Spawned By The Bear: A Paranormal Love & Pregnancy Romance (The Spawned Collection Book 2)

by Amira Rain

  So, even though Warren’s broad smile had caused a distinct wave of butterflies in my stomach, I only gave him a small, polite smile in return, deciding that I was going to be civil while holding him at arm’s length indefinitely.

  We both fell silent briefly, with the ticking of the grandfather clock over in the living room being the only sound.

  Then, Warren finished the rest of his whiskey in a gulp, set the glass down, and looked at me down the length of the table again. “A while ago, I said I wanted to tell you a few things, with the first being that I don’t want to be called a criminal. The second thing I wanted to tell you is that now that we’re both in Greenwood, I want us to be able to work together to co-parent our daughter. She means the world to me, as I’m sure she does to you, and I think she’ll be happiest if we can take care of her together as peacefully as possible, putting our own disagreements aside when we’re both with her.”

  Now he’d done it again.

  With my blood simmering toward a boil, I looked him dead in his maddeningly beautiful blue eyes. “’Our own disagreements?’ You mean like how I ‘disagree’ that you ordered me abducted and taken from my family against my will? Or how I ‘disagree’ with how you changed our surrogacy deal after I’d endured nine months of hell of thinking that I was going to have to give my baby up, never to see her again? Those ‘disagreements?’”

  Warren winced, clearly knowing that he’d made a misstep. “I think you know what I mean.”

  Just wanting to be contrary, I shrugged. “Not really.”

  “Well, nonetheless, can you at least agree to try to co-parent Sam with me as peacefully and as amicably as possible? At least when she’s directly present?”

  Folding my arms across my chest, I nodded. “Yes. I’ll agree to that, because I love my daughter, and I want her to be as happy as possible, and I never want her to be upset by any fighting.”

  “Good. I feel the same way.”

  “Good. But don’t expect anything but the bare minimum of civility from me.”

  “That’s fine. Maybe you’ll get nothing but the bare minimum of civility from me.”

  “That sounds wonderful. In fact, feel free to give me a lesser amount of civility than I give you. I don’t care.”

  “Or maybe I’ll keep trying to convince you that I’m not the criminal you think I am, and maybe one day, you’ll actually open up to me more and let me get to know you a little better.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  With his thick, dark hair glinting in the Tiffany lamp above the table, Warren just looked at me for a long moment before speaking again. “Do you really find me that horrible? That abhorrent?”

  Tightening my arm across my chest, I didn’t even hesitate. “Because of your actions, yes. I do.”

  “Then, why did you put a bit of makeup on before coming down for dinner?”

  I had no retort. This was primarily because I recalled having grudgingly admitted to myself that I was possibly putting on a bit of makeup for dinner because I maybe had some thought in the back of my mind of wanting Warren to find me attractive. Now in the present, I hated that he’d reminded me of this.

  Indignant and fuming, I grabbed my napkin off my lap and stood, slamming my napkin on the table, if a napkin could even be slammed. I would have liked it to be a napkin containing marbles, tied at the top like a bag, so that it would have made some sort of a dramatic bang that fit my current state of mind.

  “The reason that I put on a little makeup before dinner, Warren, was simply because I just felt like it. It was really more to stall in having to share a meal with you than anything. But no matter why I did it, just know that it was for me. Not you. But now that I know that you noticed my makeup and very conceitedly thought it was for you, I won’t be wearing any anymore. Not a stich of it, starting first thing tomorrow.”

  “You’ll still look absolutely beautiful. So, if your plan is to not look beautiful by not wearing makeup, I can tell you already that it’s going to fail.”

  Warren was very good at responding to me by saying the very last things that I expected to hear. Now this latest response had me tongue-tied, having been taken completely off-guard, and I just sputtered for a moment or two before speaking.

  “Well…”

  I paused, really having no idea what to say. I didn’t want to thank Warren for what he’d said, but at the same time, what he’d said had kind of taken the angry wind out of my sails, so I didn’t want to argue with him anymore, either.

