It was dark on the porch, so he couldn’t read her eyes. But there was light enough to see her smile. “I don’t know what I want,” she admitted. “But I do want you to help me with that letter. I don’t want to write the wrong thing.”
He could do this. He had led teams into combat. Surely keeping his hands off a woman couldn’t be harder than facing enemy fire? Even this beauty.
“Sure,” he said. He followed her into the little cabin.
It was as neat as it had been on every other occasion he had visited. He was still military enough to like that in a woman. She shrugged off her parka and hung it up. Took off her boots with a sigh.
“They were a little warm for sitting in a heated truck,” she confided.
Good to know.
They sat down at the table and she took out the first of the cards. It had a big basket of wildflowers. She examined it doubtfully. “Is it a bit girly for a guy?” she asked.
Probably. “You’re a girl. It’s fine.”
She started to scribble on the back of the little paper sack she had gotten at the drugstore. After a while she showed him what she had written.
“Too apologetic,” he said. “You should be all gushing gratitude to a rich uncle who has given you a treat. Not a hint of ‘Sorry, but I’m not interested’.”
“Oh. Good idea. I’ll make believe my old Uncle Pierre bought them for me.” She went back to work. Crossed out what she had written. Scratched away. Passed him the paper bag. There were a great many lines drawn through words and several arrows pointing to newer versions. But he figured it out.
Dear Calvin,
I was delighted to open my surprise package this afternoon and find such warm and lovely things. The boots are beautiful and cozy, and they fit perfectly. So do the gloves. I love the red color which looks great with my coat. I will be warm and dry all day when I am working. Thank you.
Your gift has made me feel a real part of the Bascom family. I can’t wait to show Heather and Patrick the fine things you have given me. I am sure they will both appreciate your thoughtfulness and kindness as much as I do, and will be grateful that you are looking out for me.
With all good wishes for your continued good health,
Amber Dupré
He read it and laughed. “Grandmother Prescott couldn’t have done better,” he assured her. “A nice balance between gratitude and stiffness. You write it in the card and we will see that Rhonda gives it to him.”
“Okay.” She bent over the card and carefully transcribed her words. Sealed the finished card in its envelope and wrote Calvin’s name on the outside. “There. That’s done. Only what do I say, if I see him?”
“Thank him the way you would thank Uncle Pierre,” he suggested.
“I am not hugging and kissing Calvin!”
Perish the thought. “Best not. But you could thank him for taking care of you.”
“Okay.” She gathered her writing stuff and put it away. “I’m glad that’s over.”
She was so sweet and pretty. And unworldly. He was being selfish. He took a breath and did his duty. “You know, Calvin Bascom is quite a catch.”
She made a face. Shook her head hard enough to make her braid sway. “He’s not a keeper,” she said as if she had thought about it. “He’d get bored with me in a week.”
“I doubt that. He could give you a good life.”
“Because he’s rich?”
For that very reason. Even if Lance used Tommy Jeff’s money, he would never be in Bascom’s financial league.
She shook her head again. “I’d be a bird in a gilded cage. Calvin doesn’t have anything I want or need.”
“And I do?”
“Oh, Lance. You have every quality a man ought to have.” Her blue eyes were big and luminous and very, very sincere.
His heart swelled. “Thank you.” He stood up. “I should go,” he said.
Her eyes shadowed. “I’m sorry I’m being so indecisive,” she said. “It still feels a bit weird to kiss someone who is not Willie.”
He took her shoulders in his hands, stared into her eyes. “Do you wish I were Willie?”
She met his eye squarely. Shook her head. “No. I just feel bad because it seems wrong to forget about him. I mean, I thought he was my one and only, and here I am – just forgetting about our love.”
“Hmm.” He continued to meet her eyes. It was surprisingly intimate. He felt an overwhelming tenderness for her. They had to get this right. He wasn’t much good at talking, but he could try. “I would say that if his name is on your tongue you haven’t forgotten him. You are just no longer in love with him.”
