Craved by the Bear (Trapped in Bear Canyon Book 2)

by Terry Bolryder

  Rock looked at Mort’s old home and shook his head at the state of it. It was an old-fashioned, smallish home, blue with white shutters and cracking paint. Still homey and the right size, he supposed, for just the two people living there.

  Still, the Mort he knew would never have allowed it to get in this condition. The weeds out front in the garden. The numbers hanging crooked by the doorway. The broken middle step by the porch.

  He scratched his head as he walked up to ring the doorbell and then paused, his finger hovering. He stepped back, straightened his jacket, pushed his hair behind his ears—because there had never been anything to hide with Mort—and then knocked on the door.

  He heard the floor creak and footsteps approaching. When the door opened and a gaunt figure stared at him through the screen, Rock had to stop himself from showing a reaction.

  From the thinning hair to the deep lines under his eyes, Mort was nothing like the man Rock had grown up knowing. Or even the man he’d seen at the bar. Francis had told him Mort was sick, but the reality of it was different.

  However, there was a bit of the old Mort as his face lit up upon seeing Rock. He opened the screen door with some difficulty and threw his arms around Rock, who tried not to wince at how thin he was.

  The man in front of him had once been a powerful bruiser, capable of winning the Bear Canyon Brawl. Full of life.

  Rock stepped back and held him at arm’s length. “You look great.”

  Mort let out a bark of a laugh. “Liar.” Then he motioned for Rock to come in and grabbed a cane that was resting against a wall to hobble back to his big, soft recliner.

  Rock recognized the scent of home as he stepped into the house. Not much had changed in the place that had been a sanctuary whenever he needed to escape his father.

  Mort settled in his chair with a sigh. “What can I do for you? I’m assuming you didn’t come back just to tell me I’m pretty.”

  “Francis told me some of it, but I want to hear from you. What’s happening?”

  Mort sighed, some of the twinkle going out of his eyes as he looked toward the window. He’d built this house at the edge of the woods, and right now, Rock knew he was looking out at the sun and the trees that meant so much to him.

  “Cancer. Prostate. Stage four.”

  “I’m sorry,” Rock said.

  Mort waved a hand. “We all die. I’m not afraid.” He gestured to himself. “Well, I’m afraid for what else will happen to my body and the toll I will take on Rosalyn before I kick the bucket and what she will do without me.” His eyes crinkled in a taut look that approximated a smile. “But otherwise, no worries.”

  Rock sat on the couch across from Mort and entwined his hands to keep from fidgeting, resting them on his knees. “We’ll take care of her, Mort. I promise.”

  Mort raised a bushy, dark eyebrow laced with gray and white. “Will you? While you’re off riding those fancy motorcycles?” He sighed. “Ros isn’t meant for city life. She loves the wild, the trees, the trails, the people here.”

  “I know,” Rock said curtly. “But it might not be safe.”

  “Could be,” Mort said. “If you could find it in your heart to stay here. I mean, you’re going to waste your life on those motorcycles. Might as well save your life and stay here.”

  Save his life? More like lose his mind, Rock thought bitterly. But he gave Mort a smile. That was his way of hiding everything.

  “Don’t you grin at me, Rock Brolin. Dammit, this is bleak, and now you’ve involved yourself. And don’t you think you owe me for all those years of eating my steak?”

  Rock laughed. “Always burned and you know it.”

  Mort growled. “Cooked safely you mean.”

  “What kind of mountain man overcooks his meat?” Rock teased.

  “The kind who doesn’t want his insides coming out both ends from food poisoning,” Mort muttered. “But anyway, what are you going to do about my daughter?”

  “Me?” Rock asked. “Why me?”

  “I know the two of you always had your eye on each other.”

  “She meant a lot to all of us brothers.”

  “That’s not what I mean and you know it. There’s only one of you proposing marriage on a regular basis, and dammit, Rock, you either need to make good on that or get out of the way and let someone else do it.”

  “Someone like Connor?” Rock said with a scowl.

