So,” she said, voice shaky and too high-pitched, “maybe you’re the freak, and maybe you just aren’t that nice, Dr. Mallory.” She sidled the shocked looking woman and jogged down the hallway.

  “But your sample!” Dr. Mallory called after her.

  Emerson threw her an irritated wave over her shoulder. “Keep it.”

  She was angry and crying because everything was crumbling apart around her. Emerson stomped her flats against the tile floor and shoved the door to the waiting room open.

  Bash was sitting in a chair, long legs outstretched, biting his thumbnail and looking utterly sick. He didn’t want her doing this, but he’d come anyway. He stood in a rush and searched her face, worry slashing across his features.

  Without a word, she ran over to him and hugged his neck.

  “It’s okay,” he said in a soft, confused tone as he rubbed circles over her back while she soaked his black T-shirt with her tears.

  There would be no baby. Not now at least.

  A sob wrenched from her throat, and Bash picked her up and carried her out of that clinic like she weighed nothing at all. He didn’t say a word, just set her in the passenger’s seat of his truck and watched as she wiped her cheeks with her fingertips.

  “Did it hurt you?” he whispered in a broken voice.

  “Promise not to be mad at me,” she murmured.

  “I promise. What is it?”

  “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go through with it. I don’t want a baby like this anymore.”

  Bash stood up straight, and his eyes went round. “What do you mean? You don’t have a baby in your belly?”

  “This is all I’ve wanted for so long, but then I met you, and you’re nice and good to me and perfect. I don’t want some stranger’s baby. I want a family, and I’d convinced myself a baby was all I could have, but you make me want more. You make me want everything.”

  “But…I can’t give you smart babies, Emerson.”

  “Bash,” she said, cupping his cheeks. “You’re so smart. You’re so good. You will make a wonderful father someday. I like everything about you.”

  Bash leaned into her palm and ducked his gaze. “I ain’t smart like that donor. Not book smart.”

  “So? I’m not creative, and I suck at public speaking. Everyone has stuff they have to work harder at than other things, and that’s okay. To me, you’re great.”

  Bash backed out of her touch and paced the concrete the length of his truck, running his hands through his hair. “So you’re waiting on a baby.”

  “Yes.”

  He scratched his head and looked at the box in the back seat of his truck, then went back to pacing. “So I can pick you still?”

  “Yes.”

  “Emerson, I planned a baby party,” he rushed out. “I was going to take you back up to my trailer park and we’re grillin’ steaks and going swimming in the falls, and I made a Happy Baby Making Day banner, but there ain’t no baby.”

  She let off a happy laugh at how thoughtful he was. “Not yet.”

  “Woman, what does that even mean? You’re mixing up my head.”

  She huffed an emotional laugh and slid out of the truck, then hugged his waist to keep him from pacing again. “You want to date me?”

  “Date you,” he murmured. His heartbeat was pounding hard and fast against her cheek. “No, I want to mate you. Wife you. Fuck, I don’t know what it’s called. I pick you.”

  “Well, I’m picking you back.”

  Bash eased out of her hug, head hung low, shaking it back and forth, his eyes locked on hers and blazing bright moss green. “Don’t tease me with that.”

  “I’m not. I pick you, Bash. You’re mine and I’m yours, and someday when we’re good and ready, maybe we’ll have a cub of our own. One who has a good heart like you and my wild hair, who knows? All I know is I don’t want to do this alone anymore, Bash. I want to try with you.” She gave him a slow, happy smile as everything in her world felt good and right again. “I pick us.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Are you sure your alpha will be okay with me staying the night?”

  Bash stopped humming along with the radio and turned the wheel with one hand until they were off the main road and driving along a washed-out, gravel lane. “Harrison? He’ll be fine with it. It’s Clinton we gotta worry about.”

  “Well, if Clinton has a problem with it, I can go back to Saratoga tonight. I don’t mind. I really don’t want to make any of your crew uncomfortable.”