“That’s it. But surely love should last longer?” Her pretty mouth drooped.
He rubbed his thumbs in circles over her strong shoulders. Felt the supple muscles relax a little under his touch. “Probably would have, if you had been able to grow up together. It isn’t really so surprising that you have fallen out of love with a teenage boy.”
She sighed. Ran her hands up his arms and rested them on his biceps. His heart skipped a beat.
“I remember him with fondness, but my best memories seem to make me shake my head at his – at our – foolishness.”
“Seventeen and nineteen are a long way from twenty-three. You were a child when you loved Willie. Now you are a woman.”
“Yes.” But her soft voice was hesitant still.
“You tell me one thing, Amber.”
“What?”
“Was your Willie a jealous fellow?”
She tipped her head to one side and thought. Really thought. Wrinkled her nose. Nodded. “Yeeeah. I guess so.”
“Mean jealous, or insecure, do-you-really-love-me jealous?”
She giggled. “That last. That describes Willie perfectly. He wasn’t one of those mean guys who smacked his girl around if some idiot whistled at her. But he always watched if I was dancing with some other boy and gave him the stink eye.”
“That sounds normal. Tell me another thing. Would Willie have wanted you to put yourself in cold storage because he was dead?”
She didn’t even have to think. “Nope. He thought it was terrible that Aunt Debbie never remarried even though she was a young woman when her husband was killed.”
“And I gather you think that Aunt Debbie’s marriage to Gilbert Bascom is a good thing?”
“Oh, yes. She’s even happier than she used to be.”
“Think I could make you happy?” He held his breath.
“Yes, I do.”
He rested his forehead on hers and let the relief pump through him. They stood like that for a long time before they were interrupted by the sound of a branch breaking. The crash when it landed shattered the intimate moment. They moved apart.
After a while the noise was followed by the sound of a scuffle. They hurried to peer out the window.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Calvin~
The hero was inside that nice warm cabin doing who knew what to curvy little Amber. And he was up a tree that seemed inadequate to support his weight, while the wind did its best to toss him off his perch. To say nothing of freezing his hairy bear ass. Shift and dang. And double dang.
What the hell was it about those Dupré girls that turned the heads of sensible bears like him and Patrick? For all she was as luscious as a centerfold, Amber was tart-tongued and totally unsophisticated. She made him feel horny – not happy horny either – dirty old man horny. Not that she was any Lolita, but he was a good few years older and a lot more experienced than she was.
Unless Lance was in her panties, right this minute, she was probably a virgin. He hadn’t been interested in virgins since he was one himself. So what was her lure? Because she had one. She was leading him around by the nose. Him and Lance. A backwoods temptress who didn’t know her own power.
He was cold. Cold and miserable. And no hope of relief until dawn. His thoughts drifted. It was good that Dad now had someone to take the night shift. Two someones. But he hadn�
�t cottoned to Arruta. Was it her attitude of cold disapproval, or the fact that she was a grizzly? He had never liked grizzlies. Damned superior, I’m-bigger-than-you-are bears.
Flat-chested, plainspoken Arruta was an even more unlikely seductress than Amber. And yet she had had Freddie preening like a kid on his first date. Dad had been a widower a long time. But he was a rich man. He should be careful. Still, he had avoided lots of gold diggers in his time, there was no need for Calvin to be concerned.
Arruta had to be older than she looked if she was retired. Unless retired was code for some other form of honorable discharge. He made a note to check her employment file. Steve would be able to find out her record.
Sophia Franklin was another story. She was pretty enough to stir up the hands. Although she left him stone cold. Which was strange, given his usual preference for tall, svelte blondes. And he liked cats – usually.
Not that he should be thinking about ranch employees as sexual beings. That kind of thing was so last century. This century, the boss was supposed to remain above such things. To act civilized. But in bear, his beastly nature had the ascendant. And right now his fur was standing on end. Why?
