by Lily Cahill
The memory of that scream—so afraid, so desperate—could still give Grace nightmares. She and Tuco had sprinted around the bend. Mateo was backed up against the dirt incline of the steep gully, a rattlesnake coiled not a foot away. The snake’s tail shook in warning, and Mateo sobbed.
“Gracie, Gracie,” he pleaded. But Grace had been frozen in shock. Useless. Unable to save her baby brother. Time slowed down, and Grace remembered watching in horror as the snake reared back, its mouth gaping.
Then Tuco was there. He leapt between the snake and Mateo, pushing the little boy to safety. The snake’s sharp fangs sunk deep into the meat of his calf.
Everything had sped up then … running to the farmhouse, the ride to the hospital, the nurses in the ER. And through it all, Grace had clutched Mateo to her side and wouldn’t let Tuco out of her sight. And yet for all the pain he was in, Tuco had tried to make them laugh.
Tuco Espinosa may have become hardened, but he loved his family above all else. Yet Grace saw how he acted with those who he deemed unworthy of his respect. He was ruthless, brutal. Grace had to wonder: What would happen if Grace or Mateo got on his bad side? She was afraid to find out.
And if Tuco learned of her deepest held secret ….
Out across the prairie, a plume of dust grew closer. She squinted and saw a truck, a rusted blue Ford.
Carver.
Grace stumbled backward, away from the window. Her instincts took over, and they told her to get out. Get away. Grace yanked on a pair of boots and strode out the back door. Maybe if Carver didn’t think she was home, he’d go away.
She headed straight for a stand of cottonwoods clumped around a near-dry creek bed. It was so similar to the one from all those years ago. Grace hoped there wasn’t a snake coming for her.
In the distance, she heard a truck door slam and then Carver call her name. Grace ducked behind a thick cottonwood and sat down at the base of the trunk. She’d just wait him out.
Grace shut her eyes and counted—three counts in, three counts out. But she didn’t hear the rumble of the truck starting back up. Grace was about to stick her head around the trunk to take a peek when she heard a twig snap behind her.
Grace shrieked and jumped up. And spun around straight into Carver.
Carver smiled—thin, calculated, his eyes dead. He smiled at her fright, which just made Grace more horrified.
“What are you doing here?” Grace tried stepping away from him, but her back hit the rough trunk.
Carver was so close, too close. She could smell sweat and grease on him, and his calloused fingers were stained with it.
“I came to find you. Why do you have some stranger working in your bar? I can do any of that. You know you shouldn’t trust a stranger.”
Grace tried to keep her voice from trembling. She had to get away from this monster. But he was Tuco’s right-hand man. Would Tuco be angry if she denied Carver what he so obviously wanted?
“He’s a singer, so he’ll only be around for a couple days.”
Carver nodded. “Good,” he said, his flat blue eyes boring into Grace. “I don’t like the idea of another man around. I don’t want to share you.”
Grace stared up at him, her lips tight. “I don’t like what you’re insinuating. I’m not a commodity to be traded, Carver.”
Carver grinned. “All those big words. You were always fancy, Grace Lopez.”
God, he was leaning so close. Grace pressed her back up against the tree, her eyes skittering around. How in the hell was she going to get out of this? Carver planted one thick arm against the tree, hemming her in.
“Carver, I’ve got to go.”
“Aw, come on now. Don’t be like that.”
Grace slid out between Carver and the tree and tried to skirt past him, but he was too quick. His hand shot out and grabbed her around the arm. Hard.
“Carver!” Grace shouted, her eyes going wide. “Stop it!”
But Carver didn’t stop. He only smiled wider.
Suddenly, from somewhere in the scrubby grassland, a terrible roar split the air. Carver startled and yanked Grace closer.
“Who’s there?”
Carver swiveled his head side to side, frantically looking for the source of the animal roar. Grace saw her chance and tugged her arm free of Carver. She took a big step away from him and pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. She didn’t have signal out here to call the police, but she had to hope Carver didn’t know that.
