by Anna Lowe
“Three Cokes for table five,” Jess would say, handing off the drink order to her sister. Avoiding him, of course.
“Three Cokes for table five,” Janna would echo as she slapped down her tray.
He’d squint out over the saloon and wonder which was table five, because it wasn’t like they’d actually labeled the tables or given him a chart or anything. They had it memorized. A damn good thing he didn’t have to deliver the drinks he poured.
And that was just the tip of the iceberg. No, a goddamn avalanche, and it was all he and Soren could do to keep up.
The menu grew the way hair products multiplied in the bathroom they all shared, which was fine, in principle. In practice, his bear wasn’t so sure. Like the third morning of the avalanche, when he’d woken from a beautiful dream in which he and Jess were rolling in a mountain meadow, naked, feeding each other berries — a weird combination, but yeah, a damn good dream — and stumbled downstairs to find the kitchen packed with racks and racks of muffins. The air practically crystallized with their sweet smell, but there was no sign of Jess. He snagged a muffin that just pleaded for him to show some mercy and gobble it up, and when he bit in, he groaned. Sweet, juicy blueberries exploded in his mouth and transported him home to Montana. He stood there savoring it until he stomped himself into action and headed out front. Still no sign of Jess, so he continued out the open front door, where he stalled out at the sight of her squatting beside a sidewalk chalkboard, spelling out the saloon’s latest deal.
Coffee and muffin to go! Her script was clear and inviting. $6 combo.
“Coffee and what?” he yelped, suddenly awake.
She jolted, as she always did, and stopped humming. Stood slowly. Defiantly. All wolf, all pride. Probably composing her face as she turned, putting on that icy expression she always socked him with.
Yep, there it was. And God, she was something, even as Miss Frost.
“Muffins.” She drew the word out like a dare.
Muffins? She was selling his muffins?
“This is a saloon, not a bakery.”
“A saloon that can use every customer it can get,” she retorted, stepping back to check her work. She knelt again, wiped out the $6, and changed it to $5.99.
“Who cares about a penny?”
“Believe me, it works.”
A slip of paper fluttered out of her hand, and he caught it flying down the sidewalk like a tumbleweed.
“What’s this?”
“Flyers. I put them in the bag with the muffins. What we really need is printed napkins, though.”
We? His bear chuffed with hope.
He glanced at the slip of paper, trying not to get distracted. Ribs, burgers, & beers on tap at the Blue Moon Saloon. Thursday special.
“We have a Thursday special?”
“We do now.” Jessica nodded and waved to someone down the street. A guy with a whole plate of muffins in hands. “See you, Mike!”
Mike? “Who the hell is Mike?”
“Thank you, sweetheart. See you later,” the asshole called back. The short, bald asshole disappearing into a store two buildings down.
“Mike,” Jess said firmly. “Of Mike’s hardware.”
He stared at her. “Don’t tell me you’re giving muffins away.” Giving my muffins away, he nearly said.
“Think about it. We’re right between Mike’s Hardware and the nearest parking lot. When the spots on the street fill up, most of his customers walk right by here.”
“Yeah, when we’re closed.”
“If we open half an hour earlier—”
She wanted him to get up half an hour earlier?
“—we’ll get his mid-morning rush. And if Mike and his guys are all licking their fingers and saying how good the Blue Moon Muffins are…” She smiled in satisfaction. “…his clients will become our clients.”
She left out the dummy at the end of that sentence, but he saw it on the tip of her tongue. Apparently, her wolf had found her sassy side again. He watched in silence as she squatted over the chalkboard again. Now what?
Soren padded out beside him, yawning. Watched her write. Scratched his chest.
They both stood there a long time after Jess rose, gave a satisfied nod, and marched back inside.
“Gluten-free?” Soren examined the muffin he was holding. He took a bite, washed it down with a sip of coffee in a paper cup, and munched thoughtfully. “Raspberry chocolate. Not bad. Not bad.”
