by Vonnie Davis
Her blue-eyed gaze rose to meet his. “That’s me he’s talking about, but only part of that report is true. I did not defect. I am not a terrorist. What I’ve done wrong, I’ve done to protect my life, not to benefit in any financial way or to harm France’s national security.”
She’s ours. Scots protect what’s theirs.
Oh hell, his bear wouldna have any rest if he didna do something to keep her safe. Surprisingly, Ronan was of the same mind. There was a deep honesty in her expression and in her spunky nature. To say nothing of this grown Anisa being the same young woman he’d fallen so hard for seven years ago. He rested his elbows on the bar. “Do I have to worry about you putting a bullet in me head while I sleep?”
She gasped. “No. Of course not!”
“Is there any tracking gear on ye? In yer flight suit, yer helmet, yer boots? Do ye have a phone or laptop? Any way they can track where ye are? What about yer badge? Will ye ever need these things again? Can I throw them away somewhere?”
“The boots are the only footwear I have with me, but everything else in my uniform can go. I left my cellphone and laptop behind. What computer files I copied, I put on new portable drives I bought.” Her azure eyes searched his face. “Why are you helping me?”
“Because I don’t want the French government or the CIA—whatever the fook they’ve got to do with this—stomping over me property. Once I do what I have to do, we’re going to talk and ye’re going to tell me the feckin’ truth about what ye’ve been up to. With this being on the news, I better report in at home and let everyone know I’m okay. Me mum will have all kinds of wild horror stories fabricated in her mind.”
He went over to the old short-wave radio and turned it on, moving the dials until the squealing and cracking stopped. He gave his call numbers and those of the station at the lodge.
“Ronan?” A female’s voice came over the speaker. “Are ye all right, son? I’ve been so worried with all the news, so I have.”
“Yes, Mum, I’m fine. We’re supposed to get a big snowstorm the next few days and I thought I better check in before the snow gets so heavy, the radio waves willna get through. Did Kenzie deliver yet? She’s been on me mind.”
“Nay, but she’s ready. Getting bigger every day. Ronan, did ye see or hear an airplane crash? It’s some kind of terrorist. A female. Can ye imagine?”
“Nay, I saw no airplane. I’m fine.” The static increased. “Is me favorite lassie about? Let me talk to her before I turn this thing off and bring in more firewood.” After teasing Colleen for a couple minutes, he signed off. “I dinna ken who’s more excited about this bairn coming. The parents or the big sister. Colleen has even picked out the name for the wee bairn. Well, I’ve your things to dispose of.”
He reached for his heavy coat and hat, grabbed the kettle holding her socks and flight suit, and threw in her badge and helmet. “Do ye have anything else that might contain a GPS chip? What about that black contraption ye were flying?”
“I went over every inch of it—inside and out—to locate and remove all radar and GPS detectors. Since I’d designed where they were to go, I knew where most were. I did find three more someone else had inserted. Besides, drones are made to fly under radar. That’s part of the beauty of their utility.”
She glanced at the items in the pan. “What are you going to do with these things? Just tossing them in the woods somewhere won’t do the trick. They’ll have to be destroyed and buried deep.” She moved to stand in front of him, her eyes huge and full of concern. “I didn’t mean to bring trouble to you. I was just trying to escape what I knew was death or a torturous lifetime in jail for me.”
“Hold the door open so I can carry this stuff out. Throw another log on the fire. Instead of using the dryer, hang your clothes on hangers once they’re washed. If a storm blows in, we’ll need all the petrol I’ve brought for the generator.”
He’d rather be bringing in firewood, but the need to hide anything that might point to Anisa’s identity or location had to be destroyed first. As soon as he reached the area where he’d dumped the first pan of bog water, he emptied the pan again to make it lighter.
Behind the cabin was a supply shed. Flashlight in hand, he unlocked it and searched the shelves fer containers of what he needed. He grabbed two liter-sized containers of sodium hydroxide and hydrofluoric acid and carried them back to where he’d set the tub. He placed them in the pot with her helmet and other items, and strode with determination for the bog.
