by Olivia Arran
My Heat to Bear
The Everson Brothers
Olivia Arran
Arran Publishing
Contents
1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight
9. Chapter Nine
10. Chapter Ten
11. Chapter Eleven
12. Chapter Twelve
13. Chapter Thirteen
14. Chapter Fourteen
15. Chapter Fifteen
16. Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
From the Author
Copyright © 2016 Olivia Arran
All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.
Edited by CM Editing
Cover Design by Kasmit Covers
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Chapter One
Max
Country rock filled the small cab of the truck, a gruff voice crooning about love lost and dreams torn apart.
Reaching out, I jabbed at the radio cutting the singer off mid wail.
Blessed silence filled the air, the only noise that of the dull roar of the engine gunning up the road and the monotonous buzz of the wheels ripping up the endless miles of tarmac. One hand on the wheel, I steered into the slight bend, easing the truck through mountains still dotted with streaks of snow despite the warm breeze blowing through the open window, trees lush and heavy with their summer dressing lining my path.
I was going home, back to Craggstone. Back to a place I had managed to avoid for—I squinted against the glare of the sun glinting off the windshield—geez, it had to be going on fifty years by now. Fifty goddamn years, and it still wasn’t long enough. It would never be enough. But it was time, I’d been called home. My brothers had all settled—all but one, and that was probably never going to happen knowing Ralph and his demons—and they needed me back home. They had their own families now, children that needed to know their uncle Max, family that needed me to stick around this time.
Thick stubble grazed my hand as I rubbed a path well worn and familiar over my chin, my hand tightening on the wheel as I coasted over the brow of the small hill that clung to the edge of the larger mountain. Craggstone was like a picture postcard, splayed out in front of me, with Main Street winding its way through an assortment of buildings that portrayed the story of the town’s growth from a small settlement to what stood proud today, a thriving—albeit still small—hub of community. An assortment of white, green, and dark blue shutters dotted the windows, accentuating the small town’s charm.
It was so cute it made my teeth hurt.
I picked out my brother’s steakhouse with ease, the large sign declaring “Ralph’s”, and the Colstone wolf pack building, being the nearest thing to a skyscraper we possessed. Filling in the blanks, I imagined the sheriff’s office next door and the bakery down the street. The grocers and hardware stores. The coffee shop.
Nope. Ralph had said the coffee shop had closed one winter ago. Or was it two?
Shit. I’d said we. As in: my town.
Which I supposed it was now. Again. Whether I liked it, or not.
Coasting into the town, I eased off the gas. Rolling the truck to a stop, I steered it gently between two beat up trucks that had seen better days, their paintjobs scraped and weather beaten, layers of grime baked on by the long summer days. With a grimace I cracked the door, sliding down onto the baking tarmac and gave my truck’s gleaming cherry red hood a reassuring pat. Some people just didn’t deserve to own a vehicle in my book, and although I didn’t expect everyone to live up to my admittedly fastidious standards, a wash and a polish every now and again wouldn’t have the damn machines falling into pieces at the curb. Nothing changed. Out here, away from the city, it was as if a man’s ego was measured by the layers of dirt, as if it were a direct representation of how hard he worked. Like measuring their dicks.
Good thing I don’t feel the need to prove how big my dick is.
Waving at random people who appeared to know exactly who I was when I couldn’t return the favor, I stopped to shoot the breeze with the old man who ran the grocery store, the vague recollection of him running around as a young boy tickling at my memory. A young man in his twenties, probably the old man’s grandson, hovered behind him, giving me a look as if to say who the hell are you? Strangers were few and far between since they’d diverted the main highway away from Craggstone a year or so ago, something the shifters welcomed but the humans probably resented, and trust was rapidly becoming a rare commodity, or so I’d been informed by my brothers. Steering his grandfather away, the man tossed me a scowl over his shoulder and headed back into the store.
Okay, then. I’d been in town less than ten minutes and already the locals were out for blood. Had to be the city shine still sticking to my boots.
Striding across the sidewalk, I pushed open the door to the sheriff’s office and glanced around, noting the tired, old desks ladened down with manila files and curled papers, abandoned coffee mugs strewn on every available surface. Sunlight streamed through the half drawn shutters, casting zigzag beams of light through the dusty air. Posters pinned to the walls peeled and curled at the edges, imploring the public to belt up before they drive, to not pick up their keys after having that last drink, and the top five signs of domestic abuse to look out for. The standard stuff.
But there were no people to be seen, though a chair spun in silent circles, slowing with every rotation until it eventually shuddered to a stop.
My eyes flicked to the glass windows at the back of the room, shielded by drawn shutters and a closed door. There was only one thing to do. I couldn’t put it off forever. Five strides later and I had the door yanked open, not bothering to knock.
A muffled squeal.
