by Elsa Jade
Okay, this wasn’t going quite the way she’d anticipated. Anticipation being the key word here. “Are you DTF?” she asked bluntly.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but neither foot went toward the stairs. “Uh, I’m ISA certified? That’s the International Society of Arboriculture, master arborist.”
“Masturbator?” She smirked.
“Master ar-bor-ist,” he enunciated. “And master gardener too, actually, through the university extension program.”
She leaned back against the wall. Angels Rest had terrible cell reception, so maybe she shouldn’t be surprised that he wasn’t familiar with dating app linguistics. “DTF means down to…frig.” Oh hell, how had he managed to get her to say frig? How embarrassing.
Brows furrowing, dimple gone, he peered at her. “Down? But you’re going up… Oh!” He stiffened abruptly, not in the place she wanted.
Needed. She glared at him. “If you don’t want to have sex, why’d you come inside?”
“For sweet tea! I like tea!” He wasn’t quite babbling—but not quite not—as he backed up.
Another flush of heat swept through her, mortification this time, leaving an unpleasant clammy chill on her exposed skin, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re the one who was talking about mating.”
That stopped his backpedaling feet. He gazed up at her. “For a bear, mating isn’t about the sex. Not just about the sex. It’s about forever.” A shadow darker than the Victorian’s quietude moved through his blue eyes like a winter cloud across the sky. “Ask Mac and your sister how it should be.”
Gin brought her lower foot up to the higher stair, retreating from his words and clamping her thighs together. She loved Brandy, of course—not only had they shared a womb with their third sister Rita, they’d shared the secretive upbringing of all the Wick witches. And she loved her fuzzy-butt of a nephew, whether he was being a crazy little kid or a crazy little cub. But that wasn’t what she wanted for herself, not now. She still hadn’t earned her ordination. Even after all her work, the circle wanted one more testimonial of her magical studies. Burning off some of her frustrations was one thing, but taking on a boyfriend—a mate!—was nowhere on her very long to-do list.
“I’m not going to ask Brandy and Mac anything,” she said. “They’re very happy playing house, but if you don’t want to play doctor—”
“I only have my masters,” he said, “not my doctorate.”
Closing her eyes, she pinched the bridge of her nose for a slow, calming count of one and a half, then flared her hand at him in an off-you-go-then gesture. “I heard Mac and Aster are having dinner at your place tonight. You can tell them all about the mighty oak when you see them.”
“Gin—”
“So anyway, I gotta get to work too.” She pointed with one bare foot. “Since you came in that way, you know the way out.”
He glanced back over his shoulder at the door, and she took advantage of his distraction to slip up the stairs out of reach of those sky-blue eyes. She paused on the landing between floors, out of sight, holding her breath until his sharp exhalation—almost a curse—and the thud of retreating footsteps released the tautness in her spine. At the heavy click of the front door closing, she scuttled the rest of the way up the stairs and into her bedroom.
Through the oak branches, she had a view of him stepping off the front porch, carrying his boots in his hand. He paused to bend down and tug them on, and her gaze settled on the lean, rounded muscles of his backside.
Siiiiigh.
He straightened abruptly, slamming his foot down, and twisted to stare up at her window.
Dang, caught peeping.
She reached up to brace herself on the open window sash and brought it crashing down. There.
He frowned, and she whisked the curtains closed for good measure. No peeping if there wasn’t going to be frigging too.
But she couldn’t stop herself from carefully edging aside the curtain—just the very narrowest crack—to watch him walk away. He really did have a nice butt.
With a disgusted grunt, she backed away from the window. She’d taken a nice, purifying bath to cleanse herself in preparation for her night’s work while everyone was out of the house, and now she was all hot and bothered and unfulfilled.
Tossing herself down face first on the white tufted chenille bedspread, she contemplated a hissy fit of the sort she hadn’t indulged since failing to find a willing date for her junior year turnabout dance. Ben had really brought out the b in her itch. But pouting wouldn’t do anything for her cranky mood.
