Bearly Together

by Chant, Zoe

  He gave her a desperate look, longing and hungry, then his expression shuttered in a way that Shelley practiced in the mirror.

  “No one was hurt,” he said roughly. “That’s the important part. No one got hurt.”

  The grief in his voice belied his optimistic words.

  Shelley had seen the damage to the building; she knew that the shop was a total loss, and it was something of a miracle that the attached hardware store wasn’t also.

  She tried to put an arm around him, but Dean stopped her. “You’ll ruin your jacket.”

  “I don’t care,” Shelley said honestly. “It’s just a jacket.” But she settled for taking Dean’s ash-blackened hand. He held onto her hand like he was drowning and Shelley’s world reduced to his touch. This was not the reunion she had imagined. The kisses she’d fantasized seemed impossible in these circumstances.

  She was keenly aware of her out-of-place businesswear and the eyes of the grandmas and gawkers. A few people were taking pictures on their phones.

  “You’re an idiot, Dean.”

  Shelley looked up with a flash of anger, to see a firefighter nearly as dirty as Dean standing behind them.

  “I’m glad you got there when you did, Turner,” Dean said simply, without looking back.

  “What the hell were you thinking, Dean? You don’t go into structure fires without gear.”

  “Saved the shop,” Dean said grimly. “Maybe more.”

  “It wasn’t worth the risk!” Turner said sharply. He was older than Dean, with a head of silvered brown hair. His glance at Shelley was unfriendly.

  Shelley’s hand tightened in Dean’s. She wasn’t sure which one of them was squeezing.

  “I thought it was,” Dean protested, standing and turning stiffly to face him, dropping Shelley’s hand as he did. Shelley got to her feet and barely kept herself from trying to get between them to protect Dean. She had to fight to rein in her lioness’ instincts. This wasn’t her battle, even if it was her mate.

  “I disagree,” Turner growled. “You’re reckless and irresponsible, and this isn’t the first time you’ve made a stupid choice.”

  Dean’s hands went into fists at his side. “No one got hurt.”

  “You’d be dead if I hadn’t gotten here when I did,” Turner reminded him.

  Dean didn’t deny it.

  “Look, Dean, I’m not going to watch you break your kid’s heart. You’re off the squad.”

  “You can’t do that,” Dean said in disbelief. The catch of his breath made him cough alarmingly and Shelley swayed in place keeping herself from reaching out to him.

  “I just did,” Turner said gruffly.

  “There are only three of us,” Dean reminded him hoarsely.

  “Now there’s two.”

  Shelley wanted to step in, wanted to do... anything. But she knew that she was an outsider here, an unknown stranger, so she hovered anxiously to one side and steamed.

  “Look,” Turner said more gently. “You’ve got a big mess here to deal with, and a kid, and—” he glanced at Shelley skeptically but didn’t finish the sentence. “Maybe you just need a little time off. I’m not saying this is permanent, I’m just saying you need a break. Because stupid—”

  “It wasn’t stupid,” Dean growled.

  “Stupid decisions are going to do more harm than good.”

  “You’re making a mistake,” Dean told him, shaking his head.

  “It’s mine to make,” Turner said firmly.

  Someone called from within the burnt-out garage, “Hey, Turner!” and he left Dean with a final scowl and one sour glance at Shelley.

  “Dean...” she said achingly.

  He shrugged, angry and distant. Shelley could feel the prickles of humiliation and despair from him.

  “Can I help?” she asked desperately. “If you need money to rebuild...”

  “I don’t want your money!”

  Shelley had never heard Dean angry. She knew that he was hurting, and feeling uncertain; it was like a wave of emotions that wasn’t hers, and she knew just as clearly that his anger wasn’t intended for her, but for himself.

  “It doesn’t have to be money,” she said gently. “If there’s something else I can do...”

  He gave a great, tired sigh. “Aaron gets off from school in an hour. I’ve... got a lot of paperwork and cleanup to do. Could you see that he does his homework, and get him dinner? I... might be home really late.”

  Babysit.

  He wanted her to babysit.