Then a deeply growled, “Hey!” Arms and legs wriggled apart, a khaki clad body entwined with what looked to be a very nice curvy beauty. A glimpse of silky black hair and glowing light brown skin from behind the large male body. Bare legs stretched out before my eyes, making me wonder—
“Eyes off, Max.” The order was snapped out, but there was no mistaking the underlying edge. Back the fuck off.
“This is Max?” Big brown eyes peered from around my brother.
“And you must be Amy, pleased to meet you,” I offered, leaning back against the wall and flashing her a wide grin.
She offered me a smile, her eyes dancing with amusement at my brother’s drawn out sigh, but she allowed him to rearrange her clothes with a proprietary air. More to the pity; I’d been enjoying the view.
“What are you doing here, Max?” Ryan eventually turned to look at me, his craggy face set in self-suffering lines.
I spread my hands in front of me, affecting a downcast demeanor. “What? No big welcome or how are you doing, bro?”
Amy cuffed him around the head, giving him a shove and wriggling around him. Smoothing her top down and tucking her mane of dark hair behind her ear, she gave him another s
hove.
“Okay, okay,” he grumbled a little more good-naturedly, “what I actually meant was what are you doing here. In this office. Interrupting my precious alone time with my mate.” This earned him an elbow to the side and a glare that would have had a lesser man wincing. His arm snaked out, snagging Amy around the waist and fixing her firmly to his side.
I shrugged. “Yeah … not sorry, bro. I need my keys.”
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to get any time alone with an inquisitive ten year old in the house?” he grumbled, reaching behind Amy to the messy desk and searching through a pile of paperwork, all while not letting go of his mate. A feat in and of itself. Snagging a bunch of keys, he brandished them in the air. “I’ll call ahead and see you in about an hour.” Tossing them in my direction, he nodded toward the door.
“Really?” I raised an eyebrow.
The dark look on his face promised painful retaliation and told me everything I needed to know. “Really.”
“But—”
“Max…” It was a low growl. My kid brother was swiftly loosing his world famous patience.
Amy must be a good influence on him.
“Only an hour? You’re losing your touch,” I finished with a cocky grin.
“Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out,” was his growled reply, muffled as he dipped his head to whisper in his mate’s ear.
Her soft giggle followed me out of the room, her sigh burning into my brain as I slammed the station door shut behind me. Shaking the keys in my hand, I made my way around the corner and down a short side street. Unlocking the drab, beige door, I ignored the stairs leading up to the second floor, instead pushing open another door and revealing what I’d really agreed to come here for.
A floor glossy with a slick wash of paint stretched out in front of me, bright and clean and hinting at hours of elbow grease and a good dose of care. A large table took up the back of the huge space, along with a ragtag assortment of chairs and a couch thrown in for good measure. A small kitchenette was wedged into the corner, obligatory coffee maker and microwave balanced on a counter barely large enough to hold them, but it wasn’t the fixtures and fittings that held my attention.
It was the motherfucking bright red fire engine parked in the middle of the bay, all shiny and polished despite skirting the edge of scrapyard age. My feet had carried me forward before I knew it, my hands sliding along the dinted paint as if I could absorb the truck’s stories through touch alone. It couldn’t be the same truck I’d watched drive up and down the town many years ago, but it certainly looked old enough. I let out the breath I’d been unaware I was holding, leaning my head against the cherry red truck and closing my eyes. This I knew. This was the world I could handle, not family and people and real life that always liked to kick a man when he was down. Familiar adrenaline sparked inside me, rushing through my veins and heating the empty cavern inside my chest with a surge of life. It wouldn’t be the same as back in the city, for one, there wasn’t the large staff or constant emergency calls to keep me going through the night, but it gave me something to do. Other than waiting around to die.
Curling my fingers against the warm metal, I gave it a small tap, gritting my teeth against the panic threatening to wind through me and take over.
It was going to be okay. I needed this.
Leaving the engine tucked up tight for the day, I made my way upstairs to the small apartment that had come with my new position as Fire Chief, giving it a cursory glance and clocking the bare essentials. It would do. It had a bed, a couch, and a TV. And a fridge for the beer. It was everything a man needed. I threw my duffel bag down on the bed, wincing as it let out an ominous creak. Not good. I wasn’t a small guy, I turned into a two hundred plus pound bear, for fucks sake. No way was this relic holding my weight, let alone the fact that my feet would probably hang off the end. Starfish it is then! It was a good thing I had a rule about not bringing women home—more room for me.
Making my way into the small kitchen area, I opened and closed a few cupboards, more out of habit than for any purpose, and snagged an envelope that someone had conveniently left propped against the coffee maker.
Scanning the contents, I bit back a groan. It was a damn list of repairs for me to do around the apartment, probably to ensure I had something to keep me busy. I was pretty sure I spotted Ryan’s hand in this and I wouldn’t put it past him to dream up this scheme to prevent me from becoming a social pariah.