A low growl rumbled, then Grace nearly stumbled backward to see a thick brown muzzle and sharp eyes appear out of the grasses on the opposite bank.
It was a bear. Grace blinked quickly, but the bear was still there.
Carver backed up quickly, tripping over his feet. Then he turned and ran as the bear let loose another earth-shattering roar.
But Grace didn’t move. Couldn’t move. The bear’s keen brown eyes found hers, and it didn’t look away. And neither did Grace. She knew what all the local bear shifters looked like, and this wasn’t one of them. It was a different bear … yet a bear she knew.
Grace’s heart beat so hard in her chest she feared she’d crack a rib, and she could barely breathe.
She knew this bear. He was the bear from her vision all those years ago.
He was her soulmate.
Her soulmate was a bear. And if Tuco found out, he’d kill them both.
Chapter Five
Bret
BRET LIFTED HIS SNOUT AND sniffed the air. He had to be close. He’d seen the truck parked outside a little white farmhouse, but the man was not inside. But he could smell him, the pungent stench of sweat and engine grease clung to the man and made the air reek.
He was close. He could smell his stench on the wind.
A scream rent the air. Grace’s scream.
Fear tore at Bret, and he took off. He sprinted through the scrubby grasslands toward the sound of the scream.
What if he was too late? What if …? He growled and pushed himself faster.
There. On the other side of the creek bed. Grace was standing at the base of a towering cottonwood with the man. They were talking. Maybe the scream had come from somewhere else, an animal out in the rolling prairie? Bret slowed and prowled through the grasses and sagebrush. He couldn’t out himself—these people had probably never seen a bear up close in the wild. It wouldn’t do him or the shifter world any good if citizens saw him.
Grace didn’t seem to be in any real danger, but Bret still watched closely. His stomach roiled to see the man—Bret heard Grace call the man Carver—stand so close to her. Maybe they were together? But then why did she look so on edge?
Bret had to fight the urge to leap across the gully and rip Carver’s cold smile off his face when the other man leaned in close to Grace. She shied away from him, and Bret felt the first cold drip of apprehension in his chest. His instincts had been right. There was something off about this man.
Without warning, Carver’s arm shot out and caught hold of Grace. Her eyes went wide with shock, and Bret couldn’t hold himself back. He roared in anger, in warning. Carver jumped backward, and the fear rolling off him made Bret grunt in approval. Good. Make that asshole piss himself in terror.
But instead of running away like Bret assumed he would, Carver’s large, blunt fingers dug harder into Grace’s arm. Bret growled a low rumbled warning and pushed his muzzle through the grasses hiding him. Carver’s cold eyes went wide with shock, and he stumbled over his feet in his haste to get away.
Bret was happy to see the guy go, but man, what a dickhead. Carver apparently had no issue leaving a woman alone in the wild with a damn bear.
Speaking of, Bret pawed the ground and looked at Grace. His eyes locked on hers, and he felt pulled in by the expression on her lovely face. She looked … surprised. Surprised, but not afraid. There was a creek and a gully between them, but Bret almost felt like Grace was right there beside him, inside of him.
They stared at each other for a long moment, then Bret bac
ked up and disappeared once again into the scrubland. Yet he couldn’t stop thinking about Grace, about her warm brown eyes locked on his. There was something in her expression—surprise, shock, curiosity … and something else. Something that he felt like he knew, but couldn’t quite place. It almost looked like the sort of look his brothers gave to their fated mates.
Bret shook his giant snout back and forth and pawed at the ground again. No, that was insane. Grace was just an exceedingly hot woman who was giving him a bit of a reprieve from his lonely existence on the road. He was trying to add emotion to her expression that wasn’t really there. Bret dug his sharp claws into the rocky ground and lunged forward, bursting into a sprint.
He ran hard, taking a long route back to town and the Starlight Lounge. At the overgrown, weedy stretch of land behind the bar, he shifted back to his human form. His muscles burned from the run, and he was covered in a sheen of sweat.
