by Sophie Stern
Table of Contents
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
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Bearly Legal
Shifters at Law
Sophie Stern
Copyright © 2017 by Sophie Stern
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover designed by Melody Simmons.
www.ebookindiecovers.com
For my mate
Landon Fee is a bear who doesn't take "no" for an answer. Whether he's winning cases or tutoring kids after work, he pours his heart and soul into everything he does.
And then he meets Tina.
She's delicate and sweet, kind and open, but there's more to Tina that meets the eye.
When Landon finds out she's in legal trouble, he'll do anything to help her. He'll do anything to win the case. He'll do anything for the woman he's convinced is his mate.
Even if his actions are only bearlylegal.
Contents
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
Epilogue
Author
The Wolfe City Pack
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 1
Tina
Once upon a time, the world was a beautiful place. My life was filled with hopes and dreams and promises, but the problem with fairytales is that at some point, something goes terribly wrong. Maybe the prince and princess fall out of love. Maybe the knight fails in slaying the dragon. Maybe the sleeping darling doesn’t actually wake up.
It could be anything.
But at some point, there’s a problem, and it’s one that can’t be solved with big dreams and high hopes. At some point, something happens that changes everything.
For me, that was when I came home and found Chester in bed with Wendy Brown. Everything about her is plain: even her name. I couldn’t understand why he chose her over me. I couldn’t understand why he picked her instead of our family. I couldn’t understand any of it, and then I didn’t have to because he was gone.
He was gone, but that wasn’t the end of it.
Oh, no. Although Chester didn’t give a rat’s ass about our child while I was pregnant, now that the baby is born, he wants custody. He wants full custody and he wants me to pay him child support.
The letter arrives on a rainy day when nothing else is going my way. I still have my job and my friends and my parents, but the one thing I don’t have is a father for my child. The one thing I don’t have is a husband. The one thing I don’t have is a mate.
The one thing I don’t have is someone to take care of me.
I’m a strong, independent woman. My parents raised me that way. My Papa taught me that no matter what happens, I’ll be okay. He showed me that even when the world seems cruel, even when the world is harsh, I can fight through it. I can get through anything.
I’m a Miller, and Millers are tough.
I’m sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by bills, and I stare at the letter in front of me. Somehow, it doesn’t seem real. Nothing about the divorce seems real. Not if I’m honest. No, if I’m honest, it seems like I’m living in some sort of nightmare, like I’m stuck in a land where nothing goes my way.
If I pinch myself, maybe I’ll wake up.
If I poke myself, perhaps the nightmare will end.
Only it doesn’t.
A cry from the living room lets me know that Blake is awake. I set the letter down, take a deep breath, and hurry to the living room to get my son.
“Hey, sweetie, it’s okay,” I murmur as I pick Blake up from his bassinet. I’ve taken to sleeping on the couch lately, so I moved his bassinet next to it. Somehow, I just can’t bring myself to sleep in the bed where Chester and Wendy were fucking. That’s what they were doing: fucking.
They weren’t making love, they weren’t being sweet. They were having a dirty, raw, hard fuck while I was at the clinic having a prenatal checkup.
And I sort of hate Chester for it.
I change Blake’s diaper and swaddle him in a blanket. Then I settle down on the couch to nurse my little guy. He coos as he eats and his eyes close: a sure sign he’s going to fall back asleep before he finishes eating.
These moments are precious to me.
My entire life, I’ve wanted to be a mother. I just thought that I would be a wife and mother. I thought I’d be baking pies while my husband was at work. I thought I’d be cleaning the house and doing laundry and making sure our home was perfect before he got back. I thought we’d spend our nights together playing board games or reading books around the fireplace.
I didn’t think my world would end because my spouse wanted to leave me for someone else.
And I didn’t think he’d come back after our child was born and try to get custody.
In my heart, I don’t think Chester has a chance. Our divorce was final before Blake was actually born, and during the divorce, Chester made it clear he wasn’t interested in parenting.
So why the sudden change of heart?
Why wait until the baby is two months old and then try to sue me for custody?
None of it makes any sense.
I don’t believe for a second that Chester actually wants to be a dad or that he’ll be good to our son. He’s never even come to see Blake. Not once. Not once has he asked if he could stop by and hold his baby. Not once has he asked for pictures or updates on how he’s doing. Not once has he asked if I needed anything.
Not once.
Blake finishes nursing and I reluctantly wake him up so I can burp him. If I don’t, there’s a chance he might start feeling gassy or uncomfortable in his sleep. Besides, I want him to feel happy and healthy. I don’t want my little guy to get a tummy ache. There’s so much about mothering that’s hard, so much people don’t tell you when you decide to have a child, but I’m doing my best.
I’m doing my damn best.
