Mountain Lion (Bear Haven Book 4)

by Bolryder, Terry

  Mountain Lion

  Terry Bolryder

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Polar Heat Boxed Set

  Also by Terry Bolryder

  Copyright © 2015 by Terry Bolryder

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design by Melody Simmons of eBookindiecovers

  Created with Vellum

  1

  Wyatt didn’t know what to make of the figure sitting in front of him, waiting for some kind of job interview.

  He, she, it was wearing some kind of long duster jacket, a wide cowboy hat, and their face was fully obscured by the high collar of the coat and the low brim of the hat. All the clothing looked worn and dirty, as if the person had been traveling for some time, and reeked subtly of pasture and road oil.

  No doubt that had something to do with the old motorcycle the character had ridden in on, looking for a job.

  Wyatt thought perhaps this particular employee might be a better match for the McAllister ranch. They were a little rougher up there, whereas Wyatt ran an upscale dude ranch where people came to relax and enjoy the mountain air in luxe surroundings rather than have any sort of authenticity.

  But there was something about the little creature that bothered him. He guessed you couldn’t really call it little. It seemed broad in some ways, wide through the shoulders? He couldn’t really tell under that huge coat.

  And then there was the fact that they weren’t short, but weren’t exactly tall.

  But they were tiny compared to him, a tall cougar shifter with long, lean limbs, muscled shoulders and broad back, and a height bred through years of perfect shifter matchmaking.

  Matchmaking that seemed to falter when it came to him. For some reason, most cat families didn’t want to send a female out to Montana to breed, and so here was Wyatt, alone and single, and, for the most part, fine with it.

  Occasionally, he had a twinge of jealousy when he saw his friends at the McAllister ranch with their mates.

  He’d already been jealous, when they were younger, of the fact that they were siblings, when Wyatt had been the only child of his family. His mom had gotten tired of the remote life and gone back east, and his father had died fairly young, maybe from the stress of losing his mate or from the hard work on the land.

  Or from the fact that he’d gotten so gosh darn mean in his later years.

  He’d even gone so far as to ban the McAllister brothers from coming on the ranch, mistakenly blaming them for one of his wife’s outbursts that had led to her leaving.

  But Wyatt pushed away all those unpleasant memories.

  Most of that was over. His father was gone, he didn’t care where his mother was, and he was friends with the McAllister brothers again, had healed the rift between them, and even helped one of them rescue a mate a while back.

  But none of that had anything to do with the person in front of him, who a part of him assumed was at least sort of female.

  “So what sort of credentials do you have?” he asked, trying to remain professional as he angled his head, trying to get a view of the face across from him.

  “I’m good with horses,” it said in a low, gruff voice that sounded like it was disguising itself.

  “Okay… so you could lead trail rides?”

  “Or teach lessons,” it said.

  “And your name?”

  “Val—” The person cut themself off and shook their head. “Just Val.”

  “Like Val Kilmer?” Wyatt joked.

  The person nodded but didn’t laugh, and Wyatt rubbed the back of his neck, not sure how this would work at all.

  “Look, I’m sure you’re a good worker and all, but I just don’t know that you’re the right fit for this ranch in particular,” he said. “The clientele here are kind of upscale, if you know what I mean.” He gestured to Val’s clothing, and Val straightened indignantly. “I don’t really think it’s a good fit.”

  “I can dress differently,” Val said.

  “Can you?” Wyatt cocked his head to the side. “You aren’t even willing to take off that hat or that coat. Just what are you afraid of?”

  “Nothing,” Val said, pulling the coat in tighter. “I just… I don’t see what it has to do with the job.”

  Wyatt sighed. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you a reference for the McAllisters. The main horse trainer there might be able to use some help. I hear his mate is pregnant, so that’s something.”

  Val nodded gratefully, and Wyatt found himself almost chagrined that he couldn’t hire this person and keep them around. But he didn’t want to force them out of their comfort zone or let them scare away customers.

  This would be a better fit overall.

  Wyatt handed over the paper, on which he’d written Maverick’s number, and passed it across the table.

  “Well, thank you for everything,” Val said, standing abruptly.

  Wyatt walked around the table to shake hands good-bye and was struck once again by the height difference between him and the other person. He stuck out a hand, and Val took it, and a shiver went through Wyatt at how soft the skin was there.

  There were callouses, sure, probably from holding horse reins, but it was still soft skin. Small hands.

  A creeping suspicion settled under Wyatt’s skin, but he let it go. Whatever this person was hiding, it was up to them. No business of his.

  “Is there a bar around here?” Val asked, shoving the paper into a pocket.

  “Just down the canyon,” Wyatt said. “But I don’t recommend it. It’s a rough clientele, though I sometimes go there for entertainment, watching the locals.” He laughed, but Val just nodded solemnly.