Bret went straight to the tiny apartment and turned on the shower. He took a long, cool shower, but Grace was still hot in his mind. He growled and leaned his head against the tile, letting the water cascade over his body. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about this woman? God, he was even hallucinating that he was hearing her voice calling for him right now. Bret gritted his teeth. He was losing his mind.
He cranked the tap shut and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a thin towel around his hips. His hair was soaking, dripping into his eyes, but he at least felt a little better. He pulled open the bathroom door and froze.
Grace was standing in the middle of the apartment.
Bret’s mouth dropped open, but he had nothing to say. Jesus, he could barely breathe. What the hell was wrong with him?
“Didn’t you hear me calling you?”
Bret could only grunt in response.
Grace peeked up at him, then back down. This was twice in a row that she’d spied him without a shirt on. It at least helped his pride to see her cheeks grow pink at the sight of his near-naked body.
“Anyway,” she said, eyes still on the ground as she hoisted up a bulging paper sack that sported a growing grease stain in one corner. “I picked up some lunch for us.”
She turned around and walked away, and only then did Bret remember to breathe.
Chapter Six
Grace
GRACE DROPPED THE BAG OF hamburgers and fries onto a table and slid behind the bar for a couple beers and napkins. Why the hell had she walked in there?
And how the hell was she supposed to sleep tonight after seeing Tim half-naked like that? God, that thin towel, slung around his hips. She nearly groaned at the memory of the way his muscles flexed when he moved, that delicious vee of taut muscle disappearing below the towel. What would she find under that towel? She could only imagine.
Grace pressed her thighs together in a desperate attempt to control the heat growing in her core. Oh, she knew she’d be imagining what was under that towel and so much more tonight. Grace wasn’t one to sleep with near-strangers, but the thought of having sex with Tim was so enticing, she nearly forgot the lunch and strode back into that apartment.
Guilt bubbled up inside Grace. How could she be thinking such things now that she knew her soulmate was out there? She shook her head and cracked open two beers. Tim was the last thing that should be on her mind right now. Now if only her mind—and growing desire—would listen to her.
Tim padded across the scarred wooden floors in bare feet and raised an eyebrow at the food. He plucked up the chocolate milkshake and took a long drink.
“Good God, that’s delicious,” Tim said, then collapsed into a chair.
Grace eased into a seat across from him and smiled. “We don’t have much in this town, but Darlene’s makes a darn fine milkshake.” She pushed the burger and fries across the table to him. “And wait until you try the food.”
Grace had been starving when she’d picked up the food, but now she was hungry for something else entirely. She pointedly ignored the ache between her thighs and reached for her own fries. Tim took a big bite of the greasy burger and closed his eyes, groaning. He took another long drag of the milkshake and sighed contentedly.
“I may never leave,” he said.
Grace snatched the milkshake away from him. “Well, I’ll run you out of town if you don’t share this milkshake.”
Tim laughed, a wonderfully deep sound that rumbled through Grace. His laugh was nearly as good as his body. Nearly.
They ate in silence, and Grace finally threw down her napkin and sat back. This was … nice. The morning had been a nightmare of nerves and fear, but sitting across from Tim enjoying simple food calmed her frayed mind. Grace watched as Tim’s eyes roved the bar, then his lips curled into a smile that dimpled his cheeks. He pushed to his feet and crossed the floor toward the jukebox.
Grace let herself watch him. His butt was a wonder in those faded jeans, and as he propped a hand against the top of the machine, Grace marveled at the movement of muscles under his slim T-shirt. Her soulmate was out there somewhere—her destiny—but until that bear showed back up into her life as a man … well, maybe she could enjoy the sight of Tim Smith picking out songs on her jukebox.
“Grace,” Tim called, still focused on the jukebox. “You have some seriously outdated music choices on this thing.”
Grace’s eyebrows shot up. “Those are classics, mister.”
Tim spun around and eyed Grace as the first song warbled out of the machine. It was “Jolene” by Dolly Parton. Grace lit up.