The clouds blew away from the moon and lit up the landscape. The snow was gone and the dark mud did not reflect the moonlight well, but there was enough illumination to let him see further. He remembered his mission. Snake shifter. He was watching for trouble from a snake shifter.
And there was the sonofabitch, side-winding along the trail, staying in the shadows, but getting closer to the cabin with every shimmy. Calvin couldn’t smell the snake from so far away, but it was for sure a shape-shifting snake.
An ordinary rattler would be paralyzed by this intense winter cold. Yet this one was moving as if the temperature was not an issue, flicking its forked tongue to taste the air before deciding on its path. Moving without haste toward its objective.
Time Cal got down from this tree. He rearranged his bulk. The wind gusted hard. The branch he was sitting on cracked. He fell fifty feet to the ground. Landed on a great prickly bush. The dry thorny branches broke his fall and saved his life. But the long spikes penetrated his leathery paw pads and scratched his nose.
The fall also knocked the air out of his lungs. He took a moment to collect himself. Realized the branch had landed beneath him, cushioning his fall. Scrambled inelegantly out of the brush. In this morph, the snake was deaf, of course, but it had felt the vibrations of his fall and was turning its head from side to side trying to get a fix on the source of the disturbance.
Calvin was upwind of the bugger. He padded forward, ignoring the thorns in his paw pads, keeping his eyes on the predatory snake. He would only get one chance. One bite. If he didn’t take the rattler out with that first strike, he would be bitten. That would not end well. What he needed was a gun. But he didn’t have one, all he had was the element of surprise.
The snake vanished. Calvin sat down in utter surprise. Listened carefully. The thin cold air was not the greatest at transmitting sound waves, but Calvin caught the scrape of skin on bark. The snake was climbing a tree.
He visualized the landscape. The cabin was overhung by only one tree branch. The slender length of an aspen limb did not seem strong enough to support the hefty bulk of the rattlesnake shifter. But perhaps that was the plan? The snake could get onto the roof if the branch bent low enough, or if it broke off entirely.
Calvin changed course. In bear he could not intercept the snake. He would have to rouse Amber and Lance and hope the ensuing ruckus would frighten off the rattler. They would lose their opportunity to take him out, but priority one was Amber’s safety.
The scent of unbathed human male came out of left field, blindsiding his senses. He had run smack dab into the scent trail left by a trespasser. Blondie had a pal. Was this Dog’s scent? It was too much of a coincidence that the Double B would have two intruders on the same frosty night.
He could not both alert Amber and ambush the human male. While he deliberated, a single gunshot rang out. Thirty feet above his head, the snake tumbled out of the aspen, flailing its body uselessly. Calvin decided the gunfire would have served to warn Amber and Lance. He turned to intercept the human.
A blast of buckshot caught him in his haunches. The gunman’s fire was returned with two rounds. The cabin door opened. Holden’s voice barked an order. The door snapped shut. He heard Holden conferring with his backup. Apparently they had two bodies to contend with. One naked. One not. The naked one was dead, the other just wounded.
A quiet, amused voice spoke over his head. “We have another casualty, Holden. The weekend soldier has got himself shot in the butt.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Amber~
As soon as the noise of gunfire reached them, Lance dragged her away from the window and down to the floor. He covered her with his body.
“Lie still.” His voice was hard, cold, and pitched only for her ears.
She lay perfectly still beneath him listening. His breathing was even and mysteriously, while her pulse had kicked up, his had slowed. He was motionless and intent.
There were two more blasts and then silence. After a long wait, Lance pushed down on her head to signal she should keep it on the floor, rolled off her, and crawled to the front door on elbows and knees. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion.
He pulled himself erect against the wall and turned out the overhead light. The room dimmed, but of course she had excellent night vision. She could see his hand turning the doorknob and opening the door a crack. He was now holding her rifle, ready to fire.
