Bear Fate: A Billionaire Oil Bearons Romance (Bear Fursuits Book 8)

by Isadora Montrose

  Lance banged on the front door. He called loudly. “Amber, Amber.”

  He envied Amber her sound sleep. But she was in danger if the bear came in while she was in bed. He tried the knob. It turned easily in his hand and he walked into the cabin.

  It was warm. And just inside the back door, struggling to put on clothes, was a completely naked Amber Dupré. He stood there with his mouth open, drinking in the manifold beauties of this lovely young woman. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t noticed that she was a Venus.

  Her sister Heather had recently married the boss’ cousin Patrick and Heather and Amber were identical twins. Patrick and Heather had settled in Washington State, where the Duprés were from. But Amber had moved out to Colorado to work on the Bascom Quarter Horse Stud as a stable hand. Weird choice. But not his business.

  Amber’s blue eyes were round with shock at his unannounced entrance.

  “There was a bear.” Lance stammered.

  She clutched her clothes tightly to her body. But there was still a lot of pink and white skin to make his cock spring to life as if the foolish thing hadn’t been playing possum for seven years. Apparently it had been waiting for him to turn into a Peeping Tom.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. He strode briskly to the side window and listened with his back to her. He couldn’t see anything with the lights on, but he was sure he would hear a bear if it was knocking over garbage cans or trying to get in at either door. At least his back was now to Amber.

  “I’m decent,” she whispered. “If there was a bear, I think it must be gone.” She didn’t sound scared, which was quite something. In fact, she sounded amused.

  He turned around and stared at her. She had tucked her magnificent bosom inside a plaid work shirt and done up the snaps. But without a bra, her boobs were straining at the snaps. Her jeans were done up. And as usual, they encased the loveliest, roundest, ripest ass in Colorado. Miss Dupré was without doubt one of the most delectable women he’d ever met.

  “I beg your pardon for intruding,” he apologized. “I tried knocking but you didn’t answer.” He knew his face was red. At least the parts of it that could still blush.

  *Jack Enright of Bear Necessities

  CHAPTER TWO

  Amber~

  She couldn’t believe that she had managed to turn completely back into a person before Lance Prescott had come into the cabin. She was freezing. Even in bear, that dunk in ice water had pretty much given her hypothermia. Dressed only in her damp skin, jeans and shirt, she was shivering and cold to her bones.

  “I’m going to make coffee,” she said. “Do you want some?” She had better find out just what he’d seen. Laura Bascom, who was both her boss and a cousin of her brother-in-law Patrick, had warned her against taking bear in Colorado.

  “You’re liable to get shot,” Laura had said flatly. “Folks around here don’t understand about shifters. Be careful. You’re not on Yakima Ridge.”

  Despite the warning, restlessness and loneliness had driven her outdoors to frolic like a child – or a foolish bear shifter. And right on cue, here was Lance with his shotgun.

  “Forgive me for bursting in on you,” Lance continued. Red lay like stripes of paint on his cheekbones. For once he was not wearing his eye patch and the scarred lid of his left eye and the craters on that side of his face were on view. “I should check and make sure the bear has gone.”

  “I’ve got good hearing.” Amber tried not to smile. “If there is still a bear outside, I’m sure I would hear it.” She could hardly tell him that the bear he was worried about was standing right in front of him. She liked Lance, and she didn’t want to see his cheerful friendship vanish when he discovered she was one of the monsters.

  She busied herself filling the kettle and scooping coffee into the silly French press that was her only means of making coffee. This little cabin had never been designed for someone to live in full-time. It had a good wood stove so it was warm enough, and Rosa had told her she could cook on it. Not that she had figured that out yet. But her whole kitchen consisted of one short counter with a small sink and a kettle. She had added a microwave, and a single burner hot plate, and was thinking of getting a toaster oven.

  “What do you take in your coffee?” Amber asked.

  Lance seemed startled to be asked. “Uh, nothing,” he said. “Black.”