Just his damn luck. A woman drops from the sky and she’s a defector or a spy or someone who’s gone against her government in some way. A woman he’d once cared for. He’d come up to his private cabin for a week of unwinding, of letting his bear run. To give his other half a treat of total freedom. What did he get? This feckin’ mess.
Ronan kneeled along the bog’s edge, wishing he’d worn jeans as he mixed the two acids in the pot, but not before pulling a knife from his jacket pocket to cut out the lining of Anisa’s helmet. He found a couple of weird-looking wired apparatuses. They were easy to snap apart in the freezing temperatures. Once the acids hit the fabric of her flight suit and badge, he stirred with thick branches that soon disappeared, too. Her helmet would be a challenge.
Shift. Let me tear it to pieces so the acids work quicker.
Ronan was too cold to argue. Shifting in his clothes would only rip them to bits, so he quickly undressed and gave his bear full rein to change shape. A shimmer of iridescent transposing cosmic waves, a whirlwind of mind and soul continuum, and he shifted from man to bear.
Once Anisa’s things were dissolved, the bear found a large rock to roll against the decaying pan until it fell in the bog. He grabbed a broken tree limb and pushed it farther into the thick muddy mixture. In a couple of minutes, everything was immersed.
We need to hide we were here. Ronan’s bear dragged a few twigs and leaves to where they’d worked. He also tossed a few stones around.
Good job. Let’s shift back so I can carry in wood fer a few days. Cosmic waves shimmered again. Bones cracked as they changed shape. The bear’s snout flattened. His ears moved and his fur retracted. Naked, on his hands and knees, Ronan gasped, as his human-sized heart worked to a beat fer his size, and winced as body systems began functioning to keep a human alive. Although the mutation took less than a minute, a time of discomfort existed with the acute awareness of his newly shifted being. And damn he was cold.
Ronan quickly dressed and ran for the woodpile on the side of the cabin. He filled one side of the porch with chopped wood before he carried an armful inside. He expected to find Anisa asleep on the sofa, but gentle snoring came from his big comfy chair. She had a blanket he kept across the back of the sofa wrapped around her. Evidently, she’d been waiting up for him to return and fell asleep.
Before bringing in more wood and waking her in the process, he’d better make her a warm spot on the sofa. Gathering a pillow and some blankets from a closet, he quickly fixed her a bed. He scooped her warm body into his arms and murmured words of security to her when she stirred. Once he laid her on the sofa, he covered her. She moaned about everyone watching her and then drifted back into a deep slumber.
Ronan stepped outside. “Brother Bear, once I bring in more wood, have a nice glass of whisky, and some of those honey pecan buns Mum made, I’m taking a shower to warm up. I’m frozen to me bones. Look, I ken ye want her in our lives, but we ken nothing about who the lass has turned into these last seven years. Besides, what’s wrong with just the two of us? Ye ken, like ’tis always been.
“Women who are interested in me scare me off fer some reason. I’d sooner be alone, ye ken that.” He filled his arms with more wood.
Ye lie. ’Tis fear that keeps ye alone.
“Not now. Dammit, I’m feckin’ tired.”
Ye’re afraid ye might die like yer da, and yer bairns would grow up without a da just like ye had to.
“I’ll not discuss this with ye.” Ronan had been eight when his fat
her died. He’d not wish that heartbreaking experience on any child of his. His da had been his hero, his teacher of all things Scottish, and his emotional security. Nay, he’d have no bairns, lest they’d have to endure the heartache he had.
He didna want a child of his to cry himself to sleep at night after hearing his classmates talking about their das at school, as he’d done. Or watch the boys play with their das. Ronan’s loss had created a crater that would never be filled, even though for months he’d imagined he heard his da talk to him when he was in a bad way. “Buckle up, son, ye’re a Matheson. Always be proud.”
