Husband Fur Hire (Bears Fur Hire Book 1)

by Joyce, T. S.

  Anticipation surged through her as they hiked closer to the target, and she saw where she’d really been hitting. This was her closest grouping all day, and the grin on Ian’s face said he was proud of her improvement, too. He hugged her against his side and said, “Woman, I think you’ve got this.”

  Damn, that man knew how to lift her up. He was a good teacher who didn’t ever put her down. If she messed up, he would simply go over and over the correct way until she understood the how and why. His comments weren’t ever biting either. Ian was patient, calm, and generous with letting her know when she did something right. And the beaming smile on his face now made her heart swell. She was glad she hadn’t given up earlier when her arm had first begun to get sore. From the start, she should’ve trusted him. The tighter against her shoulder she held the weapons, the less recoil she endured when she pulled that trigger.

  “I need to eat,” he said.

  “Again?” He’d been eating constantly all day.

  His smile turned sad. “That’s how it gets…”

  “At the end? Like real bears do…you have to eat a lot right before you go to sleep, right?”

  Ian led her back toward the table he’d dragged out for the rifles. “Right, but I still don’t feel tired, Elyse. We still have time.”

  He kept saying that, but he could never tell her how much time. Shouldering a couple of her rifles while he shoved ammo into his pockets, she said, “I’ve got work to do in the house today.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Laundry. Contain your jealousy.”

  “I can help if you want.”

  Imagining him washing her delicates with his big, rough hands, she snickered and shook her head. “Polite decline.”

  Back in the cabin, Ian rummaged around the kitchen while she gathered dirty clothes. Hers were spread out here and there as was her habit—some in the corner, some over the chair in their bedroom, some on the end of the bed, and a small pile in the bathroom. Ian was cleaner by nature than her. How much of that was animal instinct, she couldn’t tell.

  The soap was bubbling up nicely in the tub, but the water was slow as molasses today, so she dumped the clothes in and left the spout running as she strode across the living room into the guest bedroom, humming to herself. At the kitchen table, Ian was tucking into leftover hamburger pie smothered in cheese. The aroma was a delicious temptation, and while the laundry soaked in the tub, she was going to eat a piece with him.

  Ian hadn’t slept in the guest room in weeks, but this was where he kept his belongings, piled neatly on and around the rocking chair in the corner. And beside an empty trash bag he’d used as luggage was a small mountain of wadded up clothes. She dug through the pockets of his pants, grinning at the empty bullet casings and small tools she found, and when she came to a back pocket with a folded piece of white paper, she rushed and put it with the small pile of treasures she was building on the dresser. It was the writing on the other side that caught her attention, though. It read Elyse.

  She froze, and the pair of jeans she was rifling through fell from her hands onto the floor near her boots. That wasn’t Ian’s handwriting.

  Dread filled her as she frowned at the familiar scrawl. Small letters and all capitalized, and she’d only seen one man write like this. Cole.

  Slowly, she pulled the folded paper from the dresser and stared at her printed name. The paper crinkled as she opened it, fold by fold, then held it up in the window light so she could better see the small lettering.

  Elyse,

  If you are reading this, well, then I’m already gone. This is my seventh attempt at writing this damned note. It’s hard to explain myself or to tell you how sorry I am without giving too much of my life away. My secrets are better off buried with me. I disappointed you, and me. I should’ve never raised a hand to you, but my mistakes started long before that, and you and I both know you held onto me longer than you should have. You’re good, Elyse. The best woman I’ve ever met, and I strapped you with my shit. It wasn’t fair. There was never a chance for me to be okay or to be a good match for you. It has become really fucking obvious as I sit here in this cabin thinking on all the bad I’ve done to you that I never had a chance of making you happy. I can’t even remember you smiling when we were together. Only crying.

  It’s the end of my life, and that’s okay with me. Don’t mistake this for a plea for understanding. I’ve done horrible things. More than you even know, and I deserve the end that’s coming.

  I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For all of it.

  Cole

  Elyse gasped quietly against her tightening throat and put her hand over her mouth as twin tears streamed down her face. Why the fuck did Ian have this note?

  Miller’s voice whispered through her mind. He died of a bear attack.

  Blinking hard to clear her vision, she looked out the bedroom door. From here, she could see Ian’s legs under the kitchen table as he ate, but nothing more. In a daze, she shuffled from the room and held up the note.

  Ian glanced up, and the greeting smile fell from his face as he stared at the piece of paper she clutched in her hand. “I can explain.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  Ian stood slowly and held out his hands. “It wasn’t like how you’re thinking, Elyse.”

  “Did you kill him?” she screamed. “I don’t give a fuck about anything else except ‘yes’ or ‘no’ right now Ian.” She swallowed a sob and whispered, “He died of a bear attack. That’s what his brother told me. Was it your bear that did it?”

  Ian angled his face away, but his bright blue eyes never left her. He swallowed hard and nodded once.

  “Say it out loud.”

  “Yes,” he admitted.

  The word rocked her back on her heels. Yes? Ian had killed her ex-boyfriend, and now he was here, eating at her table. She felt sick as she stepped backward. Her shoulders hit the wall as she shook with sobbing.