Jesus. Whose side was Soren on, anyway?
He spent a good five minutes scraping up and down the doorframe after that, trying to reclaim the upper hand.
And that was just the start. It got worse, or better, depending how you viewed change. The chalkboard by the door was filled with colorful, girly handwriting, starting with Smoked Spare Ribs in letters decorated with little flames. Then came burgers. Lots and lots of burgers. There seemed to be no limit to their imagination when it came to burgers. And two she-wolves were more dangerous than one.
“What we need is a theme,” Janna had announced one night, speaking with authority. “Theme burgers.”
What the fuck was a theme burger?
“Diamondback burger!” Janna shouted in inspiration. “Harry can sear a diamond pattern into the bun on the grill.”
“Mesa burger,” Jess said, and Janna wrote it down. They loved writing things down. “Open bun style, with cheese on top.”
Which didn’t sound too bad, once he pictured it.
“Hungry cowboy burger,” Jess went on. “With bacon.”
“Oh! Oh! I got it.” Janna bounced as she scribbled away furiously. “Hungry bear burger!”
Simon was about to protest, but she went on.
“With barbecue sauce!”
Soren tilted his head and licked his lips.
“Hungry works well,” Jess decided.
They made him drool, just talking about it. He watched them brainstorm one new burger after another. Watched as the ideas practically lifted them off the ground. Avocado burgers. Bacon cheeseburgers. Feta spinach burgers.
“Big beef burger!” Janna cried happily.
They were so excited. So alive. So full of energy and excitement, like a couple of kids at their first lemonade stand, that a little of it seeped over into him. Maybe he should look into some more microbreweries, more beers to offer on tap…
He shuffled a little behind the bar, pretending to be busy when he was watching the sisters. Maybe it didn’t matter if no one ever bought a veggie burger. Just the idea seemed to lift them up. Two sisters who’d been through so much. From what Tina had confided, they’d witnessed the destruction of their pack. They’d been there the night of the slaughter and barely escaped. They’d suffered a lot more than he had.
But slowly, surely, they were moving on.
Soren was watching too, and his solemn expression said he was thinking the same thing. They exchanged wary glances. Shit, maybe they ought to finally move on, too.
Simon studied the suds in the freshly washed sink and chewed that one over for a while. There was just one catch. Jess and Janna had fought for their lives and escaped. He and Soren hadn’t escaped anything. Especially not the guilt that came with knowing they’d failed to be there for their clan when they were needed most. Soren had lost his destined mate in the attack. He’d failed her, just like Simon had failed Jess.
Except Jess had survived. And there she was, hating him, and moving on with her life.
Soren strode away, heading back to the kitchen to prep another batch of ribs, and Simon had to wonder. Did women move on better than men did? Or were wolves just better at it than bears?
He sighed a little. The sooner he could get Jess out and on her way to something better, the better off he’d be. Somewhere far, far away, so his bear couldn’t scent her, sense her, long for her all the time.
His bear rumbled inside. Just you try taking my mate away. Just you try.
He shoved the bear aside. What Jess and Janna needed was something be
tter than a small-town saloon. Something that was a better fit for them. Better for them in every way, actually, because he was only thinking about their welfare, right? Somehow, he had to get through the next few weeks. Enough for the sisters to realize how unsuited they were for the saloon business and find something better — ideally, somewhere on the other side of the continent — and move on. Alaska. Maybe even Australia. Whatever. Out of sight, out of mind, right?
His bear let out a long, low growl.
The problem was, they weren’t unsuited for the saloon business. Not in the least. Janna was outgoing and friendly and funny. Great with the customers and with his cranky brother, too. She even seemed to enjoy waiting tables, which made about no sense. Not only that, but she had a way of hauling customers in from out on the street, like she could see what food they liked from the expression on their faces.
“We’ve got great burgers, you know.” She’d grab the tourists with that line and finish them off with, “Local beef. And we’ve got the perfect microbrew to go with it, too.”
One of the few microbrews they carried. They really ought to get more.