He made more trips to the woodpile and carried in six more armfuls before his energy ran out. After removing his boots, he tiptoed into his room for his carry-on to take into the bathroom. His guest never moved. Once he’d taken a quick hot shower, Ronan rummaged through his suitcase for a pair of silk sleep pants. Something was tucked into an exterior zippered pocket he didna recall putting there. He smiled. Little Colleen probably put one of her surprises in there fer her uncle Ronan. He’d been helping her with her homework of late and they were growing closer. Even he could handle first-grade math and history.
Aye, he’d be the best uncle he could to all the nieces and nephews that came along. They would be his family. A pang of loneliness accompanied his private contemplation.
While he slipped into his sleep pants and combed his long hair, his gaze kept shifting to the puffed-out pocket of his luggage. Curiosity got the better of him. What did Colleen stick in there? One of her big boxes of crayons? He snorted and opened the zipper. It was a box wrapped in pink, which sparked his interest even more.
Then he saw the envelope. A pink envelope with his name written in a flowery dark pink handwriting. He didna feel so good about this. Only one person he kent had a passion fer pink—Effie, the American witch. Granted, he loved the old broad—rascal and mayhem maker that she was—but she had a mysterious or magical way of making things happen, like his unexpected guest. He tore the envelope open and jiggled out the card decorated with a bear holding a heart. “Holy shite.” What was the horny hippie planning now?
“Ronan, you handsome devil, has she arrived yet? I love that you met her years ago in Paris, the city of love. She’s in big trouble, which is why we’ve sent her to you. Believe whatever she tells you. She’s honest, but hurt by all that’s been done to her. You are a special man who does so much for others. Allow her to do things for you. I thought maybe you might need these. Peace and love, Effie.”
He curled his hands into fists and rested them on the edge of the sink. He kent it. He just kent she had something to do with Anisa coming to him after all these years. Such a rare happenstance could only happen in Effie’s witchy realm.
Almost afraid of what he’d find in a package from her, he ripped away the paper to discover a box of glow-in-the-dark condoms. Blimey, the American was crazy as a bloody loon. He didna ken whether to laugh or get pissed. He set the box on a shelf in the laundry closet. Fat chance they’d ever get used.
He drank his single-malt whisky, ate two honey buns, and tried his best to recall every nuance of the appearance of the long-haired lass in Paris. He recalled her serious eyes the few times she glanced up from reading to order another espresso at Gaston’s café. Now those blue eyes and her sweet sincerity were here in his cabin. Bloody hell.
After returning his suitcase to his room, he added more wood to the fire. His guest on the sofa never stirred. He imagined he’d soon be in the same condition. Sliding under his covers, he slipped into a coma of exhaustion…and dreamed of dancing glow-in-the-dark rubbers, wearing kilts.
In the pink and gray spark of dawn, his mattress shifted, and a warm body nudged him. “Ronan. Ronan…” She shook his biceps.
Sleep-hazed and unsure this was real and not a dream, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “Mmm? What is it?” His eyes slid open to face a Beretta pistol. “Bloody hell! Is this how ye repay a man fer his hospitality?”
“What?” She glanced at her gun and slipped it in the back of her Lycra pants. “Sorry. I think a bear was in the main room. I didn’t want to shoot him and make a bloody mess on your floor. Besides, being shot by my pistol would only have pissed him off unless I got several rapid shots into him.”
She was gonna shoot me!
Ronan’s eyes snapped open. “What? Did ye say ‘bear’?”
She glanced over her shoulder toward the entrance to the main room and nodded. “Yes, a bear!” Her eyes were so bright blue, even in the dimness of the cabin, he could have plunged into their depths. “Tell me what happened.” Her warmth next to his skin as she leaned over him, her hands on either side of his head, increased his drowsiness. Maybe he could convince her to sleep the rest of the night with him. Fer her own safety. Would that theory work? A warm, curvy woman lying in his arms would be a verra delightful way to slip back into slumber.