  “Coming right up,” she said. She turned around and leaned on the counter. “How did you happen to see a bear getting into my cabin at four o’clock in the morning?”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” he said shortly.

  Amber nodded. She knew better than to ask a veteran why he couldn’t sleep. She didn’t know how long it had been since Lance had been discharged from the military, but the bad dreams could last a lifetime. Battle fatigue, they used to call it. Before that it was shell shock. Now they called it Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. What it came to was a serious disruption to emotional and mental stability.

  Back on Yakima Ridge, it was expected that men would do their military service before they found themselves a career, married, and had children. She had lots of cousins who had come back injured in heart and body, and a great many who hadn’t come back at all. So while she admired Lance, and pitied anyone with nightmares, she knew better than to go stirring up unpleasant memories with an interrogation.

  Amber pushed down the plunger. And waited. When she thought the coffee grounds had had a chance to settle, she poured two mugs and added a splash of cream to her own. She walked past her unmade bed to get to the small table and chairs beside the window.

  Lance propped his shotgun up against the wall, as if he was surprised it was still in his hand, pulled out a chair and sat down straddling it with his hands resting on the back. He sat like a soldier with an upright and solid bearing that made her feel safe and at home.

  “How come you’re up yourself?” he asked.

  “It’s almost time for morning stables,” she lied.

  “Good coffee,” he said after his first sip. “Thank you.”

  “Would you like some breakfast? I don’t have a lot, but I can warm up some burritos—if you don’t mind burritos for breakfast.”

  He laughed. “I guess you’ve not fed a lot of former soldiers.”

  It was her turn to laugh. “Lots and lots. That pretty much describes every man I know back home. I take it that means burritos are fine?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Lance~

  It was a good breakfast. The best breakfast he’d had in years. He never felt much like eating in the mornings, especially after a nightmare. He usually made do with coffee. Which was probably not a good thing when you had to work hard all day. He loved his job in the stables, but there was no question that Quarter Horses needed a fair amount of muscle to control, and that wrestling 300-pound bales of hay was not for weaklings. Yet most mornings he could not face food.

  But he enjoyed the burrito Amber set in front of him. It was nearly as good as the ones Rosa Diego made. Rosa was the ranch cook and she would never have put a store-bought tortilla on her table as Amber had done. But he had eaten worse — and often. Sitting at Amber’s tiny table, eating food she had made was a treat. She was easy on the eyes and easy to talk to. Even after being embarrassed by his intrusion, her blue eyes were twinkling and she had a smile for him.

  He had known that he was attracted to the stable’s newest hire, but not how much. Amber didn’t have any trouble with the physical aspects of the job. She was a big girl, round with muscle, and had the sweetest disposition of any girl he had ever met. Plainly they made them plenty sweet in Washington State. However, he had done nothing about his attraction. First off, she sort of worked for him — he didn’t have a title, but he was in effect the stud foreman’s second in command — and he gave her orders. Secondly, there was no reason in the world for a pretty girl to want anything to do with an ugly bastard like him.

  “Is that going to hold you until lunch?” she asked when he had polished off his burrito.
“There are more in the fridge.” She pointed to the miniature bar fridge under her counter.

  “I could eat another one,” he admitted.

  She looked pleased and jumped up. “Two minutes.” She stuck one in the microwave. “Should I make more coffee?”

  He laughed. “That pot is pretty small.”

  “Came with the cabin. I have to save up to buy a proper coffee maker.”

  He didn’t comment. Amber’s sister was married to a billionaire. It made no sense that she was working in the stables. Just as it made no sense that she lived in a one-room cabin and had to save up for ordinary appliances. He reminded himself that it was none of his business and he had his own issues about other people’s money. He ate his second burrito and had another mug of coffee. They chatted about the mares who were ready to foal.

  “I don’t know if I’ll be much use at a birth — but I sure am looking forward to helping out at one.” She grinned at him and finished her coffee.

