by Amelia Jade
Amelia Jade's
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Junkyard Bear
Chapter One
Andy
It was going to rain.
The signs were all around him. What would normally have been a vibrant, sunny morning was quickly turning to a uniform shade of grey. The clouds were thickening overhead with ominous black clouds rolling toward them from the east. As the clouds hit the mountains and were forced upwards, the warm air from the plains would mix with colder skies and unleash a torrent of rainfall.
Stuck in the middle would be many small communities, such as the one Andy Hawes called home.
"Gonna be a busy day," he muttered to himself, standing on the front porch to the single-level house he called his.
For now, he wanted nothing more than to stay inside. Both he and his bear loved it there, the bungalow was cozy overall, but he had built it with high ceilings and an open concept, better suited to hold his gigantic frame. It had all the trappings of a true den, perfect for his shifter, and him.
Even as the wind picked up around him, throwing leaves and other debris into miniature cyclones as they whipped across the open yard between his den and the road, Andy knew he didn't have much of a choice. His job called, and the bad weather all but ensured he would have an extra call or two.
It was never the locals that gave him trouble, he thought, snorting in derision as he downed the last of his coffee, turning back inside for a moment. As he cleaned the mug in the sink, he wondered what type of call he would get today. Perhaps it would be some idiot who'd driven too fast in the rain, missed a curve and ended up in the ditch.
Or maybe they would be following too closely and rear-end someone because they didn't realize how quickly people had to stop sometimes. The roads around 'the Bluffs'—as the locals called it—was rife with wildlife and hairpin turns. The main road that wound through the mountains was treacherous. The locals generally knew when to hunker down, as they would today.
But the few tourists and others that were driving through, they were the ones that he disliked. Before getting down to work, he quickly ensured the windows were all closed and locked. He had known they were, but a second check didn't hurt. His den was neat and organized, just the way he liked it. With nobody else around, Andy knew if something wasn't the way it should be.
It never was.
"Alright sweetheart," he said, approaching the building next to his house. "What kind of trouble are you going to cause today?" he asked, lifting the old but well maintained garage door with one massive arm.
As it rolled up into the ceiling, he looked inside. Sitting on a slightly elevated platform was an older model farm truck. As the only local mechanic, Andy found himself repairing work vehicles as often as anything else. This truck, owned by an elderly farmer just north of the city, had been giving him fits trying to repair. He knew his trade, but there was something going on under the hood, something he was missing. It just wouldn't start.
Lifting the battered green metal for what felt like the millionth time, he flicked on the spotlight that was still hanging where he had left it the day before, bathing the old, grey interior in a pale yellow light.
No sooner had he started than he was interrupted. A loud, deep rumbling caused him to look up, wondering if the nearby Mt. Selena was having a landslide. It would have to be rather large for that to be the case.
"What the hell?" he said quizzically as he saw the source.
His shop was on the main road that wound round the mountains and passed along the outskirts of the Bluffs. It was a good location, because many of the problems happened on this road. It also meant he experienced a lot of through traffic going past. Big rigs were far from unknown to him, several passed by every day.
But the big red Mack he saw pulling onto the side of the road in front of his property was unusual in that it appeared to be the start of a big convoy. He easily counted another half-dozen rigs lined up before the road twisted into the trees, obscuring even his enhanced eyesight.
A pickup truck with a camper mounted to the bed and what looked like an enclosed car trailer pulled up behind the first rig.
He didn't even notice the man in the cowboy hat climb down from the rig. Andy—and his bear—were both fully focused on the woman who climbed out of the pickup. She was tall for a woman, easily over six feet in height, with the frame to match. Her long, jet-black hair was pulled back into a strict ponytail.
Andy's keen senses instantly picked up on the fact that she was a shifter. As she came closer, he could smell the bear on her. When she finally looked over at him after observing his shop and den, he saw the recognition in her as well. They gave each other a slight nod to acknowledge it.
He let his eyes linger on her, reluctant to tear them away. She was intoxicating in a stranger, unknown manner. The luster of her grey eyes was unusual, their silent regard pulling him in, trapping him within them without even flickering. It wasn't until the other man snapped his fingers at him to get his attention that Andy remembered there was someone else there.
Snapping his gaze to the man who had so rudely interrupted the unplanned staring contest, which meant he lost, Andy had to tone down the urge to rend the man limb from limb. His bear saw a rival, and he felt his skin tingle as it pushed to the surface. One quick flick of his wrist and the man would no longer be a nuisance.
"Hey mister, I'm asking you a question!" The man's tone of voice annoyed Andy as well. It was arrogant, like that of someone used to getting his way, but only through fear and threat of punishment. He didn't like that.
"Politely," he rumbled, speaking at last.
"What?" the stranger asked, one hand fumbling with his hat as he tried to regain the initiative that the titan in front of him had just taken away.
"Manners," he said once more, losing patience. His bear was flashing him images of its massive paws reaching out to club the insect in the face, ending the suffering for everyone. He tried not to smile. It would not have been a pleasant one.