  “Well, thanks again. I better go. Wouldn’t want to scare off your clientele,” Val said. Then with a sad little wave that was half hidden by a giant sleeve, Val walked out of his office.

  Wyatt stood watching, leaning on one cocked hip and folding his arms.

  What did he care what the mysterious little person did next?

  Not his business.

  So not his business.

  So why did he find himself grabbing one of his cowboy hats, slamming it over his head, and walking out front with the thought of perhaps following Val?

  He was a sucker; that was for sure.

  * * *

  Valerie couldn’t shake her irritation at the arrogant were-cat who’d rejected her out of hand.

  Not good enough, not dressed right. Was anyone going to give her a chance?

  She knew she looked ridiculous dressed like this, all hidden and stuff, but she had her reasons.

  And just because the man had looked like something out of GQ, with perfect, high-end clothes and model good looks, didn’t mean he needed to make assumptions about what a good “fit” she would make.

  It was a ranch, for Pete’s sake. There were horses. That was all she needed to know. She’d been around horses all her life.

  She’d heard cats could be total snobs, but she hadn’t believed it until she’d been able to see it u
p close and personal.

  Damn.

  She didn’t have any intention of going over to the McAllister ranch. She’d called them already, and they weren’t currently hiring, as it was the slow season. They’d said Wyatt would probably need help at the Star Fifty, as he’d recently lost some employees.

  Now that she’d been turned down by both places, she wasn’t sure what she was going to do. Head on to another town, she supposed.

  She couldn’t reveal who she was, not yet. She just needed someone to give her a chance and she’d be set. She had it all planned out. A quiet life with horses, wide-open air, and most importantly, no men!

  She parked her bike in front of a rundown bar that clearly serviced men who rode together, as there were similar bikes parked out front, along with a few rusted old pickup trucks.

  She steeled herself as she got off the bike and strode toward the entrance. She’d been passing as a male for some time, but she was always aware that at any moment, something could go wrong, and she was ready for it.

  The knife strapped to her thigh made sure of that.

  She was hungry, but she’d make do with whatever they had at the bar while she came up with the next step in her plan. She didn’t have money for a motel, so since she hadn’t found a job with boarding, it looked like it would be a tent in the woods again.

  Even that would be better than going home, though.

  When she walked into the bar, it was flooded with loud male voices. Men were huddled around tables, playing cards, drinking; one was doing a rowdy dance as his friends laughed.

  She hoped it would be enough for her to blend in. All she needed was a beer and a place to sit and some time to get that stupid cowboy out of her mind, with his intense golden eyes, clean, handsome features, and muscular body.

  She sidled up to the bar and pressed a bill to the counter. The bartender took it, heard her murmured order for a drink, and went to serve it.

  While she waited, she took a sweeping look over the bar, watching out for trouble. Seemed okay so far.

  When she was handed a beer in a frosty mug, she walked to a booth in the back corner where she could keep an eye on everything but remain primarily alone.

  It was nice to be alone. Nice to be hidden under large clothes. Nice to have something cold to drink that took the edge off her anxiety.

  It was just nice.

  Until, that was, someone had a mind to ruin it.

  “Well, what do we have here?” a drunken man slurred. “Looks like this guy doesn’t want to be friendly.” He reached for Val’s jacket, and she jerked away. He reach for her hat, but she pulled it down so he couldn’t pull it off.

  Another of his friends pushed away from the table and joined him in peering down over Valerie.

  Val was starting to feel cornered, but she knew if she stood to leave now, they’d jerk her back. The more reaction she gave them, the more reason they had to heckle her.

  Men like this were just drunks who needed something to do. And she’d give it to them.

  She stuck out a hand, and the first drunk, who was tall with dark, scruffy hair and wearing worn flannel, stared at it like it was poison. “Nice to meet you,” she said gruffly, knowing all men like this wanted was someone to bully, someone who wouldn’t fight back. Facing them head on was best.

  The man grumbled something at her, trying to save face for not being able to rankle her, and took a step back, rubbing his head.

  She turned back to her beer with a shrug.

  “Why’s he so small?” the other drunk said. This one had lighter hair but a similarly ugly face. She figured they must be brothers.

  “Leave it alone, Dirk,” someone called out. “It’s your turn.”

  The lighter-haired man put up a hand, swaying slightly on his feet. “Something’s not right about this.”

  A chill went up Val’s spine. That was her cue to leave. She stood, but the man pushed her down by the shoulder.

  Bullies, she could handle. Men who somehow started to guess at what was under the duster, she didn’t take risks with.

  She should never have thought she could come in for a drink. Men were just awful people, and every one of them should be cursed to hell.

  She tried to stand again, but one caught her by the elbow with a gasp.

  “Soft!” he said. “Wait a minute.” He tried to pull on her coat, but she struggled against him.