  “I’m going upstairs to bed. Goodnight.”

  With that, I turned from the table and speed-walked out of the dining area, somehow able to intuitively tell that Warren was watching me as I went.

  CHAPTER 12

  I tossed and turned that night. When Sam woke up around four in the morning, crying with a cry that I knew meant she was hungry, she looked almost startled when I came into the nursery so quickly. Sometimes when I was sleeping deeply, it took me a minute or two to hear her cries on the monitor, pull myself out of bed, and shuffle in to feed her; but this time, I’d come in within seconds.

  Only at about five in the morning was I finally able to fall into any kind of a deep sleep, and then I ended up sleeping until nine, which was an hour or two later than I usually did, being woken up by Sam most days. She was quiet now, though, and I quickly got out of bed and went into her nursery, wondering why she wasn’t up yet and hoping she was okay. To my relief, she was, sleeping contentedly in her snuggly white fleece pajamas, looking like a rosy-cheeked little angel. Taped to the front of her crib was a note written in heavy, masculine script, and I pulled it off and began reading.

  Dear Mommy,

  When my Daddy woke up very early this morning to go out on patrol, he peeked in on me

  and found me awake, happily playing with my own feet in the dark. I was glad to see

  Daddy, and we went downstairs together, and I helped him cook a big breakfast. We

  saved some for you in the fridge. Then we went back upstairs, and I started fussing, and

  Daddy guessed right that I had a wet diaper. He put a dry one on me, but he didn’t know

  how to put it on at first, and I actually giggled! I thought it was funny! But then I got

  sleepy, and after Daddy walked me around for a while, I fell fast asleep in his arms, and

  he put me in my crib.

  Love, Sam

  PS- I think I have him wrapped around my little finger already.

  In spite of myself and my ambivalent feelings toward Warren, I’d read the note smiling, and with a distinct sense of lightness in my heart. Maybe men capable of kidnapping can actually also be capable of being good fathers, I thought, as odd a thought as that was to have, to think of a man who’d paid a mob man to abduct a woman actually being a good dad. Or a good human being in any way.

  I showered and dressed while Sam slept a little longer, and once she was awake, I fed her, then got her cleaned up and dressed as well, and the two of us went downstairs. Along the way, I told her I couldn’t wait to see what she and her daddy had saved me for breakfast, and she broke into a grin, as if just hearing her daddy mentioned made her happy.

  In the fridge was a plate of bacon, eggs, and hash browns covered with plastic wrap, and next to it, another wrapped plate filled with orange slices. A nearby saucepan was half-full of what looked like oatmeal. While I took these items out of the fridge, I told Sam that her daddy sure had made a big breakfast like his note had said. I shouldn’t have been at all surprised, knowing that Warren probably had to eat a lot on a daily basis in order to keep his tall, muscular body in good working order.

  Sam had a well-baby visit with Dr. Bailey that afternoon, and it occurred to me that afterward, we should probably make a stop at the grocery store, since we’d surely be going through a lot of food in the household now with Warren home. The only problem was that this would be yet another ride to ask Mary for, and even though I knew Warren had paid her to drive Sam and me whereve
r we needed to go, I was starting to feel something like a burden, not that she’d ever made me feel that way. Just the same, though, I wished I could just drive myself to the store whenever I pleased, like I’d done back in Michigan my entire adult life.

  Thinking about this while heating my breakfast in the microwave, I noticed a note with my name on the front tucked a few inches beneath a napkin holder on the island, and this note actually turned out to be the solution to my problem. Written in the same heavy, bold script that my morning note from “Sam” had been written in, this note read: Tara, I saw on the calendar that Sam has a checkup today. Feel free to take the Jeep in the garage if you’d like. Keys are on hook by door. -Warren

  Even though I’d lived in the house for three months, I hadn’t had any idea there was a Jeep in the garage because I’d never had any reason to even go out in the garage. During the time I’d lived in the house, there had never been any keys on the hook by the door, and I guessed that Warren had probably hidden them before heading down to the US, lest I try to make an escape from Greenwood while he was gone.