“I love this song,” she said, closing her eyes. Without thinking, she started singing along. Not just humming or mumbling her way through it, but letting her voice flow out of her. It was cleansing; it was a balm to her battered soul.
“Jolene” faded into another classic country tune. Grace opened her eyes to find Tim watching her closely, his eyes bright. He strode across the floor and held out his hand.
Gratefully, Grace took it and let him pull her to her feet. The feel of his palm against hers was like touching lightning. She sparked with it, lit up with it. She wanted more of it.
Tim spun her around in a circle as the song picked up, and Grace laughed. Tim was the sort of dancer who had two left feet but made up for it with enthusiasm. He spun her and dipped her, and Grace forgot all her troubles for one shining moment. For the first time in weeks, Grace felt like maybe—just maybe—she could get back up on her feet and figure everything out.
A new song blared, and Grace squealed. “You know how to line dance?”
Tim quirked an eyebrow. “Can’t say that I do.”
Grace grabbed Tim’s hips and squared him off. “Follow me. We’ll make you a Texan yet.”
Tim called off a hokey “yee-haw!” and followed along as best he could. But within minutes, he was stumbling over his steps and stomping his feet at all the wrong times.
Grace nearly doubled over with laughter. “Y’know, for a singer, you have awful rhythm.”
“Hey!” Tim shook his hips in a circle. “Maybe hula is more my thing. We can’t all be amazing singers and dancers like you.”
“And pianist,” Grace laughed. “My professor at Juilliard called me Tex because I tried to do a classical arrangement of a Johnny Cash song for my summer project.”
Tim nodded, his mouth screwed to one side. “Juilliard. That’s impressive.”
Grace felt her cheeks grow warm at the compliment. She had a sudden urge to play for Tim. “It was only a summer program. I was at UT-Austin for music, but then, well … my little brother can’t be trusted on his own. I dropped out when my aunt and uncle died.”
“You’re a good older sister, Grace,” Tim said. He rubbed a hand at the back of his neck, his gaze far away. “I’ve got a brother a lot like you. Do anything for family, you know?”
Grace wanted to ask more, to figure out who Tim was. What was he running from? Who was he, really? But before she could give voice to her million questions, Tim held up a finger. He disappeared down the hallway and returned a s
econd later with his guitar, then strode to the jukebox. He rifled through the selections for a minute, then Grace heard a triumphant “a-ha!”
Tim slipped his guitar over his head and turned to face Grace. “Just pretend you’re at the piano,” he said as the first few bars of a new song wafted through the air. Grace recognized it immediately, “Your Song” by Elton John.
Tim riffed on his guitar and strolled closer to Grace as she swayed back and forth. She looked at Tim, then started singing. Their voices melded together in perfect harmony, his rich tone showcasing her sweet, high notes. Grace didn’t look away from Tim, didn’t shy away from the emotion coloring her voice. They could have been standing in the middle of a crowded bar right then, but Grace wouldn’t have noticed.
Tim’s fingers stilled on the guitar strings, and only their joined voices rang out. They were close, and Grace could feel the rise and fall of their breathing in sync. The song ended, their voices fading away to silence, and still Grace couldn’t look away.
Her heart was wild in her chest, and goose bumps rolled up her arms. She licked her lips, drawing in a fluttering breath. Tim stepped closer, close enough to see sparks of green in his vivid blue eyes and a shadow of stubble along his square jaw.
With deft fingers, Tim slid the strap of his guitar across his chest to move the instrument to his back. His eyes flicked to Grace’s lips, then back to her eyes. She waited, waited.
Then Tim dipped his lips to hers.
Grace melted against Tim. Melted against his strong arms and soft lips and gentle touch.
His mouth was teasing against hers. Grace parted her lips and flicked her tongue, enticing Tim to kiss her more, kiss her deeper. Her entire body blazed with the desire for more.
Tim’s arms encircled her and held her close, their bodies pressed together, melded together as perfectly as their harmonized voices. Tim delved deeper into Grace’s mouth, his tongue searching. His teeth nipped at her lower lip, and Grace’s eyelids fluttered with ecstasy.