  “Hell no.” Mort looked out the window once again. “What about that Francis fella? He’s a Brawl champion. Not a bad option for taking over the bar. He could do.”

  Rock stifled a groan. Right, always Francis. Put another thing on Francis. Rock liked the guy. A lot, actually. But the thought of him with Ros was… was…

  Rock couldn’t really describe it, nor did he want to.

  “I don’t know,” Rock said. “I guess I’ll have to take a look around at the options.”

  “Not Connor,” Mort said firmly.

  “Not Connor.” Rock agreed. “But then again, I claimed her to him, so that should settle things for now.”

  “How is that gonna work with the other guys you want to hook her up with?” Mort asked.

  Rock scratched his head, his hair falling over his face. “I don’t know. I guess I talk to them. Tell them it’s a farce.”

  “What’s a farce?” A feminine voice interrupted, and they saw that the back door was ajar, a curvy silhouette there, made clear to be Ros as she stepped into the room.

  “What are you doing, sneaking up on us like that?” Rock asked.

  She ignored him and headed to the kitchen, getting herself a drink of water and then bringing one to her dad. “How would you know how I usually enter the house?” she asked. “Besides, I scented you. I wanted to hear at least a little of what you were saying.”

  Mort was looking guilty, and Rock nearly grinned at how bad the older man was at hiding things.

  “Rock and I were just discussing the old days,” Mort said.

  “Right,” Ros said, folding her arms. “Because there are so many good things to remember where Rock is concerned.”

  “Hey,” Mort said. “Just because times were tough doesn’t mean we didn’t have good days. Right, Rock?”

  Rock winked at him. “Right.”

  “So why don’t you tie this guy down and get him to stop messing with his damn motorcycles?” Mort grumbled.

  Ros rolled her eyes and walked to the stairs that led up to her room. “Male bears thinking they know best. Typical.”

  When she disappeared, Rock grinned at Mort. “She’s onto us.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Mort said, shaking his head and looking uncharacteristically serious. “I’m going to be gone, and we’ve gotta do something.” He pulled a piece of paper out of the drawer in the table next to his recliner. He handed it, along with a pen, to Rock. “Here. I’ll give you what I consider options. You write these down and vet them on your own. They all come to the bar.”

  Rock looked down at the paper, a sense of absurdity overtaking him. Writing down options. For Ros. Ros.

  But it was either that or think about staying forever in Bear Canyon.

  He put the pen to the paper and wrote the number one with a little dot after it, waiting for Mort’s first option.

  “You’re doing what?” Francis asked, looking at his friend as if he’d grown a third leg.

  Rock just stared at the lined piece of paper he’d been studying ever since he got back to the cabin where Francis lived while taking over as honorary mayor and guardian of the town in Riker’s stead.

  “Look,” Francis said. “You can’t just pick a man for her.”

  “What would you know about it?” Rock said, eyeing Francis suspiciously.

  Francis put his hands up in a truce. “She’s just a friend,” he said. “She’s been nice to talk to while getting used to the place.”

  “And you like it here?” Rock asked, brushing back his dark hair.

  “Sure,” Francis said. “It’s a ni
ce break. And I can invest my winnings since I have to spend so little on essentials.”

  Rock pursed full lips. “Okay.” He tapped his pencil eraser on the paper and then spun it around and wrote something. Francis looked closer and saw he was making a little star by one of the names.

  He stepped even closer and saw his own name on the small list. “I’m one of the options?”

  “Maybe,” Rock said with a snort. He rolled his massive shoulders and cracked his neck to each side, a common habit amongst the Brolin brothers, as if they were carrying a tremendous weight on their shoulders and had to constantly stretch to not break under it.

  Francis sat on a stool next to Rock. “Show me the others.”

  Rock pushed the paper over, pointing with his pencil. “This guy, Matt Ringer, not terrible. Works at the drugstore. Might take over for his uncle since he didn’t have kids. Half bear, but the half is grizzly.”