  If he now thought that I wouldn’t try to make any escape in a vehicle now that he and Sam had bonded, he was right. I couldn’t believe how much my thinking had changed since just the day before. Now I knew I could never let Brooke help me and Sam escape Greenwood, either. Not only did I no longer fear that Warren was a violent man who might hurt me or Sam, I now knew that he had all the makings of an amazing father.

  I could tell he probably already loved Sam already, and I could never take her away from a truly loving father, even if that meant that I had to remain living in a house with a man who I felt had done me very wrong.

  While I ate breakfast with Sam dozing in the crook of my arm, I decided that I’d still show up for my meeting in the woods with Brooke the following week, just to give her the courtesy of letting her know that I was committed to staying in Greenwood for Sam’s sake. I’d do this since Brooke had been so kind in wanting to help Sam and me, and I felt like I at least owed her an explanation about what was going on so that she wouldn’t have to wonder about us.

  At the same time, though, I couldn’t deny that I was now just slightly troubled and perplexed by some of the things Brooke had said to me, specifically the things she’d said painting a picture of her people as innocent victims. Clearly, when it came to the Graywolves, either she was lying or Warren was, and I didn’t know either of them well enough yet to feel like I could make a determination yet as to who.

  The night before, while I’d been tossing and turning, it had occurred to me that while Warren’s caring, affectionate interaction with Sam upon first meeting her had seemed completely genuine, and while he hadn’t given me any indication that he was lying at any point during dinner, it was at least possible that he was just very good at deception. I didn’t feel in my gut this was the case, but I just didn’t know.

  I figured a man who’d done to me what Warren had was probably capable of anything. And like I’d thought the night before in regards to Brooke, as far as Sam and I were concerned, I couldn’t figure out what motive she might have in lying to me.

  The unusual lightness in my heart that had developed when I’d read Warren’s first note of the morning continued after breakfast, when I got a call from Kevin. At first I was a little concerned, because he normally texted to check in, and he said he was calling to tell me about “something funny” that had been going on.

  Clutching my phone to my ear, I asked if any mob men had been back to the house, not knowing why they would be, but just a little paranoid, maybe. Not wanting any dangerous men around my little brothers, I didn’t even like the fact that they’d had personal contact with Kevin when they’d delivered the second installment of my money.

  He said no, though, there hadn’t been any more mob men visits or any kind of contact at all. “The ‘something funny’ that’s been going on is about Dad. I haven’t wanted to say anything to you because I know you have problems of your own, and maybe you don’t want to hear about him, but… he’s just been acting really, really weird lately. He’s kind of been freaking all of us out.”

  “Well, what’s he been doing?”

  My best guess was some strange behavior associated with off-the-charts alcohol consumption.

  “Well, the day after you sent me that first picture of Sam, when the mob guy was taking you to Greenwood, I showed the picture to Dad. I just left my phone on the counter with the picture on the screen, and I said, ‘You can look if you want.’ It was probably the first time I’d said a full sentence to him in a year. Then, because that interaction was plenty for me, I left the kitchen and came back to get my phone later.

  Well, when I did, guess what I saw? There was Dad, scrubbing down the counters with bleach, mop bucket set out, mop, dishes soaking in the sink, all that kind of stuff for a full kitchen cleaning. And he was dressed in actual clothes—shirt and pants—not pajamas or his gross old robe. He ended up going on to clean the whole house that day. He didn’t even stop ‘til like, midnight.”

  “I agree that that sounds very unlike Dad, but that’s good that he cleaned. I’m glad that it took the burden off you for a week.”