  Without a single hesitation, Shelley said, “Yes. I can do that.”

  Even as she wondered if she really could.

  Chapter 22

  Dean knew what kind of courage it took Shelley to accept his request to watch Aaron; even through his anger and frustration he could feel her fear and resolve.

  “Thanks,” he growled. “The house is unlocked. You can ask at the neighbors if you need anything.”

  “We’ll manage fine,” Shelley said serenely from behind her smile.

  He considered kissing her, because it had been four whole days since he’d last tasted her lips, but the murmurs of the gawkers and the prying eyes of the gathered neighbors made him hesitate.

  She was the one who stepped forward and gave him a perfectly chaste kiss on his sooty cheek, then walked away down the sidewalk with her heels clicking.

  Dean felt like his world was walking away and wished he could call her back. He wanted her arms around him, he wanted the smell of her to chase away the reek of smoke in his nose.

  He wanted his chest to stop hurting.

  I can help you, his bear promised. We’ll find a quiet place and I can help heal you.

  Dean reached for the phone that had been in his pocket, but it refused to turn on. He wasn’t sure if it had gotten too hot, if he’d fallen on it, or if smoke had somehow damaged it. Maybe the battery was just dead.

  He felt made of smoke, like it had crept into all his pores and transformed him into something dark and oily.

  And Turner... maybe Turner wasn’t wrong.

  “Are you Dean James?”

  Dean looked up from his contemplation of his dead phone to find a paunchy, frowning man regarding him.

  “I’m Dean,” he offered cautiously. It was unusual to see strangers in Green Valley.

  “Fred Averly,” the man said, offering a hand. “I’m the adjuster with Midwest Insurance.”

  Dean shook Fred’s hand. He’d bought the policy on-line when he first bought the shop and attached store. He held up his phone. “I haven’t even had a chance to call them yet.”

  Fred’s smile looked forced. “I’ve already talked to the police and requested a copy of the incident report, but I understand that you were the first one on the scene.” His look was nothing short of suspicious.

  “Yes,” Dean said, as mildly as he could. Was he going to be accused of insurance fraud? His bear growled a warning from his chest. “I’m... I was part of the volunteer fire department.” Did that seem too pat?

  Fred looked him up and down even more skeptically, then started handing Dean paperwork. “It’s best if you get these things filled out as quickly as possible so we can expedite your claim. Do you mind if I start taking photographs?”

  Dean took the forms, leaving dirty fingerprints on every page as he flipped through them. “Go ahead. The cops already have some.”

  The shop had stopped smoldering, and Fred fastidiously went into what was left of it, careful not to brush up against anything in his cheap suit as he started snapping shots.

  Dean watched him a little while, then took the forms and walked to the fire station for a shower; he had a set of spare clothes there, and what he was wearing couldn’t be salvaged. Maybe Carter could help him figure out the forms when he’d gotten the worst of the black off.

  But it wasn’t Carter who was sitting at the crew table when Dean staggered out of the shower, it was Turner.

  The station was little more than a glorified garage,
with a basic bathroom in the back, a work bench and a table with three chairs that was comfortable to sit at only if the fire truck—a battered surplus wildfire truck—wasn’t parked there occupying most of the space.

  Dean had left the paperwork sitting on the table, and Turner was flipping through it thoughtfully.

  “Pretty ridiculous how much crap they think people keep track of,” he said dismissively. “Who the hell knows when the last time the trees were cleared back from the edge of the building.”

  “Probably when the place was built in sixty-three,” Dean suggested warily. He still sounded like a lifetime smoker, his voice rough. If he breathed too deep, he coughed.

  There was coffee in the pot and Dean took a cup, black, and sat down across from Turner, mostly because his legs didn’t want to hold him up anymore. His bear was anxious to get somewhere to shift, but Dean wasn’t even sure if he could get somewhere private without collapsing. The hot shower had taken more out of him than he expected.

  “I wasn’t kidding,” Turner said, putting the paperwork down.

  “Maybe they figure the claim period will expire before I can get everything filled out,” Dean said with a crooked grin. The coffee was old, but still hot.