  Rock pointed to the next name, which had lots of notes next to it. “Harvey Jackson. Full black bear. Not as big as a grizzly, but small bear syndrome can make for a lot of ferocity. And he’s fast. He came up second in the Brawl one year and then took off to make his fortune. When he came back, he opened some kind of tax and finance shop in town. Believe he does small loans as well. I hear he’s not a bad guy now that he’s a bit more grown up. When I knew him, he was a schoolyard bully who had to be put in his place.”

  Francis rubbed his forehead. “I’m not going to remember all of this.”

  “No need,” Rock said. “It’s all here. I’ll make you a copy.”

  “So this is my job now, too?” Francis said.

  “What else is there to do?”

  Rock was right. It was mostly peaceful here in Bear Canyon. It was rare someone needed him to resolve a dispute or help someone out. “Okay, fine. But won’t I be biased since I’m one of the options?”

  “Do you want Ros?” Rock asked, and there was a slightly dangerous edge to his voice as if he were daring Francis to say yes.

  Francis liked taking dares.

  “Sure.”

  Rock’s face tightened imperceptibly, but his smile held as he turned back to the list. “We’ll see. Here’s option three. Joseph Norris. He’s been gone since he was a kid and only came back last year. He has ideas of opening some kind of tourist ranch where they can ride horses. Right now, I think he has a barn and a few scraggly horses, so that’s a way out. But he’s got gumption, so I like that.”

  “Don’t you think Ros should be allowed to choose for herself?” Francis asked. “I mean, a lot of her life has already been determined by other people.”

  Rock’s hair fell in front of his face, and he was quiet a moment. Francis knew there was a lot that went on in his friend’s mind, behind the smile. They’d become fast friends during the last Bear Canyon Brawl, where Francis had won and taken home the prize money. And they’d fought alongside each other when things had gone wrong.

  Rock had come up with the idea of Francis taking over for Riker, which was perfect because Francis had needed a break from his life.

  But Francis had seen how Rock looked at Rosalyn and how Rosalyn looked back, and he wasn’t sure how Rock could walk away from what was so clearly meant to be.

  But trying to budge Rock was, well, like trying to budge a giant rock. And as strong as Francis was, Rock was a bit above his pay grade.

  He’d just have to work alongside him and hope he realized how insane this was before anyone got seriously offended.

  Rock brushed hair out of his face, and Francis wondered why he didn’t just cut it since it seemed to impede him so much.

  It had something to do with the large scar Francis had seen flashes of, but he wasn’t sure why Rock would hide it.

  “Stop staring and help me with this list,” Rock said.

  “And what am I supposed to do?” Francis asked.

  “I don’t know. Come up with pros and cons.”

  Francis sighed. It was utter insanity, but there was no convincing his friend, so he guessed it was time to play along. “Okay,” he said accommodatingly, leaning over the list. “Who makes the most money?”

  “Now we’re talking,” Rock said, looking down at the list. “Hadn’t even thought about that.” He began scratching more notes in the margins of the list, and Francis fought hard not to roll his eyes.

  Oh dear.

  Heaven save them all from stubborn bears.

  3

  He was holding interviews.

  Interviews with eligible men in the back of her bar.

  At least he was sober, but for Pete’s sake, when had the world become this backward? She’d been taking care of her father’s bar fine for the past few months, with Francis’s help. Maybe if she’d been a human woman instead of a rare female bear, she could just be left alone.

  She admitted the male bears circling made her nervous. But she could fight if needed, and there was always her gun. There was really only one man she’d ever considered growing old with, and he was sitting with a long-suffering-looking Francis, trying to decide who to interview next.

  Their three options sat, appearing confused, at a table nearby. Rock certainly moved fast once he decided on something.

  On the other side of the bar, Connor and a group of his friends were watching with dark grimaces.

  All the guys Rock was considering were preferable to Connor, but she really wouldn’t want any of them. However, it was best to just let Rock do what he wanted and let the other men know she wasn’t interested. Getting in his way would just erupt in fighting, and she had things to do. And besides, it was kind of a fun distraction from everything else, and Mort seemed a lot livelier now that he felt he was working with Rock toward a common purpose.