Finally, I get Blake back to sleep in his bassinet and I head to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine before I pass out on the couch. I glance at the clock on the wall, but it’s only 8:00pm. It’s not even late. It’s not even dinnertime for my single friends.
I sip at the wine and look at the letter, wondering what the hell I should do, but then I remember something.
I remember my friend Joyce works for a legal firm and I think one of them deals with divorces and family law. Maybe they’ll be able to help me. Oh, I can’t afford a damn lawyer if my life depended on it, but this is my child we’re talking about.
I’ll sell my right kidney if it means I get to keep my baby.
I scroll through my contacts and find Joyce’s number. I should probably text her first to make sure she isn’t busy or doing something, but I don’t. This is urgent. I need her advice. I need to know what I should do.
She answers on the first ring.
“Tina?” Joyc
e’s sweet voice sounds through the phone. “What’s up, sweetie?”
“Hey, Joyce, sorry to just call you without asking first.” Talk about the texting generation. When I was a kid, I used to call my friends on the phone all the time. Now, calling people seems weird and socially awkward. It’s much easier, much more normal to text.
“Not a problem. I’m just hanging out. I haven’t talked to you in a little awhile. What’s it been? A couple of weeks? What’s up?”
“Oh, you know, nothing much. The usual.”
“I have a feeling that if nothing was up, we wouldn’t be talking right now.”
“You’re very observant.”
“It helps me in my line of work. Spill your guts, Tina.” Joyce is firm, but not mean. She doesn’t scare me when she tells me to start talking, and to be honest, she’s right. I need to woman up and explain the situation. I need to let her know what’s going on so she can help me.
She’ll never be able to help me if I don’t tell her what the problem is.
“You remember when you visited me in the hospital?”
“Oh yes!” Joyce screeches. “And I got to play with that sweet little baby. He’s so damn cute. Those Facebook pictures you posted were so adorable. The ones with the balloons? I loved them.”
“Thanks. Those were his newborn photos.” A friend took the pictures for free. I really lucked out because they’re incredible.
“What about the hospital?”
“Well, remember how much of an asshole my ex-husband turned out to be?” Chester was a major contributor to the fact that I needed to be hospitalized at the end of my pregnancy. I couldn’t handle the stress of the divorce and my blood pressure was through the roof.
Joyce visited me a few times while I was on bed rest and listened to me cry. She brought me my favorite foods and spent time binge-watching trash TV with me. She was an anchor during a time when I felt like my whole life was a storm. She visited again after Blake was born and we spent an entire morning dressing him up in all of his new outfits.
“I remember…Tina, is everything all right with the baby? Did you ex come by or something?”
“Well…well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. See, um, it’s been a few months since the divorce was finalized.”
I don’t talk much about my failed marriage. I know most people don’t refer to their relationships like that. I know I’m not supposed to say the marriage “failed.” I’m supposed to say it “ended.” I think I’ll always feel like it failed, though. I think I’ll always feel like I screwed things up somehow.
It’s not fair or right, but it’s how I feel.
“I know. I’m sorry, Tina. That totally sucks. He was a total dick.”
“He was,” I admit, still sorely embarrassed that the whole world knows I’m a divorcee. “But that’s not the problem. The problem is that my ex suddenly wants custody of my son.”
“What? But he should have specified that during the divorce.”
“I thought so, too. I was pregnant when we got divorced. It wasn’t a secret or a surprise. Chester made it very clear he was uninterested in parenting, and I was fine with that. Now, it seems he’s changed his mind. Joyce, I don’t know what to do.”
“You want to maintain full custody of your son, I’m guessing.”
“Absolutely.”
I look at Blake sleeping in the bassinet. He’s so quiet, so peaceful, so calm. He has no idea about the war raging in my heart. He has no idea what I’m about to go through in order to keep him.
“I would do anything for my son, Joyce. Anything. The problem is that I don’t have a lawyer and I’m not sure what to do. I received the papers today. There’s a court date on them. Should I just go? Do I bring Blake? How do I know what to do?”
Joyce hesitates before she responds. For a second, I think she’s going to tell me she’s sorry, but she can’t help. For a second, I think she’s going to tell me I shouldn’t have bothered her, and I feel embarrassed. Reaching out is never easy. Feeling helpless isn’t easy. It’s the most wretched feeling in the world.
You know, after betrayal.
“I know a guy,” Joyce says finally. “Can you come by tomorrow morning? Say eight o’clock? I should be able to squeeze you in before his first appointment.”
I breathe a huge sigh of relief. “Joyce, you’re a lifesaver. I’ll be there.”