  “I’m not talking about the insurance crap,” Turner said grimly.

  “I’m not sorry,” Dean grumbled. “It turned out fine.”

  “I’m not even really talking about this fire,” Turner said, taking off his hat and rubbing his short hair. “Dean, you’ve been... really hard on yourself since... since Deirdre left you.”

  Dean blinked at him. He hadn’t thought about Deirdre once that day. He wondered if anyone had called and told her about the fire yet. The town had pretty well turned against her during their divorce, despite his best efforts, but gossip was gossip and it would be hard for some of the town hens to resist sharing the news.

  “You’ve been taking a lot of unnecessary risks,” Turner pointed out. “Not just on call-outs, either. You’ve pretty well bankrupted yourself on that shop, haven’t you? Is that why you went in to try to save it?”

  Dean scowled across the table, the coffee cup clenched in his hands. He didn’t answer.

  “Look, Dean, you’ve got friends, people who care about you...”

  “If you remind me about Aaron and give me a guilt trip about taking risks when I’ve got a kid at home...”

  Turner frowned. “That’s not where I’m going with this. You’ve been burning your candle at both ends, Dean. That’s not good for you, and no, that’s not good for Aaron, and it’s not good for your judgment. What I’m saying is that you should just step back a little, take a break. Regroup. That girl...”

  Shelley. His mate. “What about her?” He sounded as defensive as he felt.

  “You serious about her?” Turner’s look across the table was suspicious.

  Serious didn’t begin to cover what he felt for Shelley. He was more serious than he’d ever been in his life, more determined, more focused. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

  “I wouldn’t have guessed she was your type, but she’s a fine-looking woman, and you look happy with her. So go do that, for you.”

  “What do you mean...?”

  “You’ve been doing what’s right for everyone else, Dean. Ever since you got out of high school, you were working for other people, arranging your life trying to be everything to everyone. You can’t be the best business owner and the best mechanic and the best dad and the best fire fighter all at once. Take a step back, try to be the best for you for once.”

  “Is that why you pulled me off the squad?” Dean protested. “Because you’re trying to play psychiatrist? Green Valley needs...”

  Turner stopped him. “Jamie’s coming back from her summer job in Alaska next week, we’ll put her on the squad for the winter. We can re-evaluate your participation in the spring. See where the store is, what the shop is doing... where you are with your new girl. Green Valley Fire can weather a season without you.”

  Dean knew when he was beaten, and to be honest, felt a little relieved.

  If he had to admit it, he was tired. Not just the bone-deep tired from inhaling too much smoke and standing in the hot shower too long. It was the tired of working two jobs on top of being a small town firefighter and trying to be an on-point single dad. It was the exhausted tired of keeping a brave face to the world, pretending he didn’t feel completely alone.

  And now there was Shelley, and he didn’t have to be alone. Suddenly, the heart-whole face he tried to show to the world was the unexpected truth, and everything else felt like empty busyness.

  Turner, watching him, must have guessed at the turmoil in Dean’s chest. “If you need a reference, I’ll vouch for you.” He put a hand across the table and Dean thoughtfully shook it.

  Chapter 23

  Shelley stood in the middle of the house and stared around. Bingo sat down and leaned against her while she absently scratched his ears. His tail beat a steady swishing thump on the floor.

  She wasn’t ready for this, for Aaron without Dean to act as a buffer. There was no way she could handle an active seven-year-old boy by herself.

  There weren’t enough mom blogs in the world to prepare her.

  Shelley could feel the panic rising in her throat. She’d kept it under control with Dean, because Dean needed her, and because she was an expert at keeping everything stuffed down around other people.

  Except that Dean didn’t need her.

  He didn’t want her money, he knew she was hopeless at... at basically everything useful. She didn’t know what to do with dogs or kids, she couldn’t cook, and she was barely capable of cleaning. She had brought her car to the shop with a loose license plate.