  “Elyse, I was going to tell you everything—”

  “When, Ian? When were you going to tell me you murdered him?”

  “It wasn’t murder.” Ian paced behind the table and gave her a warning look. “He knew I was coming for him.”

  “You killed him, Ian!”

  “Because I had to!”

  She let off a furious shriek and bolted for the key hook. She yanked the jangling keychain from it and startled when Ian gripped her upper arm. He was too fast. Faster than he’d ever let her see. “Get your fucking hands off me!”

  “Elyse, don’t go like this. Just let me tell you what happened.”

  “I need space. If you care for me at all, you’ll give it to me.”

  Ian was shaking his head, eyes wide and churning, chest heaving.

  “Please, let me go.” She shrugged out of his loosening grasp and bolted out the front door.

  Ian watched her drive away from the front porch. His hands were linked behind his head, and his face…she’d never seen such despair in a man’s eyes.

  She ripped her gaze away from him to spare herself more pain. He’d brought this on himself.

  And as she blasted down the dirt road away from the homestead, she forced herself not to look back.

  Sobbing, she threw Cole’s note into the seat beside her and hit the gas on a straightaway. She’d made mistakes with Cole. Held onto him as he stole her happiness. Stealing, cheating, hurting her. She’d turned into a zombie for a man, and it had changed her from the bones out.

  She wouldn’t do that again. Overlooking a man’s deep-rooted faults for love wasn’t something she was willing to do anymore. Not after Ian had showed her she deserved better. Goddammit, he’d been better. He’d pushed her to become stronger than she’d ever been, and for what? The entire time he had been hiding this from her. The sting of betrayal was like a slap against cold skin. She screamed at the pain in her chest and slammed her open palm against Ian’s steering wheel over and over.

  How stupid she must seem to him. How naïve. He’d killed Cole, th
en made a move on her. The first moments she’d met Ian came back into blindingly bright focus. He’d been holding Cole’s letter then and seemed confused by the advertisement. He hadn’t been there to apply to be her husband at all. He was there to deliver a dead man’s message. A message from a man he killed.

  She’d lost sight of what she wanted. The advertisement was meant for an older Alaskan man made of gristle and bone, who was willing to be a friend, legally bound to her and her land. The entire point of mail-ordering a husband had been to leave love, romance, and feelings out of it completely. This was supposed to be an emotionless transaction. One that her closed-down heart could handle.

  Instead, she’d fallen for a pretty face, a pretty body, and pretty lies.

  And now she was breaking apart. Shattering into a million pieces. She was a mirror, and Cole had carelessly slammed his fist into her. Her heart had barely survived that man. All of the good parts of herself had been sacrificed in the last couple of years, and she’d been so determined to discover something strong about herself again. She needed a man to help her with her homestead, but she didn’t need him wrecking her heart.

  Her mistakes stretched on and on across her mind, vast and endless like a desert, and everything Ian had ever said to her was a mirage.

  The landscape of her homestead passed in a blur outside the windows as she cried her anguish. She’d lost so much, and dammit, she’d never complained. She’d accepted her father’s absence and had worked through her childhood insecurities that he’d somehow left because of her. Lash. She’d stayed quiet under Mom’s constant criticism. Lash. Marta’s funeral. Lash. Uncle Jim’s funeral. Lash. Cole had laid her heart wide open because she’d been ready. She’d wanted someone to stick around so badly, she’d clung to a horrible man. Lash, lash, lash.

  But the biggest pain of all was this. She’d told Ian everything. Shared all of herself, her fears, her hopes, because she’d been so sure he was doing the same for her. She’d been convinced he’d laid himself bare in those quiet moments between working their fingers to the bone, and in bed after intimacy, and in the early mornings when the snuggled closer to avoid the coming day, and when he tracked her down and interrupted her chores just to hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay.

  She’d believed him. She’d believed in him.

  Elyse had fallen completely while Ian Silver had only cared for the wounded bird left reeling by the man he’d murdered.

  She hunched into herself as the ache in her middle doubled.

  This wasn’t love—not for Ian.

  This was guilt and pity.

  ****

  Elyse nodded when the bartender, Eric, asked if she wanted another. She fingered the edge of the folded note and wiped her damp lashes on the sleeve of her jacket. Whiskey was the only thing that made her feel better. It numbed her. The scorching amber liquid made the smallness she felt less important.

  Even the darkest end of the bar top wasn’t near black enough for her right now. The light above her had gone out, and though it flickered to life every once in a while, it was the only corner in this whole place that felt comfortable.

  “Just the woman we’re in town to see,” Miller slurred from behind her, raising the hairs on her neck.

  She slid the note smoothly into her pocket and gave him a sideways glance as he sat on the stool next to her. His youngest brother, Lincoln, sat on his other side, all mussed dark hair and irritated grey eyes scanning the bar as though he wished he was anywhere but here. Miller, however, was staring with an empty smile, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be than pissing her off.

  “What do you want, Miller?”

  “You.”

  With a frown of disgust, she pulled the shot the bartender gave her closer. “You’re not my type.”