With a grin, she flipped to her back and stuck her hand down her panties. Maybe that big, dumb bear was holding out for a forever mate, but she’d learned early on that she needed to take care of herself, and she wasn’t going to let his philosophy on forever mates get in her way.
Imagining his wide blue eyes if he saw her now, she closed hers and took her satisfaction into her own hand.
Chapter 2
Grumbling under his breath, untied boot laces flopping, Ben stomped down the Victorian’s cobblestone path to his truck. The back of his neck had stopped prickling, so he knew she wasn’t watching him anymore.
Which only exacerbated—master arborist, not masturbator!—his self-pity. He could be up in her bedroom right now if he hadn’t panicked. He wasn’t a bear or a frog. He was a chicken!
But her invitation had startled him more than the branch breaking. Since she and her sisters had arrived in Angels Rest at the end of spring, he’d spoken with her only a dozen times, mostly in passing. She’d been friendly enough, but there was a world of difference between friendly and frigging. Just like there was a world of difference between shapeshifters and witches.
Of course, his bear cousin Mac and her witch sister Brandy were finding a way.
Frowning, he climbed into the truck. He’d left the windows down so the temperature in the cab was only sweltering, not melting. Which was only half as hot as the squandered fantasies sprouting up in his brain like weed seeds after a spring rain.
He thumped his forehead on the steering wheel as he fumbled the key into the ignition. He could’ve been fumbling his dick into her—
With a ragged sigh, he cranked the engine. It would’ve been fumbling; even in his frigging fantasies about the wickedest Wick sister, he couldn’t imagine himself not fumbling. She was just too…scary, with all her sharp edges and Disney villainess color scheme in silky black and white and blood-red. Oh, she could tame a wild shifter lover with one touch and her mocking smile, no doubt, but it’d be a black panther, sleek and vicious. Not some bumbling bachelor bear.
The self-pity was almost as uncomfortable as the bulge in his jeans, and by the time he’d parked at the rental cottage he shared with his cousins, he’d stuffed both away.
He’d started supper after work before he’d gone to the Wick house. And good thing, because Mac and little Aster were prowling the small kitchen like…well, like hungry bears.
“Unca Ben!” Aster ran at him, throwing both arms around his legs in a cub hug.
When Ben ruffled the unruly thatch of Mac’s dark hair mixed with threads of Brandy’s strawberry-blond, Aster grinned up at him, eyes sparkling. Ben’s chest tightened, as if Aster had ahold of his heart instead of his kneecaps. Mac was so damned lucky Brandy had come back to Angels Rest. Of course, she’d initially come back to try to banish the bear in her son, but it’d all worked out and now they were a happy little family.
With another quiet—and, yes, self-pitying—sigh, Ben gave his cousin a nod. “Didn’t know you guys were coming for dinner.”
“Brandy and Rita are looking at office space somewhere between Cortez and Shiprock. Bry needs high-speed internet for her work, and she ain’t gonna get that here in town. Since the gals are gone, us boys are bacheloring it.” Mac opened the fridge and stared inside.
He made “bacheloring” sound fun. Which it probably was for him because his gal would be coming home soon. Wa
h-wah.
Ben pulled a stool up to the kitchen counter. “Hey, kiddo. Want to help with the salad?”
Aster nodded eagerly. He might be half witch on the Wick side, but in his diet, he was all omnivorous megavertebrate. Nudging his cousin aside to rifle through the fridge, Ben assembled chard, purslane, and lambsquarter—greens tough enough to last through the Four Corners summer—and handed Aster salad shears. Mac took a breath as if he were about to object, then settled back on his heels.
Ben grinned at him and handed over a tomato for slicing. “Still feels weird, huh?”
Mac grunted. “I worried about you plenty, so I should be used to it.” He stomped one boot on the tile floor. “At least Aster listens to me.”
After the bear clan had fallen on hard times, Mac had busted his butt holding them together. He’d found them jobs that brought them closer to the Angels Rest shifter community. Working on the wolf pack crew at Sunday Landscaping had been a good outlet for their bears’ relentless power and need to tear stuff up. But a bear was more than brute strength in fur. It could also be a fuzzy plushy softie who just wanted to be hugged…
At a low growl from the pantry, Aster swiveled on his stool, gazing wide-eyed at the closed pantry door. Mac swept him up into a one-armed hug and sidled around to the far side of the counter.