“Quick coffee? Grilled sandwich to go?” That’s what she’d offer to the contractor-types who hurried from the parking lot to Mike’s Hardware. The idea was Jessica’s, the execution all Janna. The contractors would order grilled sandwiches on the way into the hardware store, then pick them up on their way out. The old-fashioned register that sat at the left end of the bar dinged merrily with every sale.
“Fifteen beers on tap,” Janna would call to the horse-wrangling types, like Cole, who’d come to occupy a semipermanent spot at the bar. Between her looks and her almost-but-not-quite-flirty voice, it worked every time.
Jess was more reserved, but she was a pro at keeping everything moving without seeming rushed. Every water jug was topped off before it got under half full, every table re-set in record time. She had the dishwasher emptied before he noticed the cycle was through and the tables cleaned the second customers were out the door. And zoom — she’d be all over the next customers in a flash.
“What can I get you?” She’d lean over them with her notepad and pen, practically exuding your food will be great, the service efficient vibes.
“What can I get you?” Jess would ask, and his head would whip around every time.
You, he wanted to answer. You can get me you. You and the past before all of this happened and we still smiled and laughed and loved. When we’d meet up by the creek and leave the world behind. When the future was more than another day in hell.
“What can I get you?” she asked, aiming the question at a couple who’d just wandered in, not him.
He looked at the customers. A nice, clean-cut couple wearing loafers that labeled them as out-of-staters. That was the other thing. Jess and Janna had started to pull in a whole new clientele. Simon scanned the place, taking count. Maybe he and his brother were meaner-looking than they meant to be, because they’d never had so many…well, normal types in the Blue Moon before. A pair of businessmen sat in a booth to one side, tapping notes into tablets and comparing charts. A family — with kids! — ventured through the door, and Jess had them doodling on napkins in two seconds flat.
“Crayons,” she hissed, slapping down their drink order. She’d finally started bringing him the occasional drink order after about a week on the job. “Put that on the list. We need crayons. Placemats, too.”
We? Crayons? The words were foreign to his ears.
His bear, though, loved it. Loved having her only a foot away. Loved the click of her shoes, because even if she hurried into the kitchen, she’d have to hurry back out again. Her lavender scent would mingle slowly with all the spices in the kitchen, then waft out again on her next trip past. The scent of a fresh mountain stream. The scent of home.
Crayons. His bear nodded inside. Kids. Nice.
Simon decided it would be safer not to explore whose kids the bear was thinking about — the ones at table three or five or whatever it was, or the ones he wanted to have with Jessica someday. He gritted his teeth. The woman was impossible.
“What list?” he growled, but she had already whisked past.
There couldn’t be a list, because a list meant she was investing herself in the saloon, and that just wouldn’t work.
Somehow, he had to get her out and on with her life. So he could get on with his.
Not forbidden anymore, his bear chuffed.
Her ramrod back, her icy eyes, though, said the opposite. Practically screamed it, in fact.
Chapter Eight
It was Saturday night, and the rodeo was in town. Which meant the talk was all bulls and riders, the ongoing drought, and the fool hiker who’d nearly burned the forest down with a cigarette butt. And yes, business was slow. Slow enough for Simon to have way too much time to think about Jess.
About him and Jess, too. Worse still, about himself.
But mostly, about her.
Somehow, they’d reached an equilibrium of sorts, and part of him wanted to imagine that they could keep it up that way. He could pretend not to love her while she went on quietly hating him without it interrupting work or the other parts of his life.
One minor detail, his bear pointed out. We have no life.
Which was pretty much true. All he had was work. All he really wanted was work.
And Jess, his bear grunted back. Jess, Jess, Jess.
Stubborn beast. Greedy beast, because she deserved better than him. Stupid beast, to think she might ever take a failure of a bear back. He had a better chance of winning the Arizona State Lottery than winning her over, especially after what happened next.
Because he goofed. Big-time.