"Oh. Why yes, that would be appropriate, wouldn't it? Where are my manners," he said, sticking out his hand toward Andy. "Charlie Digger, this here is Robyn." He tilted his head toward the woman.
Andy ignored the outstretched hand, shifting his stance slightly so he was once again facing the woman directly. She hadn't said a word yet, but her silvery-grey eyes danced with delight.
She was enjoying the way he was treating Charlie, he realized with a start. They obviously worked together, which meant she had put up with his insufferable attitude far longer than he could.
"Andy," he said by way of introduction, extending his hand toward her.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," she replied, taking his massive paw in her own, squeezing it in a strong, firm grip. She wasn't trying to overpower him, simply letting him know she was no damsel in need of rescue from the prick standing next to her. At that, Andy did finally smile, seeing an answering look play across her face.
"What do you want?" he growled at Charlie, who was shuffling incessantly between feet.
He hated people who could not be patient, who could not stand still and enjoy the area around them.
"We're looking for someplace called Scenic Park? It's supposed to be on this side of town, but we haven't seen it yet. Where is it?"
Before Andy could reply, to tell the human that he should learn to say please, among other things, Robyn spoke up.
"I think we may be lost, Andy. Could you please point us in the right direction?" she interjected smoothly, speaking overtop of Charlie without caring.
"You got bad directions. It's on the far side of town. Follow this road another mile and a half. On your right should be a big sign pointing to the left with the name 'Scenic Park' on it. In the event it's not there, it's side road number seven."
"Ah, finally. That's perfect, almost there. C'mon Robyn, let's go!"
Andy arched an eyebrow at Charlie's back as he strode away, all of his cock-sure arrogance still firmly in place
. It would take a lot to break that man, he had to give him that. Beside him, Robyn sighed loud enough for him to hear.
"Sorry about that. He's not that bad, but sometimes, he can be a real dick," she grumped, turning back to look at Andy.
"Really? I hadn't noticed," Andy said with false innocence.
Robyn giggled, a beautiful sound that seemed to float to his ears. He wanted to hear her speak more, to learn who she was and what made her tick. There was something about her that his bear found fascinating, besides the fact that she was a bear shifter. He had to think fast, however, because he noticed she was looking over at her truck, as if she no longer felt welcome.
"So, what exactly are you guys here for?" he inquired, waving a hand to indicate all the trucks now beginning to stream by. It was an unusual sight for somewhere as small as Bear Bluffs.
"Charlie there operates Digg Entertainment. We do several things, but chief among them is demolition derbies and motocross tricks."
"Demo derbies?" Andy was intrigued. He'd been to one before, they were fairly common in smaller communities, but it had been a long time since one had visited the area.
"Yes sir. Best entertainment you'll find this side of a warm body in your bed," she quipped without thinking.
He watched as her face lit up like a stoplight, going beet red in a heartbeat.
Interesting, she blushes all the way down to her chest...
Tearing his gaze away from her ample chest and slightly exposed cleavage under the half-zipped mocha leather jacket she was wearing, Andy looked around for something else to focus on. Anything at all. His eyes landed on her truck and the trailer it was hauling around.
"Do you compete?" he asked cautiously, wondering if she perhaps had a husband. There was no wedding band that he could see, but that never indicated a thing, especially in smaller communities, and for someone who likely worked with her hands a lot, it could just be easier not to wear it.
"You bet!" she said with pride, beaming at him, her prior embarrassment forgotten in a flash. "I've been doing it for seven years now."
"A bear shifter demolition derby driver. I think that's a first," he said with a smile. She laughed, but he could see that his words had had some effect on her. The humor was dulled, her smile fading quickly.
"How long are you in town for?" he asked, looking at her again as she turned to face him, eyes roving beyond him to his den and shop once more.
"Seven, maybe ten days, depending on how long things take to set up, how far I go in the derby, that kind of stuff."
"Do you win often?" he asked, trying to buoy her spirits. He wasn't sure what had pulled her down, but he didn't like it. Happy Robyn was far more enjoyable than sober, conflicted Robyn.
"Do you ask everyone who comes this way all these questions?" she asked. There was no rudeness to her voice, but he could tell she didn't want to talk about it anymore.
"So, you're a mechanic?"
"Yep, only one for miles," he said, eager to change the subject to something she wanted to talk about."
"Could you look at my ride for me? She's been acting out lately, shutting down randomly in mid-match. I'm okay under the hood by this point, but that still doesn't beat an expert's touch," she said, a whisper of her old mood returning for just a moment.
"Ah, when do you need it for?" He had Myles' truck to finish with, and Darren needed some work done on his as well. "I don't have an open spot for two days, maybe three."
"Oh, we probably start tomorrow," she said, dejected. He hated to see her like that. It wasn't an act to get him to sympathize, he could see right through those. It was just a simple acknowledgement of facts, dashing a spurt of hope that had flared up, only to be extinguished, as if the coming rain had arrived early.