  Just a minute more, and she could reach her knife.

  “Stop that!” a deep, smooth voice called out.

  The man holding her and his buffoon of a brother looked up to see Wyatt standing in the doorway to the bar, leaning casually on the doorframe.

  To anyone else, he might have looked relaxed. Bored, even. But she could sense that underlying feline malice of a predator ready to leap.

  She jerked out of the man’s hold and glared at him angrily from under her hat, straightening it.

  “We wasn’t doing nothin’, Wyatt,” Dirk said, putting up his hands. “Just don’t get what he’s hiding, you know?”

  “Yeah,” the brother said, pointing at her with a stubby finger. “We don’t trust guys like that. Hiding in a hat and coat. You should take it off.”

  She sighed, looking over at Wyatt, who just shrugged nonchalantly.

  “I don’t think there’s any dress code here,” Wyatt said evenly. “And even if there was, I’m not sure you’d ever meet it, Dirk.”

  Dirk laughed at that, but there was meanness in his eyes that told Valerie he deferred to Wyatt out of fear, not respect. “Right you are, Wyatt. Right you are.” He took a step back from Valerie, letting her pass.

  She shook her head and took a step forward, but the next second, she felt herself jerked back by her coat. Her arms flailed, trying to retain balance as she was caught off guard.

  She felt Wyatt come forward in an instant, grabbing her by the shoulders and yanking her away from the man pawing at her, as she clutched her coat to her so it couldn’t be pulled off.

  But in the scuffle, as she was jerked forward against Wyatt’s hard chest, she felt her hat bump off her head and onto the ground.

  She looked up at him defiantly as a hush fell over the bar and he set her apart from him to look her over.

  His golden eyes went wide, and she noticed they were framed by lush blond lashes.

  Then they narrowed in rage.

  Taking advantage of the shock of the situation and the fact that everyone was frozen, she reached down, swiped her hat off the floor, plopped it on her head, and ran for the exit.

  2

  Wyatt tried to calm the rage flooding him at the sight he’d just seen.

  He’d had his suspicions about the character under the duster being a female, so that hadn’t come as much of a shock when he’d accidentally knocked her hat off while trying to rescue her from Dirk.

  No, the shocking part had been the bruises covering much of her face, from the right side of her forehead down to her split lip.

  He’d never seen anyone so beat up before, and the fact that it was a woman sat extremely ill.

  Wyatt hated anyone mistreating women. Anyone caught showing disrespect to a female was instantly fired on his ranch, zero tolerance.

  But he’d never expected to see something like this in the world. He knew bad people existed, but someone of that caliber? It made every hair on his body stand up and the cat inside him scream for justice.

  Not that anything could ever be just.

  He pointed a finger in warning at the men at the bar, none of whom would want to take him in a fight, and then strode out the door after Val.

  Valerie, presumably.

  She had blond hair and bright-blue eyes. Her coloring reminded him of something, if he really thought about it.

  But he wasn’t sure.

  First, he had to make sure she was all right.

  He found her starting her bike and ran over to it to hold the handles, keeping her still.

  She looked up at him with fire in her eyes,
plain even amongst the purple bruises surrounding them both.

  “Who did this?” he asked.

  “None of your business,” she said, trying to jerk her handlebars out of his hands. “Get out of the way.”

  He sighed and came around to where she was seated and lifted her up into his arms.

  She immediately started shrieking and hissing, clawing at his face, forcing him to set her down. “Don’t you ever do that again! When someone says no, when someone doesn’t want to do something, that’s that!” she spat, getting back on her bike. “Don’t any of you men get that?”

  He took a step back, eyes widening. Someone had really messed her up. And when Wyatt got his hands on them, they would be more than dead.

  “Come back to my place,” he said, putting up placating hands. “It’ll be dark soon and there’s nowhere else to stay. We can talk about a job, again.”

  She let out a hiss. “You wouldn’t hire me then, so why would you hire me now? Because I’m a woman? Because you think you’re going to get something from it?”

  “Because I can see your face and I know you’re not an axe murderer,” he said, only half teasing. “I mean, I don’t blame you for hiding your gender out here. Rough land. But now that people know, you should come up to my place. Or the McAllisters. I think you’d be safe either way. We wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

  She wrapped her arms over herself tightly, as if to protect herself while she thought.

  The strangest protective urges kept surging through Wyatt, but he knew he needed to stay calm. This wasn’t a woman he could strong arm into something. This was someone he had to convince and cajole.

  “I’m not going to touch you,” he said. “Or try anything. You’re not my type. Trust me.” That was the truth as well. He liked pretty women who knew how to dress. Not angry women who looked like they wanted to punch him and were determined to pass for a man.

  Still, there was something that drew him to her, maybe just his natural protectiveness, maybe something more.