The phone rang. That was it. That’s what set it all off. Just the stupid phone ringing and him reacting too fast.
He’d been on edge all night because Ty Hawthorne had stopped by earlier and pulled him and Soren aside for a little chat. If “a little chat” was the right term for the pointed glare and thunderous silences of the Twin Moon alpha.
“We got word from Colorado,” Ty started in a voice so low, Simon wanted to stoop to hear. “That band of rogues has been asking around.”
Simon went stiff all over while Ty’s laser glare drilled into him as if he were the goddamn rogue.
No one had to clarify which rogues Ty meant. There were always a few afoot, but only one group that could truly concern the Twin Moon alpha. Blue Bloods — the band that had annihilated the bear clan and wolf pack in Montana.
Ty leaned closer. “I thought you said you killed them.”
Ripped them to pieces was more like it, Simon wanted to say. He and Soren had returned to Black River too late to do anything but witness the carnage, but they’d hunted the rogues down after that. They’d tracked, trapped, and killed every last rogue they could find. It had taken months.
“We killed all we could find,” Soren replied in a sharp voice.
“And then?” Ty glared.
Soren looked at the ground. Simon, too. What then? They’d simply stopped hunting because they were empty. They’d caught and killed every one of the rogue wolves involved in killing their clan and Jessica’s Black River pack.
The problem was, that handful of rogues was part of a bigger organization that fed off boredom and discontent. Wolf packs were run as strict hierarchies, and young males had three choices. They could fight their way to the top, learn to live as subordinates, or get the hell out. Those who chose the latter roamed in disorganized bands, causing trouble here and there, and groups like the Blue Bloods recruited from among them. But the Blue Bloods weren’t as disorganized as the rest. And these days, they didn’t seem to just be here and there but everywhere. They didn’t dare take on big, powerful packs like Ty’s, which was full of alpha males dedicated to their pack and their leader. Instead, the Blue Bloods targeted small, splintered groups of shifters.
Soren grimaced. “We got the rogues responsible.”
Ty didn’t look im
pressed. “Yeah, well, there are more.”
“There will always be more,” Simon threw in.
“More rogues asking about a pair of she-wolves on the run from Black River?” Ty asked.
Simon froze. All this time, he’d considered Blue Moon Saloon a safe place. And it was, for the likes of himself and his brother. But for Jess and Janna…
Shit. They were nominally under the protection of Twin Moon pack, but way, way out on the fringe. A band of determined rogues might just try…
“They wouldn’t dare,” Soren barked, pulling himself to full height.
Ty blinked back at him from two inches higher up, unimpressed. “I’m sending the boys over tonight. Let them keep an eye out for those two.”
Simon barely bit back his protest. Jess wasn’t Ty’s to protect. She was his. Janna, too. His bear had them firmly seated in his own little clan. Who did Ty think he was?
He glared at the alpha wolf, who socked him with his own hard look. A look that said, I am the alpha of my pack. I protect them to the death. Who do you think you are?
All the anger and pride drained out of Simon like a plug had been pulled. Ty was right. He’d let rogues kill his entire clan. He hadn’t protected squat.
A failure. A miserable failure of a bear.
“Right,” Soren mumbled, grudgingly accepting the idea of Ty’s wolves keeping an extra eye on the place. Ty might not have noticed the hurt in Soren’s voice, but Simon did. Enough hurt to suggest that Soren had been thinking of Jess and Janna as denmates, too.
Ty Hawthorne stomped out of the saloon, and the two brothers looked at each other. Failures, both of them.
“Back to work,” Soren sighed.
So if Simon was on edge that evening, it wasn’t his goddamn fault. A good thing business was slow; his bear was ready to throw the first asshole who came along through the front window.
But no such luck. At ten p.m., the last sizable group cleared out, leaving only a handful of customers who were long past dessert. Yes, dessert, because Jess had added apple and key lime pie to the menu a few days ago. And every time she brought a piece out or carried a dirty plate away, she shot him a victorious look.