  “Well, I was glad, too, and I felt like there was some connection between me showing him Sam’s picture and him wanting to clean; so the next time you sent pictures, I showed him again, and he cleaned again. And then he went out and took part of his monthly check to buy his own phone so that I could forward him all the Sam pics for him to keep, and you know how he normally likes to spend every penny of his check on booze.

  I even warned him when he came home with the phone, I said, ‘Now you’re going to be short on booze this month, and I hope you’re prepared to ration it, because I’m not giving you a nickel to make up the difference.’ And he just said, ‘That’s fine.’”

  Very unexpectedly and suddenly misty, I spoke over a lump in my throat. “And did he stick to that? Did he hassle you for any extra booze money later?”

  “No. He totally didn’t. Then, he started acting even weirder a few weeks later when you sent me that video of Sam doing those big smiles when you played peekaboo with her. I forwarded it to Dad, and he takes to his bed all afternoon, drinking and crying, but we’re all used to that, right? So, we all just ignored him. But then he comes out later, all fully dressed, and he makes this big spaghetti dinner.

  Makes us all sit down at the table to eat it, so we all sit down and have a silent, awkward dinner, wondering what the hell his deal is. Then, since then, he’s still been on all his housecleaning, and he’s been making us all join him for these big family dinners on Wednesday and Sunday nights. Posted a big notice on the fridge saying that we all have to be there every time.

  ‘Or else what?’ I wondered. Well, when one of us doesn’t show up, that person’s video games mysteriously go missing until the next dinner night, and if that person shows up, then their games all mysteriously soon reappear. So, we’ve all been going, just because it’s annoying to have missing video games. We still don’t talk to Dad, though. But then, get this Tara. Guess what he says to me at the last dinner.”

  Still a bit misty, I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “What did he say?”

  “We’re all sitting there silently, and totally out of the blue, he goes, ‘How’s college going, Kevin?’ Like, just like he’s a regular dad who might ask that. I just said, ‘Good.’ And then he goes on to ask Derek and Joey how school is going for them. They were both just like, ’Fine,’ because we just didn’t know what to make of the whole thing. I wanted to say, ‘They’re both doing great in school, as I found out last month when I, an eighteen-year-old, went to their end-of-term parent-teacher conferences while you were in your room drinking,’ but I didn’t.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t, Kev. You were mature not to, and that’s good.”

  “Well, thanks. But then, get this. The weirdness continues. This morning, Dad comes out of his room in one of his old suit jackets, just han
ging off him, and one of his fancy old hats. I said, ‘Where are you going?’ and he just goes, ‘A meeting.’ Then he leaves, but then comes back because he forgot his phone.

  He goes, ‘I can’t believe I almost forgot it. I want to show them pictures of my granddaughter.’ Like what kind of a ‘meeting’ do people show pictures of their grandkids?”

  Still cradling a sleeping Sam in one arm, I wiped my eyes again with my free hand. “Kev, go look in Dad’s room. Go see if he still has vodka bottles in there.”

  He normally kept several large bottles on his nightstand, always afraid of running out.

  “Why do you want me to—”

  “Just go see, Kev.”

  He said all right, then went quiet briefly before speaking again. “Well, there’s a bunch of empty bottles in his trash, but no full ones on his nightstand. He’ll probably hit the liquor store on the way home.”

  “I really hope he doesn’t. I think he went to an AA meeting.”

  “Well, what?”

  “I think maybe Sam helped him break the spell, the one he said he’s been under since Mom died. He wanted the mob men to do it, but-this is-this is wonderful.”

  “Well…”

  “I know it probably all feels so weird, Kev, to have him trying to act like a dad again, but you’ve got to encourage it and try to be really, really nice to him. The next few days might be really hard on him. If he can manage to stay on the wagon, he’s probably going to be incredibly sick for a little while. You’re going to have to look in on him all the time, and maybe even take him to the hospital if it gets bad enough. Okay? And while I’m thinking of it, empty his trash so that he doesn’t even see those empty bottles when he gets back.”