Steve Holden’s voice barked. “Get inside.”
Lance slammed the door, dropped to the floor and crept back to her, still gripping the rifle. “I think Holden has backup,” he said. “But we better stay low until we get an all clear.”
Outside a female voice spoke to Steve. The words were clear. At least they were to her with every sense on high alert. “They shot someone,” she whispered to Lance.
“Sounds like it.”
Holden was giving orders. Probably into his phone. The woman spoke again. Mentioned another casualty.
“Think they shot Blondie?” she asked.
“You made someone else mad?”
“I didn’t make him mad. He was born that way.”
“True enough.” Lance sounded amused. “But I think the bad guys got Calvin.”
“Calvin?”
“He’s the only weekend soldier around here.”
“If he’s hurt, that’s not in the least bit funny!”
“Always funny when someone is goosed.” Contemptuous, masculine amusement thickened his drawl.
“All’s clear,” announced Steve. He rapped on the cabin door. “Stay inside. But you can turn the lights back on.”
Amber got to her feet and assessed her bruises. Lance had not been gentle about getting her down. “Don’t you make fun of me,” she told Lance. “Or Calvin.” Now that her terror had passed she felt twitchy and irritable.
Lance flicked the light switch. She watched him straighten his clothes and tuck his shirt back into his jeans. In seconds he looked respectable again. She was pretty sure she looked like she had been brawling.
“Are we having our first fight?” he asked.
They were. Lance remained standing four-square and alert. Protective, despite the all clear. His easy breathing and calm demeanor annoyed the hell out of her.
“I’m angry enough to bite,” she said. “But I don’t think it’s your fault that Calvin got shot.”
“It’s the adrenaline,” he told her.
“Don’t patronize me!”
“When you’ve had a fright, your body makes a ton of hormones to get you through the crisis. Mostly so you can run or fight or lift heavy objects without attending to normal bodily functions. Just lying on the floor doesn’t use them up. That’s why you get cranky and mean.” His voice was as calm as his posture.
“How come you’re not bothered?�
�� she demanded. Because he wasn’t.
He shrugged. “You don’t last long in Recon if you get in a flap when battle commences.”
“You were in Recon?” Awe temporarily lessened her wrath.
“Four years. And I save my reactions for my dreams.”
“Oh.” She looked around. “Is that why I don’t feel tired anymore? Or sleepy? I want to go climb a tree or something.”
“It’s one of the side effects. If we were in my kitchen, I’d offer you some of my special sleeping medicine.”
“I don’t like to take drugs.” Drugs had unpredictable effects on shifter physiology.
“Bourbon.”
“Oh. I have a jug of applejack that Uncle Pierre gave me. For medicinal purposes.”
“Applejack?”
“Apple brandy.”
“Does your uncle make it himself, by any chance?”
“I don’t know. I’ve always assumed so. It comes in a stoneware jar without a label. I’d guess it’s homemade.”
“And you took it across state lines?”
“Yup.”
He grinned. “Transporting moonshine is a crime. We better drink the evidence.”
She found the applejack under the sink and looked for her two smallest glasses, poured them each half a finger with hands that shook.
“Here, let me help.” His hands were steady as he hefted the heavy jug. He chuckled. “You don’t drink, and you have a half-gallon jug of hooch? Your Uncle Pierre must think you are liable to get sick unto death.” He held up the buff-colored jug to the light and admired the faint blue marks around the belly. “They make the jugs too?”
“Yeah. Are you making fun of my family?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He raised his glass. “To the health of the Duprés, young and old.”
She sipped her applejack. It was fiery and burned on the way down, and then her whole mouth filled with the delicious fragrance of apples. “Uncle Pierre isn’t a Dupré, he’s a Benoit.”
“Like your Willie?”
Bear Fate: A Billionaire Oil Bearons Romance (Bear Fursuits Book 8) Page 17