"Well, maybe there's something I can do to help," he said, scrambling to do whatever it took to put a smile back on her face. He didn't like making her sad. "I can't offer too much time, but if you just need a place to look at it properly, pull your truck up. I at least have all the tools right here to help you work properly. It should make your life easier."
She looked up at him, a genuine surprise on her face as she struggled to speak.
"You can also have free reign of the boneyard," he said, pointing to the parts yard he had across the street, a two-acre area filled with parts—cars and totaled vehicles.
"Why are you doing this?" she said, in awe of his generosity.
"I'm not sure," he said, his deep voice rumbling in time with the thunder. "Storms coming," he said.
He watched as her long legs took her steadily back to her truck. Long hair swished back and forth in time with her powerful strides. The curves of her waist were emphasized by the force of her legs, all of it barely contained by her jeans. It stirred his cock to life, as he imagined what she might look like without them.
She handled the truck expertly, increasing his opinion of her as she backed it in perfectly. Together they lowered the ramp, giving him his first good glimpse of her car.
"Wow," he said, trying to contain his reaction.
"Really? That's not a very nice thing to say to Anastasia here," Robyn said, her grumpiness half-hearted.
"I'm sorry, it's just..." he trailed off, unsure of what else to say.
It was a piece of shit.
"So let me get this straight. You get in this..."
"Yep," she said without hesitation.
"It actually starts?"
"It does..." she said, arching an eyebrow in his direction as they maneuvered the vehicle down the ramp.
"Then you smash yourself into other people?"
"That's the general idea," came the dry response.
"And this deathtrap hasn't killed you yet?"
"Still alive and kicking!" she said proudly, sticking her tongue out his way.
Andy knew what she meant, but the more he stared, the more he realized this woman may very well have bigger balls than he did.
The doors were dented everywhere, the base grey paint scratched and chipped down to bare metal in dozens of places. There was rust...everywhere. He could not find a part of it that wasn't beginning to rust out.
"Shouldn't there be, like, more bars to prevent stuff from crumpling?" He asked, horrified that she would actually compete in what he was looking at. There were two steel bars welded around the frame to help prevent damage from impact, and they did not look overly strong to begin with.
"It would be nice, but these things cost money, you know," she said, irritation becoming evident in her tone.
"I'm sorry, but I can't lie, thinking of you competing in this makes me scared."
"I've been doing it for years just fine," she said, popping the hood and practically throwing herself under it to end the conversation for the moment.
Andy sighed, debating for a moment if he should say something, before deciding that perhaps he should just shut his mouth for a few. Figuring it would be best to leave her alone, he turned and used his long strides to power him quickly back into the garage, and to his own job.
Chapter Two
Robyn
His footsteps moved off, up the small incline and into his shop. She heard his feet scuffle as they moved from the dirt to the concrete inside. Sighing, she propped herself up on the frame of the car.
He was right, it was a piece of shit. Not that Andy had said as much out loud, but she could read male body language as well as any woman, even if she wasn't an expert on men.
"It's okay old girl," she said, patting the car affectionately, hoping that it wouldn't take any offense.
In her world, there was no harm in being a little superstitious. Robyn didn't really believe her car was alive, but it didn't hurt anybody to pretend. Besides, the car had seen her through a lot, they had been together back when everything was good. Before—
She cut that thought off before it even began. Now was not the time for wallowing in old memories. Tomorrow marked the start of another competition, and she would have to bring her "A" game. She wa
s in the same starting heat as Marcus, who was the best driver on tour with them, after Robyn herself.
The way Charlie ran his show was a little different. It wasn't a one-time only free-for-all with a dozen or more cars in the ring. His show travelled, which meant the rings tended to be smaller, less forgiving when there were lots of cars involved, if there was even room. So to combat that, he broke it down into heats.
The cars were awarded points in the first round based on how they hit somebody. Hitting someone while in drive was one point, and reversing into someone was two points. If your car was hit on either side, one point was lost. Head-on collisions were awarded no points, to help prevent crippling damage in the first round.
The first car to ten points won the round, and the others were ranked in order of points once the round was over. Charlie had enough drivers to have two different groups: a total of ten drivers, split in half. The top four point-getters from each group had twenty-four hours to fix up their rides before the second of three stages. This was a knockout round between the four that went until there were two cars left.
The two cars remaining from each group then had several days to get ready for the final, free-for-all round. This was a "last car standing" round, and it was where Robyn's ride had taken most of its damage at their last stop. Her mechanic had been offered a job in town after she had been unable to pay him, so she had been forced to do the repairs on her own.
It hadn't gone so well.
Robyn knew her way around a car, but she wasn't a mechanic by trade, and there was something going on with her transmission that she couldn't seem to diagnose herself. It hung up switching between first and second gear, a pause before she could drop it in place and take off. She was learning to compensate for it, but it would be nice to fix it.
On top of that, she needed to find some new parts, to reinforce it before the knockout round. But right now, her priority was ensuring that Staci, for short, would be ready for the next day. Her own toolkit was woefully inadequate, and she looked upon the clean, organized racks Andy had set up with unabashed jealousy.