Of course, not every bear wanted to be snuggled.
Responding to Mac’s stomped summons, the pantry door thudded open, revealing darkness within. Though the lightbulb was on, the hulking shadow nearly eclipsed it.
“Hey, Thor,” Ben said amiably. “Dinner’s ready.” Angling his body halfway between facing his cousin (which might be seen as a threat) versus showing his back (which might seem like running away, which would only invite chasing), he lifted the lid off the ten-quart crockpot.
The enticing fragrance of slow-cooked venison filled the kitchen. Rumbling deep in his chest, Thor lifted his nose. At least he was in his upright form at the moment. As rex ursi—king bear—he could’ve easily finished off the whole crockpot of carnitas all by himself.
In a slow stalk, Thor rounded the kitchen counter away from Mac. Instead of his usual half-garbled chatter, Aster watched silently, his gaze frozen with dread. He might be just a happy-go-lucky kid who hadn’t even grown up around shifters until now, but he still knew not to mess with a borderline rogue barely holding on to his humanity.
Ben kept his own breathing slow and deep, calming. The clan’s troubles had hit Thor extra hard since it had been his father who’d made the traitorous deal with the Kingdom Guard. Though the zealots had wanted to enslave or destroy all shifters, they’d granted immunity to the clan in return for “test subjects”. Thor had wrested the kingship from his father, but the fight had broken something inside him too.
Something even good home cooking couldn’t cure.
But a big meal would keep the erratic rex ursi from ordering takeout…and possibly eating the delivery guy.
“Mac, you and Aster set the table,” Ben said, “and I’ll serve it up.”
Though he hadn’t been assigned a task, Thor poured three large glasses of lemonade and one small tumbler. He averted his gaze from Aster as he took his place at the end of the kitchen table. The cousins settled into their seats (Mac surreptitiously tugged Aster’s chair closer to his own) and Ben ladled out portions while Mac plated the salad.
Ben closed his eyes. “Great bear, thank you for this tasty deer and for hot peppers and for cousins, big and little, at the table.” He peeped through his lashes at Aster who grinned at him. He smiled back.
“An’ for lem’ade,” Aster piped. He darted a quick look at Thor, whose gaze was lowered to his hands, fisted on the table in front of him, knuckles still crusted with dirt from his bottomless excavations below the kitchen pantry.
Ben didn’t know what his should’ve-been king was digging for, but he suspected whatever it was, it wasn’t hiding under their rental cottage.
Not that he was going to tell Thor that, or tell him to wash his hands even.
“And for lemonade,” he acknowledged. “Dig in.”
For a few minutes, they feasted in silence until Mac asked for the salsa recipe. “I want to make it for Brandy. She loves chips and salsa.”
And he loved his mate. Ben saw it in the way his cousin puffed up like a chipmunk when he talked about her. To think it almost hadn’t happened for him. Three years ago, Brandy had just been passing through Angels Rest. What if she’d never seen Mac? What if their one-day stand—and the power of the mating season to overcome well-intentioned birth control—hadn’t resulted in Aster? What if the bear hadn’t passed to the boy and she’d never come back to town with him? What if…
Well, that list could go on endlessly, couldn’t it? But everything was going great for Mac and Brandy, with fate smiling on them.
Ben stared into his lemonade, as if the sunny sweetness held any answers. He’d always relied on his own smile (he’d be an idiot not to use his dimples) not fate’s. He grinned to appease angry boars who didn’t appreciate his humor, to cajole his teachers into passing grades when he’d always preferred being outdoors, to fill his Friday-night dance card at Gypsy’s roadhouse. In the clan’s darkest days, he’d had no smiles left, but now that he was ready to follow in Mac’s lucky footsteps, maybe he needed to reignite his charm.
“I’m going to start a ladies’ gardening club,” he announced.
“Flowers? But you’re the master arborist,” Mac said. Since he had a mouthful of carnitas, it sounded more like mast-bort, which sounded much too much like Gin’s snarky commentary on Ben’s underwhelming love life.