  Bash grinned and gave her a boyish shrug. “You’re mine. They have to get used to you. Besides, I’ll be there, and Clinton is no match for my bear right now, plus Audrey is a freaking tiger shifter and she gets real protective. She’s been lonely and achin’ for a girlfriend up here.”

  “Even though I’m human?”

  Bash laughed and shook his head like she was silly. “That don’t make no difference. Gia is mated to the Gray Backs’ alpha, Creed, and she is one-hundred percent human. She’s raising a brawny little cub and nobody treats her any different. Except I remember to be more gentle when I hug her so I don’t squish her like a blueberry. But other than that, she’s just one of us.”

  A smile cracked Emerson’s face. She liked the sound of that—being a part of something. Oh sure, she had a good job and a happy life, but she had been lonely since she’d moved back to Saratoga. She’d thought she would spend a lot of time with Amanda and her family, but her sister was busy with her life, and Emerson hadn’t fit back into this place like she’d hoped.

  “I’m excited but also a little scared to meet your crew. I’m scared of animals bigger than Chihuahuas.”

  Bash snorted. “You’ll have to get over that fear, and quick.” He leaned forward and gave a two fingered wave at something in the woods.

  Emerson followed his gaze and gasped. A massive silverback gorilla moved slowly through the trees, walking gracefully on powerful arms and legs. The animal watched them pass with aloof eyes that glowed a strange blue color. He nodded his chin once, then turned back into the woods.

  “That’s Kirk. I think he’s going to be my second best friend.”

  “He’s nice?” she asked in a barely audible whisper. Her danged throat had closed up tight. The animal walked slowly enough, but he held a quiet power that convinced her he could beat his way straight through this truck with little effort.

  “He used to not be. His people are fucked up, but he turned it around. Went up against the gorilla shifters knowing he was going to get killed for doing the right thing, but he did it anyway. Now he’s real good. A good man, a good shifter. Quiet, though, so don’t get your feelings hurt if he don’t talk your ear off. I hope our cub has your eyes. I mean…” Bash frowned. “Audrey said I should take it slow and keep things to myself. Remind me to tell you what I think when you’re ready for a cub, okay?”

  Kirk forgotten, Emerson dragged her gaze to Bash and giggled. “It doesn’t bother me when you say your thoughts. Why do you want our future cub to have my eyes?”

  “Because they’re all wild and gold and pretty, like sunlight comin’ through the tree branches and speckling the ground. You even have brown spots in there, like cheetah eyes. Part of me hopes no one else has noticed so those specks can just be mine. My secret part of you no one else looks close
enough to notice.”

  Stunned into silence, she opened her mouth but found no words so squeezed his hand, stalling to compose herself after such sweet sentiments. Bash was, in fact, the only one who’d ever said anything about her oddly-colored “cheetah eyes.” She had a melting pot of different ethnicities in her heritage, and they had all come together to give her a unique coloring. “I would be happy if our cubs had your eyes,” she admitted in a murmur. “The green in them is hard to look away from sometimes. They are my favorite color.” Emerson lifted his big, calloused hand and nuzzled her cheek against his knuckles before she settled it back in her lap.

  She was suddenly not scared to meet his crew anymore. Bash would keep her safe, and the prospect of meeting his friends was suddenly and truly thrilling.

  “My favorite color is orange, and tonight I’m going to show you why,” Bash promised as they pulled under a wooden sign. Boarland Mobile Park had been carved into it, but that had been crossed out with red paint and now read Missionary Impossible.

  “I have to paint over that,” he muttered. “Clinton and me used to fight somethin’ fierce over whether girls should be allowed in the trailer park or not, and after one battle, I got pissed off and climbed up there and painted that. Harrison told me I should be ashamed, but I wasn’t.”

  Emerson pursed her lips against the urge to laugh because Bash was frowning so seriously right now, but she got it. Missionary position impossible. Clever bear.