Chapter 2
Landon
I stretch early Tuesday morning. Lazily: I stretch lazily. I’m not exactly a morning person. Not at all. Not by any stretch of the imagination. This is why Joyce schedules as many of my clients in the afternoon as she possibly can. Usually, I can sleep in until eight or nine before I even have to think about getting up, showering, and eating.
Today is a rather unusual day, however.
Last night, Joyce called me late at night and asked if I would do her a favor. Well, she actually demanded that I do her a favor. She claims that I owe her and that I just absolutely, positively, essentially have to meet her friend at eight.
It’s a life-or-death situation, she says.
It might just be my opinion, but I think Joyce has a flair for the dramatic.
There’s nothing over-the-top about a custody case. They happen. People get divorced all the time. The situation is rough all around. People get hurt and damaged and broken and cry, but that’s where I come in.
I’m not a counselor.
I can’t fix a marriage or make it work.
I can’t talk someone out of a divorce.
I can, however, make the entire situation go a little more smoothly. I can help things to go a little easier. I can help everything work out just a little bit better.
In general, I practice family law. This includes divorces, but I’m not exclusively a divorce attorney. A lot of what I do is handle adoptions, which I love. My job can be incredibly fun, interesting, and rewarding. My clients can be incredible. They can be wonderful.
Or they can be awful.
Luckily for me, those cases are few and far between.
Still, whether or not Joyce’s friend actually needs my help, I’m not happy to be getting up at the ass-crack of dawn to offer my assistance. It’s not that I don’t want to help Joyce. I’d do anything for her: obviously. It’s just that waking up early is hard for a bear, and I really don’t want to.
My alarm beeps again and I growl. Shutting it off, I stretch once more, enjoying the way the sheets feel against my bare skin, and then I climb out of bed. I shower on autopilot and manage to make myself a cup of coffee. My studio apartment takes up the third floor of the Victorian mansion we call our office. Casa shares the second floor with his wife and Lyon has the fourth. Somehow, we make the weird living situation work for us.
Somehow, it seems easy when it’s with friends.
I didn’t mean to fall into this little family. I met Casa and Lyon when we were all law students. Not too many shifters were around at our school, so we sort of connected and became friends. Law school is hard enough when you’re human. Being a freak of nature makes it even harder. Casa and Lyon were incredibly supportive throughout the entire journey. After graduation, it only made sense that we would live and work together.
I glance at my watch. It’s nearly eight and if Joyce’s friend is as punctual as she says she is, I need to get moving. I might be doing this as a favor to my favorite secretary in the world, but I don’t want to make a bad impression.
The thing about lawyers is that they often feel like they’re better than other people. It’s an easy mindset to slip into. In fact, it’s practically drilled into us at law school. We’re the lawyers and they’re the clients. Lawyers know best and clients know nothing. Lawyers are smart and clients are the ones who got themselves tangled up in legal trouble.
Although I find this attitude wrong and demeaning, it’s still easy to act that way when I’m not paying attention. It’s easy to think that since I didn’t want to get up at eight, I shouldn’t worry about being o
n time. I’m doing this woman a favor, after all. She should be waiting on me: not the other way around.
I don’t want to be a bad person, though, and that attitude? It’s garbage. So I take a deep breath, paste on a smile, and head down the two flights of stairs to the first floor.
Before I even reach the bottom of the stairs, I can smell her: vanilla and citrus. She smells fantastic, incredible. She smells human. She smells like desire.
I pause halfway down the stairs. She doesn’t notice me because the stairs curve around, but I peek through the banister and can see her talking to Joyce. She’s lovely: fair-skinned, long hair, beautiful curves. She’s wearing a flowered dress that comes just to her knees and a pair of dark brown sandals. It’s simple, but pretty, and it seems to match her disposition.
“He’ll be down shortly,” Joyce is saying. “Why don’t I show you to his office?”
“Oh, I’m all right,” the woman says. “I’m okay to wait out here in the open. I wouldn’t be comfortable, you know, just sitting in his private room.”
Joyce laughs. “His private room? Girl, please. That man wouldn’t know the word ‘private’ if it bit him on the ass.”
Really?
This is what Joyce thinks of me?
That I have no sense of personal privacy?
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that Landon Fee is an open book. If you want to ask him something about himself, you can. He’s not quiet and secretive like some people are, if you get my drift.” Joyce jerks her head toward one of my colleague’s offices, and I know what she’s saying. Oliver Lyon is one private motherfucker. It’s not his fault, being a damn tiger. Cats are notorious for being sneaky loners. Still, I hate knowing that his need for privacy has kept him from pursuing women on more than one occasion.
When he finds the right girl, she’s going to need to have more patience than a damn saint. That’s all I’m saying.
“Oh, I don’t need to know anything personal about him,” the woman says to Joyce. “It’s just…you know…as long as he can help me with my, um, problem. That’s all I need.”