  “I’ll have what she’s having. Make it a double,” he said to Eric, though from the slur in his voice and the reek of alcohol that wafted from him, Miller was already two sheets to the wind.

  “You still owe me from a couple months ago,” Eric said low, his bushy gray eyebrows lifting high.

  Miller slammed his fist on the counter. “Give me my fucking drink.”

  Eric tossed her a quick glance, then began pouring another shot.

  “Now,” Miller said in a calmer, saner voice as he arched his attention back to her. “You and I both know I’m exactly your type. You like trouble, Elyse. You like being roughed up. You like taking care of a man, just like you did for Cole. I look just like him, don’t I?”

  Frozen, Elyse swallowed the bile that clawed its way up the back of her throat.

  “Look at me, Elyse.”

  Breath shaking, she clutched the shot glass and refused.

  “Look at me!” Miller grabbed her chin and yanked her face toward him. “I’ve come to tell you I’ll be courting you.”

  “I don’t want you.”

  “Miller, let’s go,” Lincoln murmured, hand on his brother’s shoulder.

  Miller lurched out from under his little brother’s hand and said, “Shut the fuck up, Link. This is why we’re here. To get our girl.”

  “She ain’t our girl, and this is on you. I’m not after her. She’s Cole’s claim. Not mine and certainly not yours.”

  Cole’s claim. The way he said that dumped ice into her veins. The fine hairs on her arms electrified with chills, and she inched away from Miller.

  His rough hand jerked her to a halt, and before she could stop him, he tore the neck of her sweater downward with a riiip. With a curse, she pulled away from him, shielding Ian’s new bite mark, which was still red and painful and hadn’t scabbed over yet.

  “Did you see that, boy?” Miller growled in a voice she’d never heard before. It was low and snarly, and a long growl rattled his chest. What the hell? “Cole’s dead, but she’s still marked. She’s a McCall claim.”

  Elyse stumbled off the stool and flung her shot of whiskey into Miller’s face. “Get the fuck away from me.”

  Too fast to be human, Miller grabbed her by the throat and pushed her backward until her shoulder blades hit the wall behind her. His eyes were blazing such a light color they looked like snow against his flushed, whiskey-soaked cheeks. “Careful, girl.” He pressed his hard erection against her. “I like my women feisty, and you’re gettin’ me all excited in this public place, you kinky bitch.”

  “Miller,” Lincoln growled out.

  Elyse was struggling to draw air into her lungs as Miller’s grip tightened around her throat. Soft choking sounds slipped past her lips, but she couldn’t scream.

  Scrambling, she reached into her pocket for the knife Ian had told her to always carry. She flicked it open with a jerk of her wrist and pressed it against Miller’s neck. She was going to pass out soon, but she could take this sadistic asshole with her. Desperate for air, she shoved it harder against his skin and a stream of crimson trickled out of him. “Get off me or I’ll slit your fuckin’ throat,” she gasped out.

  Miller smiled and cupped her sex hard, then leaned into her blade, the psychotic sonofabitch. Spots dotted the edges of her vision now, and his smile shook and blurred. He opened his mouth to say something, but the crack of a gun being cocked drowned out everything. Miller’s eyes narrowed.

  “Get your hands off her,” Eric gritted out, jamming a sawed-off shotgun hard against the side of Miller’s head. “Are you deaf? I said get your hands off her!”

  Miller let off a single, humorless laugh, then released her. Stepping back, he raised his hands in surrender. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, bartender. We’re just having a lover’s spat.”

  “Get on out of here, Elyse,” Eric said in a steely voice.

  Clutching her aching throat and struggling to draw air into her body, she rushed past Miller.

  “I’ll see you soon, baby,” Miller called after her.

  In the front seat of the truck, she looked at the red blade of her open knife and dropped it to the passenger’s seat in horror. She’d cut a man. Th
e blade had sliced into his skin so easily. Nausea made her swallow hard, over and over— she couldn’t puke here. She needed to escape to somewhere safe.

  Safe. This morning safe had been Ian and the homestead, but now everything had changed.

  Miller and Lincoln exited the bar with Eric right behind them, so she threw the truck into reverse and blasted out of town toward home.

  She was caught in the middle of something big. Much bigger than she’d thought when she’d kicked Cole out of her life. Miller wasn’t human. He wasn’t. His eyes had changed colors, and he’d growled a feral sound like Ian sometimes did.

  And he’d known about Cole biting her. He’d even called it a claiming mark. She knew what that was because Ian had given her one. But when Cole had bitten her before, she had assumed he was just being cruel.

  Werewolf.

  The word breezed through her mind.

  Ian said bear shifters were rare, but there were also werewolves, and from the way he talked about them, they were bad news. As much as she wanted to reject anything Ian said as truth right now, Miller had always been a half-deranged pill. His mishandling of her in the bar said he was losing his fucking mind. He’d asked if he looked like Cole. Well, he definitely reminded her of Cole at the end. Something was wrong with that man, and her instincts said Ian knew more about the McCalls than he’d let on. And now the realization that Cole had been a werewolf and so easily hidden such a huge part of himself slammed into her middle.

  She tightened her strangle hold on the steering wheel and hit the gas.

  Ian had mountains of explaining to do.