  The trailer park was a disaster. There were six trailers lined up lengthways, three on either side of a pothole-riddled gravel road, and on the end, facing the entrance sign, was a bigger singlewide with cream paint and dark shutters. It had an appealing red door and a new, sprawling deck out front. “I love red doors,” she said.

  “That’s ten-ten, and Beaston says it’s full of magic.”

  Chills blasted up Emerson’s arms. “Magic how?”

  “I don’t know exactly, but if Beaston says something’s true, it is. Audrey moved her stuff out of it and into Harrison’s trailer yesterday,” Bash said, pointing to the first mobile home on the right. “I want you to stay the night with me, but Audrey said, ‘Slow down, Bash Bear,’ and she’s smart, so I’ll set you up in ten-ten for the night. Plus, if it has magic, I want that good mojo on you.”

  “Are you superstitious?” she asked through a grin.

  “Not superstitious. Just a little-stitious.”

  God, she loved the way he thought and said things. He was so funny and sincere. And amazing. Definitely amazing.

  All the trailers looked run down except for the one Bash slowed in front of. Middle on the left, it stuck out with its squares of new, bright green sod lined over the lawn, fresh mulch, and flowers and shrubbery on either side of a gorgeous deck with two rocking chairs. A pair of bright pink flamingos had been stuck into the yard, and a yellow sprinkler was gyrating slowly back and forth, watering the new grass. The trailer itself looked like the others. Singlewide, chipped white paint, crooked shutters, dilapidated roof, but at least it wasn’t as destroyed as the one on the end on the right.

  That one looked like a tornado had demolished half of it, and a blue tarp had been thrown haphazardly over a gaping hole where an entire wall was missing.

  “What happened to that one?”

  “Clinton,” Bash said, but didn’t offer any further explanation so she dragged her attention back to the pretty yard as Bash pulled between two trailers and parked his truck under a rusty metal carport.

  Bash cut the engine and told her, “Wait there, so I can be a gentleman.” He strode around the front of the truck and opened her door, and lands! Her heart was too big for her chest with how thoughtful he was being.

  “So, since you don’t have a baby in you, I don’t have to be as gentle, right?”

  “Uh, I guess?”

  “Good, get on my back koala-style so your shoes don’t get muddy, and I’ll give you a tour of Bash Mansion.”

  Well, thank goodness she’d changed out of her dress and into cutoff shorts when he’d taken her by the duplex to pack an overnight bag. “This pretty one is yours?” she asked, scrambling onto his back.

  “Sure is.” Bash held the back of her knee at his hip with one hand and shut the door with the other. He grabbed her pink duffle bag out of the bed of his truck and strode toward the front of his trailer. “This place is a shithole, but Harrison finally made the call to clean this place up so it will attract mates. I ordered a bunch of supplies from down in Saratoga, but they haven’t been delivered yet. I wanted to make sure my place was pretty for you, though. Look,” he said, nodding with his chin toward the bright pink knock-out roses beside the porch. “Emerson roses.”

  “You named them for me?”

  “Of course. They ain’t as pretty, but close.”

  She held on around his shoulders tighter, buried her face between his shoulder blades, and smiled against his T-shirt. “Wait,” she said, realizing something. “Is that where you got the flowers you gave me?”

  “My stepdad gives my mom flowers every Monday. She stays with him because he makes her happy. I’m gonna give you flowers, but on Fridays, because that’s when I thought you were gonna get a baby put in you.” He climbed the porch stairs with her and settled her on her feet at the top, then pointed to the pair of rocking chairs. “Some of the women in the Ashe Crew make home decorations and sell them at the flea market and online. They’re real good, real high quality at their work, so I bought these yesterday.”

  On closer inspection, the rocking chairs were painted an antique gray color and had tough, white canvas fabric on the seats and backs with little cartoon owls and bears. They were both beautiful pieces, and Bash had put a hardy outdoor rug down in a matching gray color.