It would serve him right when he came over and found nobody home.
Scooping up my keys I slammed the door behind me.
Chapter Two
Jeanie
They all look the same. My hand hovered in the air, hesitation clear as I scanned the endless row of small plastic packets in front of me, each containing what looked to be identical silver screws. Squinting, I checked the numbers against the list clutched in my other hand. Selecting a packet, I double checked the numbers, then realized I had a whole other set of decisions: self tapping, raised, domed, counter sunk. The options were endless, or at least they felt that way. The heels of my boots pressing into my ass, I sank back and tried to visualize the screw that had fallen down the plug hole. It had been flat. I was sure of it. Replacing the packet, I walked my fingers along the selection, searching for the corresponding flat version. Darkness fell over me, causing me to squint.
I looked up. Then up some more, my eyes traveling up worn denim, soft looking and frayed at the seams, and hugging thick, muscular thighs. I wrenched my eyes away before they had a chance to linger. A man towered over me. A huge man, with thick muscles bulging in places I hadn’t even known they could bulge, colorful ink peeking out of stretched cotton and competing for space on bulging biceps. Yeah, bulging appeared to be a common theme here, something my eyes hadn’t missed on their impertinent journey up this man’s legs.
Stuff that. It wasn’t my fault that he happened to be hogging my airspace.
Speaking of which … he hadn’t seen me yet. Or he was doing a damn good impression of ignoring me, instead staring at the row of tools pinned to the wall above and slightly to my left.
Indulging in one more glance at his face, I confirmed my suspicions: I didn’t know him. Which meant he had to be new to town, as everyone knew everyone in Craggstone, and I doubted I would have missed this guy arriving. He would have been the talk of the town, his name on every available single woman’s lips.
I had my screws, so it was time to go, but he was in my way. If I stood up now, we’d be face to face. Or chest to face, given he looked to be the size of a goddamn tree. But if I didn’t stand up now, from the look of indecision on his face I could be here all day. And my bad knee hurt from crouching, something I usually chose to ignore, but no way could I kneel here all day.
Which meant I had to deliberately catch his attention. A man that looked like him.
Stomping down on the embarrassing urge to try and scuttle away on my knees—now, wouldn’t that make a great first impression—I cleared my throat, sounding a little like a startled cat. “What are you looking for?” It came out a weird squeak, deepening into a throaty purr at the end.
Oh, for crying out loud, Jeanie! I refrained from covering my face with my hands, but only just. I knew from the heat in my cheeks that I’d flushed a lovely shade of beetroot, and from a good look at the inside of my eyelids, knew that I’d better open my eyes soon and face him, or I’d never live this down.
And Craggstone was too small a town in which to hide.
I blinked, then blinked again at the look of surprise on his face, followed swiftly by a broad smile and what looked to be pleasure radiating from his eyes.
He really hadn’t seen me crouching down here. I wasn’t sure whether to feel indignant, or take it as a reassurance. I was so used to blending into the background, I had it down to a fine art and wasn’t even aware I was doing it anymore. Brown eyes, brown hair, average build—I was the woman people didn’t see. I shouldn’t even b
e surprised, but something was prickling across my skin. Annoyance? Pride? It shouldn’t matter.
“Sorry, I’m in a world of my own today.” His voice was deep and gravelly, caressing my already prickly exterior and sending shivers racing down my spine. His smile titled into a wicked grin, heat flashing into his dark blue eyes as he looked from me to the wall, then back again. “I’m not sure yet, to be honest. I have a list,” he added, finally deigning to answer my question. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a piece of paper and waved it between us, reminding me a little of a white flag.
I sucked in a breath, forcing it into lungs that had forgotten how to work. For the love of caffeine, he was gorgeous. Hot, with the kind of rugged looks that had my stomach diving and flipping out of control, my fingers circling and nails digging into my jeans to resist the urge to make sure he was real. I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Grabbing the list still floating between us, I pointed at the row of hammers hanging on the wall. “You need one of those,” I blurted out. Brilliantly done. He’s going to think you’re a social buffoon.
The man stared at me, looking no less gorgeous for his confusion, then moved to the side and lifted a hammer off the wall. “Uh, thanks.”
Translation: I already knew I needed a hammer, but I’m going to humor the poor, silly woman who’s still crouched at my feet.
Shooting up to standing, and ignoring the surge of pins and needles jabbing into my poor thighs, I smoothed my hand over my jeans, surreptitiously wiping away the dampness while clutching my bag of screws like a weapon between us. I’d been right, he was as tall as a tree, still looming over me by a good extra foot. He’s still looking at me.
“Jeanie.” My hand was out before I had chance to blink, acting on instinctual manners hammered into me as a child. Hammered. I stifled a snigger, but I mustn’t have been fast enough as one of his eyebrows arched slowly.