“Ronan, open your eyes. I’m talking to you. I was sleeping and the bear growled. Softly at first. When I didn’t respond, because I thought I was having another nightmare, he nudged my shoulder. I opened my eyes. He leaned over, looked me straight in the eye, and made a funny popping sound with his jaws before he patted my cheeks. I nearly peed your sofa. I yanked my pistol out from my waist holster, aimed it at him, and he scurried in here. Didn’t you hear him? Would a bear know how to open a window to climb outside?” She glanced around the bedroom alcove as if the creature might be hiding in a corner somewhere. “Do you have a rifle big enough to take down a bear?”
His one hand slid into the soft curls at the back of her head and pressed it to his shoulder. “Ye’ve had a long, stressful day. When I picked ye up to carry ye from the chair to the sofa, ye never woke up. Ye mumbled about everyone watching ye. Maybe the bear was just a nightmare.” He inhaled her strawberry fragrance and tried his best to ignore his body’s reaction to her. “Go back to sleep.” He’d raise hell with his inner bear when it was more convenient.
“If you think I’m moving one inch until you check every nook and cranny of this cabin, you’re crazy.” She reached back and retrieved her revolver again. “Here, take this.”
He tossed back the covers. Why the bloody hell are women so damn demanding?
“Do you always sleep naked? I’m not here for sex. The bear just startled me, is all.”
“Naked?” He took a quick look at his erection and snatched the covers to hide it. “I put on sleeping pants.” He was wide awake now, registering his nakedness and thinking of killing one brazen bear who’d shifted without his permission or knowledge.
She bent and scooped his sleeping pants from the floor. “Well, you’re naked now in all your hard-on glory.”
Damn, if he wasna. What excuse could he give her? “I must have gotten too hot and taken them off in me sleep.” He made a turning motion with his index finger. “A bit of privacy, if ye please.”
She did as he asked.
Brother Bear, I will kick your ugly arse. Ronan snatched his sleep pants off the bed where she’d tossed them. Sweet Mother of God, the bear had started to shift before Ronan could remove his pants. The elastic at the waist was stretched too far to snap back. The legs were torn to ribbons of silk. He stepped into them and looked at the shredded pajama bottoms. Hell, even his arse hung out. Bloody hell!
“Keep yer eyes closed, then. I must have taken these off because they were torn. I’ll get another pair.” He quickly hurried toward his duffel bag, the shredded silk swishing as he moved. Full of anger and embarrassment, he snatched a cotton pair from his bag.
Brother Bear, ye will get no honey fer six months, ye feckin’ splinter in me arse!
Ronan jerked on the clean pair of pajama bottoms and spun around. “Okay, ye may look now.”
Both of her hands covered her face and her shoulders shook.
“Ye peeked, didna ye?” Was nothing sacred? Not even a man’s bare arse?
She batted her eyes at him before laughter bubbled forth. Her arms crossed her waist and she
fell onto the bed. Something in his heart rolled over at the sound of her mirth. “You have a fine, fine behind. The kind a woman would love to bite.” And she laughed until tears trickled from the corners of her blue eyes.
To save face, he lied. “Colleen, me sneaky niece stuck them in me suitcase. I’ll check the cabin while ye have a fine laugh at me expense.”
“Your niece must love you very much to tease you like that.”
He felt like an arse fer lying to her. Yet, he bloody well couldna tell her the truth—that he was part man and part bear.
He walked through the main room, holding her revolver, making a grand show of looking for a bear that was inside him. He went inside the bathroom and returned to the alcove. She sat cross-legged on his bed, her eyebrows raised in question.
“I didna see a thing, Anisa. Not even any scat—bear droppings. And ye say it ran in here?” Upon her nod, he shined his flashlight around and walked to the windows. Then he opened the closet doors. “Honest, nothing. I’m thinking ’twas one of those dreams that seems so real, ye just canna shake it once ye wake up.”
“I feel so foolish for waking you. I’m sorry.”
Something caught his eye, and he sat beside her to touch the necklace she’d worn earlier. “I remember this. Ye wore it all the time in Paris. Do ye always sleep with this on?” It was a sapphire on a silver chain, the blue almost matching her eyes. Surrounding the stone was fancy silver filigree.