  “I don’t know shit about decorating, but Riley came over from Asheland Mobile Park and helped me. She’s good at decorating stuff. She said this porch would make a mate happy.”

  There were flower pots hanging from hooks on the rails of the porch, and as Emerson ran her fingertips across the arm of one of the gorgeous rocking chairs, she smiled up at Bash. “I like it very much.”

  Bash’s lips ticked up, then fell. “I know I don’t have a lot to offer a lady like you. I know this place looks like a dump,” he murmured, jerking his head toward the rest of the park. “But we’re right in the beginning of big changes. Harrison is gonna be the alpha I always knew he could be. If you give me time, I’ll make this a good place for you. And for cubs. Swing sets, stroller paths, a playroom, sandboxes, the works. I have big plans. It’ll just take some time. If I would’ve met you a few months from now, this place wouldn’t be so embarrassing.”

  “You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” Emerson said, gripping his hands and allowing him to see the honesty in her eyes.

  “But your house is fancy and clean.”

  “Yeah, but Bash”—she turned and gestured to the pine tree mountains that surrounded them—“my duplex has nothing on this view.”

  He canted his head and brushed a knuckle down her cheek, soft as a butterfly kiss. “I like the way you say things. You don’t lie. You don’t say things you don’t mean. I can tell.” His finger trailed fire down her neck, and then he traced her collarbone exposed under the thin straps of her purple tank top.

  She blew a shaky breath and closed her eyes. His touch felt so overwhelmingly good. Bash pressed his lips against her neck, and she bowed against him. “I won’t bite you,” he whispered, a moment before he grazed his teeth gently across her sensitive skin.

  Oh how her body was reacting to his kiss. Knees knocking, heart pounding, hands tingling, every nerve in her body firing, and her panties were already soaking wet from the drive from Saratoga when he’d rested his hand on her thigh, rubbing slow circles against her skin.

  “Oh, Bash,” she whispered as he sucked on her neck and guided her backward, his hand on her waist.

  A soft rumble emanated from him, but she wasn’t scared. His inner animal sounded content, not
angry. “I like when you say my name like that, all quiet and needy,” he murmured against her neck as he pushed the unpainted door of his trailer open.

  Inside, Bash closed the door and pressed his lips to hers, pushed his tongue against hers. Emerson went completely pliable in his capable hands. She slipped her fingertips under the hem of his shirt and touched the warm skin right above his hip bones.

  Bash jerked his pelvis and chuckled into her mouth. With a sexy smack of his lips, he eased away and said, “That tickled. If you’re going to touch me, woman, mean it.” Eyes locked on hers, he pulled his shirt slowly over his head, his eight-pack rippling and flexing with his movement. Emerson gave a slow, stunned blink at his Adonis body, but a puckered, uneven mark on his shoulder drew her attention. She reached for it, hesitated inches away, then pressed the pad of her fingertip to the scar. Bash searched her face with a troubled look but didn’t flinch away.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  His Adam’s apple dipped low in his throat as he swallowed hard. Softly, Bash answered, “Dragon’s fire.”

  Sadness pooled in his eyes now and something more. Disappointment, perhaps. Slowly, she turned him and gasped when she saw his back. Bash had been badly burned.

  “I don’t like people seeing it. Especially not Harrison.”

  “Why not?” she asked, pressing her palms against his hot skin.

  “Because I got it trying to save him.”

  “Trying to save him,” she whispered. Harrison was still alive, so Bash had succeeded.

  “I got it saving him,” he corrected himself. “I don’t want him to feel bad, so I keep it hidden. And I don’t like the way it looks.”

  Emerson’s eyes burned, and she blinked hard. She couldn’t even imagine the pain he’d been in to heal from burns like these. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his scarred skin. “I like the way it looks, but I understand. I don’t like things about my body either. You don’t have to worry about what I think, though, Bash. You are perfect. You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, and I’m the luckiest that you picked me.”