  She knew Mort had considered the Brolins his honorary sons since he’d never had one of his own. He also had to know how much she’d pined over Rock in years gone by. So why was he participating in this stupid scheme?

  Probably because he also understood why Rock wasn’t eligible.

  Rock invited the first man, a stocky guy with dark hair named Harvey Jackson, over to their table, sat back on his stool, and started grilling him. Rock looked so different from the men next to him. Both Francis and the newcomer wore serviceable, clean country clothing.

  Francis wore a plaid flannel shirt with stone-washed jeans that suited his large, square frame, clean-cut features, and short, dark hair. Harvey wore a blue dress shirt that emphasized muscular shoulders. He had black hair and fierce blue eyes that tended to flash even when he wasn’t angry, and while he was shorter than the other shifters, his squared-off jaw and large muscles made it clear he belonged.

  But then there was Rock, with his stylish clothing and soft, aristocratic features. Teasing full lips, long lashes framing expressive eyes the color of the sea after a thunderstorm. All the Brolins had the same eyes, but Rock’s were extra beautiful, at least to her.

  And his hair, long and layered and brushing his shoulders and falling over the collar of his leather jacket and expensive graphic tee. Shiny and dark and striking, just adding to his handsome appeal. She’d never seen him without his long hair, always half hiding behind it with one of those wicked smiles.

  His long, muscular legs were encased in tight, dark jeans that outlined every muscle. And if she looked up where they met…

  She blushed and went back to wiping the counter. Dammit, no one affected her like Rock. No one ever had.

  She saw someone wave from Connor’s corner, and she put refills on a tray to carry over to them. As she set them on the table, avoiding Connor’s wandering hands, she heard two of his friends muttering as they looked over at Rock’s table.

  “He’s just a pretty boy. We can take him.”

  His compatriot nodded, and they ignored her as she glared at them. Clearly, they didn’t care who heard. She shook her head and walked away before Connor could get up and come after her. To her surprise, he didn’t. Perhaps Rock had put fear into him after all. If that’s all he
did, she’d be grateful. She didn’t need to be worrying about Connor now.

  But should Rock be worrying? She felt a small chill go over her as she went back behind the bar and took more orders from her regulars.

  Why were they talking about being able to take him?

  She shook her head. It wasn’t her business. Rock could take care of himself. He managed unruly fighters every year as part of the Brawl. But if he were ambushed by enough bears…

  She saw Harvey stand up, mouth twisting in confusion and irritation as he took Rock’s extended hand to shake. Francis leaned in to say something to Rock as Harvey pushed his way through the crowd and out of the bar, looking terse.

  He gave her a dark glare just before he disappeared, and she wrinkled her brows, glancing in Rock’s direction.

  He was already focused, scribbling on his paper as he said something to Francis, gesturing at the table for the next to come over.

  A tall, lean man with a handsome, boyish face and light scruff stood, removing his cowboy hat as he sat at the table with Rock and Francis, nervously running his hand through his hair.

  She recognized him as Joseph Norris, a son of the town who’d returned recently to set up some kind of ranch for tourists. She hoped he’d be successful. Maybe it could bring new life to Bear Canyon. But while she appreciated his kind smile, he could never be the right bear for her.

  Because there was only one right bear for her, and he was just too screwed up to make it work.

  She scratched angrily at a smudge with her rag, muttering under her breath.

  “Upset about something?” A smooth voice startled her, and she looked up. Rock was leaning on the counter, a one-sided smirk on his face.

  “No,” she said tersely. “And aren’t you supposed to be doing your interviews?”

  He shook his head. “Francis is doing this one because he has to go take care of something in a few minutes. I’ll do the last one.”

  “Isn’t it kind of weird to do one together and then two separate?”

  “I trust Francis’s judgment as my own,” Rock said simply, sitting on the stool in front of her. “I guess that means I have time for a drink.”