  He ate the last bite of his burrito regretfully. “That was good,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “You are most welcome.” She cleared their plates and put them in her tiny sink.

  “There’s a dance on Saturday night at the bar in Success. Would you like to go?” He was almost as surprised as Amber at the words that came out of his mouth.

  She blushed, but nodded. “I would.”

  “It’s Valentine’s Day,” he said. “Folks usually dress up a bit when there’s an excuse.”

  “Good jeans dressing up, or something fancy?” She looked a little worried.

  “Good jeans,” he assured her. “It’s still Hank’s with beer in pitchers, not fancy at all.”

  The rosy glow was still in her cheeks. Her smile returned. “I haven’t been anywhere since I came out here. I’d like that fine.”

  He stood up and pushed his chair back in. “It’s a date.” And by God it was. Ugly, scarred, one-eyed Lance Prescott had a date with the prettiest girl in Colorado.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Amber~

  She could hardly wait to tell Heather that she had a date. She hadn’t felt much like dating since her sister had gotten pregnant and run off to Portland.* Not that there were a lot of men for her to date back in French Town where most of the young men were close kin.

  But after rich, arrogant Patrick Bascom had knocked up Heather and then abandoned her*, Amber had gone totally off men. Of course those Neanderthals in French Town had assumed that because Heather Dupré had a bun in the oven, her sister was going to spread her legs for anyone who asked. As if.

  But Lance Prescott was nothing like Patrick Bascom. Or like those guys in French Town. He was a working Joe — just as she was a working girl. He always spoke respectfully to the other hands no matter what he was asking them to do, or redo.

  And in her first few weeks, she had been asked to redo plenty. It had taken her a good fortnight to find her feet in the stables. You could take the measure of a man by how he treated other people. And Lance had never made her feel foolish because she had done a foolish thing.

  Not like Patrick who made her feel small every time he opened his mouth. Patrick and Heather might be married now. They might have a houseful of babies on the way. But Amber could not forget that Patrick Bascom thought the Dupré girls were gold diggers*.

  Heather acted like she was happy. But Amber thought she was putting a good face on her marriage because of those babies. She herself had the gravest of doubts about the marriage and about Patrick. The less she took from her brother-in-law the happier she would be.

  Once she had thought she could be happy on the Ridge, but ever since high school graduation she and Heather had wanted to leave French Town. Although they had never been able to save up enough to do so. She had let Patrick organize this job on the Bascom ranch for her, but that was all she planned to accept from him. He could keep his damned money. She was not for sale.

  This job paid better than working at Miller’s Hardware, but she did not want to spend money on special clothes for her date with Lance. Even though she wanted to look nicer than she did in her work clothes.

  The extreme Colorado winter weather meant that she’d already had to buy some warmer clothes. The money had had to come out of her savings at first, and she hadn’t liked spending money that she had set aside for a rainy day. But it was better than taking charity from Patrick.

  Her last two paychecks had been deposited straight into her bank account, and things were looking up. But just because she had a date, didn’t mean she planned to splurge. She already had a pair of good jeans. And she was sure she could find a blouse to go with it. Or maybe a sweater.

  February in Colorado was going to be colder than a well digger’s ass. Not that she had any intention of uttering any such unladylike description. But it got way colder in Colorado than it ever did in Washington State.

  Her cousin Jenna, who was married to Patrick’s twin brother, Zeke**, had made her a red sweater a couple of Christmases back. Amber pulled it out and looked it over anxiously. There were no moth holes. The elbows hadn’t worn through. And it wasn’t pilled. If she didn’t put a turtleneck underneath it, it would do for Valentine’s Day. She found a quiet gray and white print neckerchief to tone it down a bit and fill in the neckline decently.

  Last Christmas, Heather had insisted on giving her a pair of fancy ostrich skin boots. She and her sister had shared everything their whole lives. And she knew that Heather felt it was normal to gift her twin with beautiful new things. But it felt wrong to take Patrick’s money even indirectly.