He spun his lemonade glass casually between his fingers. “And master gardener too. I’ve gotten good with veggies since we started working for the Domingos, so I might as well do flowers next.”
“I like flowers,” Aster announced, his diction clearer than usual.
Mac smiled at him. “You want to join the flower club?”
“Ladies only?” Thor rumbled.
The wet glass slipped out of Ben’s grasp and he had to bobble to catch it before it tipped. He’d heard his king’s voice less often recently than his little cousin’s. When life offered lemons… “Well, really, anyone could join,” he hedged.
Mac’s smile slipped toward a smirk. “Oh, so it’s a pollinating party.”
Ben glared at him. “You already had a chance to spread your seed—”
Mac cleared his throat loudly with a glance at Aster.
“Isn’t the mating season,” Thor said.
Mac leaned back with a groan. “Guys, please don’t make me have to explain the birds and the bees and the bears.”
Ben lifted his chin though he didn’t try to stare down the brooding king bear. “If I get started now, by the time the mating moon rises, I’ll have dated every eligible female in Angels Rest and I’ll be ready.” He glanced at Mac. “Not all of us get a family ready-made.”
“Wasn’t quite that easy,” Mac sniffed.
“The clan is recovering,” Ben went on. “The town has forgiven us. It’s time to move on—”
With a screech of his chair, Thor rose to his full height. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the soft, frightened shush of Aster’s breath.
Swiveling on his heel, Thor took his empty plate and glass to the sink, rinsed them, and tucked everything neatly into the dishwasher. Then he went to the pantry, stepped inside, and shut the door behind him.
Mac let out a snort only slightly steadier than his son’s. “I guess not all of us are ready to move on.”
Ben rubbed one hand across the prickling hairs at his nape. “He needs a mate too.”
“Yeah, sure, you tell him that. Maybe one of the lonely ladies from your new garden club would be interested in the male version of a cholla cactus crossed with poison oak crossed with a boulder.”
Cleaning up his own dishes, Ben huffed out a breath. “First I gotta find one who wants me.” He pulled dessert from the oven.
Aster sniffed. “Sin-man? Yum!”
“Wish I was a sinning man,” Ben grumbled.
The pantry door opened, and Thor emerged just long enough to grab a cinnamon bun from the pan.
As the door closed again, Mac winced. “Prolly he heard the part about the boulder.”
“Prolly,” Ben agreed.
He read a book with Aster while Mac cleaned up the kitchen, then they all played catch in the backyard as the sun finally sank and shadows bloomed like dark flowers across the looming mesa.
A car horn toot from the street brought them around the house to find the yellow VW bus idling at the end of the walk. Aster ran to greet his mother as Brandy slipped out of the passenger seat, her strawberry-blond hair and her smile both warmer than the sunset. Mac was only a few steps behind his boy.
Feeling like a whole lemon was lodged in his throat, Ben watched the end-of-day hug, but he had to avert his gaze from the kiss his cousin laid on his mate.
If only he hadn’t fled from Gin’s proposition.
At the wheel, Rita tooted again, and Brandy broke free with a laugh. She swept Aster into the child seat in the back of the bus, and the trio all waved as they pulled away.
Still loitering at the street, Mac waved back.
“Get a room,” Ben muttered.
His cousin smirked. “I’ll sneak into hers after Aster’s asleep.”
They headed back into the rented cottage, where their king had buried himself in the pantry—luckily the landlord never checked up on them. “Why wait? You’re not fooling anyone.”
“Especially ourselves,” Mac agreed easily. “But it’s only been a month.”
Ben frowned at him. “She’s your fated mate. It’s so obvious it hurts.”
“Yeah. And that’s why I’m not rushing her.” Mac went to the fridge and pulled out a beer, tilting one toward Ben in silent question. At a nod, he grabbed two. “I wasn’t there when she needed me—when she found out she was pregnant, when she had Aster, when she was trying to figure out how to live her life as a mom—so I want her to see that I’m always going to be around now, no matter what.”