  Dean hadn’t asked her to quit her job; he probably knew that this whole thing was doomed. She’d just been impulsive and stupid and overly-optimistic and she’d felt like maybe a mate could fix her, and here she was on the brink of a panic attack because she was pretty sure she couldn’t do the one thing he’d asked of her...

  Her hand was wet.

  Bingo was licking her hand enthusiastically, because she’d stopped scratching his ears.

  Shelley crouched tentatively. “You’re a good dog,” she said, because that seemed to be what you were supposed to say to a dog.

  Bingo obviously thought this was the best thing anyone had ever said to him, and went into a spasm of wiggling and wagging his tail and butting his head against Shelley’s neck and licking the air noisily. Only shifter strength kept Shelley from keeling over backwards at his loving assault.

  “Okay, that’s good, that’s enough, down or back, or whatever,” Shelley said, but she laughed as she said it, and scratched his ears.

  Suddenly Bingo’s ears pricked and he gave a happy bark and bounded for the door, just as Aaron threw it open. “Dad?”

  Bingo gave him a joyous lick and bounced around him, sniffing his backpack hopefully.

  “Hi Aaron,” Shelley said, standing up again.

  Aaron’s face understandably fell. “Oh, hi.” He dropped his backpack in a heap by the door and Bingo investigated it with a wagging tail.

  “Your dad is really busy tonight getting everything sorted at the auto shop,” Shelley explained nervously. “He asked me to come over and keep an eye on you.”

  Aaron shrugged. “Okay,” he said morosely. He wandered towards the kitchen and Shelley followed him helplessly.

  He must be worried about his dad, about his dad’s shop. Shelley resisted the urge to use her smart phone to look up ‘cheering up 7-yr-old.’

  “Do you, ah... want a snack?” Hadn’t he been all about eating the last few times she’d seen him?

  “Maybe.”

  Bingo gave up on his search of the backpack to trot into the kitchen hopefully and Aaron hugged him around the neck and ruffled his ears.

  “Do you want something to drink?” Shelley tried desperately. What else did kids do?

  “Nah,” Aaron repeated.

  Shell
ey had already opened the fridge and was frowning into it. There was some kind of meat, thawing in a shallow dish, a few dubious leftovers in tupperware that Shelley couldn’t identify, as well as vegetables, milk, eggs, cheese. Not food, just ingredients. “Carrots?” Shelley offered helplessly.

  Aaron flopped down on the floor with Bingo and they started roughhousing, Bingo licking and wagging his tail so vigorously that his entire backend was in motion. They hit the little table in the corner and it danced in place.

  Shelley shut the fridge door and stared at them in consternation. Was this the kind of activity she should discourage? Or would that just make her a big meanie? She thought longingly of the pills in her purse, but they left her feeling wrung out and slightly dazed. She needed all of her wits for this large challenge in a small package.

  She was saved having to make any decisions by a knock on the door.

  Bingo went into a flurry of happy barks, bounding for the front of the house. Shelley kneed him out of the way and opened the door to a woman with gray braids that she recognized from her father’s wedding; one of Tawny’s friends. She was holding a casserole dish and Shelley hoped they hadn’t been introduced before because she had no idea what her name was.

  She looked at Shelley without smiling. “Brought a casserole for Dean,” she said.

  “Oh,” Shelley said, equally surprised. That was a thing people actually did? “Thank you...” she was trying to keep Bingo back, hampered by Aaron trying to squeeze around her other side to see what was happening.

  “Who is it?”

  “Shame about his shop,” the woman said. “Very tragic.”

  “Yes,” Shelley agreed. “Very trag... oh, Bingo!”

  The dog escaped and trotted straight to the woman, who was not very tall. She put the casserole up in the air, which Bingo took as a challenge, bouncing to investigate.

  “Bingo, no! Sit! Don’t!” Shelley cried, as Aaron came around her other side saying, “Hi Mrs. Fredrickson!”

  Shelley took Bingo by the scruff of the neck and held him firmly back, only wondering afterwards if it was a demonstration of more strength than she ought to show. “I’m so sorry,” she said, trying to make it look as if she was struggling. “Sit!”