  She would wear those expensive, hand-tooled boots to the dance. But they were Heather’s and would go right back to her the next time she saw her twin. They were far too special to wear in the barn or the stables. But they would dress up her best jeans and that red sweater just fine.

  *Bear Sin

  **Bear Skin

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Lance~

  He was such an idiot. He knew it the second he pulled up in front of her log cabin. Amber came out and stood hesitantly on the narrow porch in her puffy gray-blue parka. She smiled and waved. Her long legs were encased in dark blue jeans and she was wearing a pair of pale gray ostrich-skin boots that would have set him back three months’ pay.

  He got out of his truck. “Hey. You ready to go?”

  “Hello.” She eyed the snow banks warily. Probably wondering if those fancy boots would be ruined if they got wet. He had no qualms about those particular boots. She didn’t wear them to work. But it was a reminder that they were on different sides of the Bascom bucks.

  “I can carry you. That way your boots will stay dry.”

  She looked relieved and he got to fill his arms with lovely, luscious Amber Dupré. She didn’t relax until she was sitting in his old blue truck.

  “Thank you.” Her words came out huskily and she coughed once. She didn’t look as eager as she had been when they parted in the tack room after evening stables.

  He should have realized that the oil money Bascoms didn’t go and drink cheap beer and dance in a rundown bar. It was too late to change his mind. He just hoped she remembered to go home with the one that brought her.

  “We should be there in about twenty minutes.”

  “Good.” She sat quietly as he drove off the Double B land.

  He wasn’t a talkative man anymore. But he figured he shouldn’t be sitting silent as an old stump if he wanted Amber to enjoy herself. It was just that he couldn’t think of anything to say while his heart was beating a mile a minute and he was wondering if he was going to get to see her with her clothes off again.

  In the last few days, he had had some very pleasant fantasies all based around that glimpse he’d had of her lovely breasts and pretty thighs. Even so, he couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

  But his foolish pecker didn’t seem to care. After spending seven years doing a good imitation of a broken hose, it had decided that it would make up for lost time. He could only hope
that he would be able to dance with a loaded pistol in his jeans.

  “It purely takes my breath away,” she said when they were on the county road. “How far you can see down the road – all the way to the horizon. Back home, you’re lucky if you can see fifty feet. Does this road ever stop?”

  Lance chuckled. “You’ll get used to the big open plains after a while. It’s what I like about Colorado. It always feels like there’s plenty of room to breathe.”

  “I never had any trouble breathing back home. But I never saw so much sunshine and blue sky in the wintertime in my whole life. Now if only it wasn’t so blamed cold.”

  “It is cold in Colorado.” Which was such an obvious thing to say that she would take him for a fool. He tried again. “I hope you like to dance. There’ll be a band, and everyone will get up.”

  “I love to dance. We’re big on dancing in French Town.” Her animation had returned, and she turned her head towards him.

  Thank goodness she had his unscarred right cheek to look at. “Is French Town where you’re from?”

  “Yeah. There’s not a lot to do up in the mountains once the sun goes down. We mostly make our own fun. Most weekends there’s a dance at the community center. There’s always something happening that we need to celebrate. Any excuse will do really.”

  “It’s mostly line dancing here in Colorado.”

  “I’ve never line danced,” she confessed. “You’ll have to take me by the hand and lead me.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Lance~

  Now there was the best offer he’d had this century. Before too long he was parking outside the long, low building that was Hank’s Bar and Grill. The parking lot had been scraped clean, but there were still icy patches, and snow was starting to fall. Even though the lot was full of pickups he got a place right by the door.

  Amber was looking out of her window. He didn’t think she was worried about the distance to the ground. Those legs of hers were so long they must’ve started around her armpits. He figured it was those boots again. Well, now, wasn’t that just what he wanted — another chance at a sweet armful of soft and fragrant Amber?