Beloved by the Bear_A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance

by Isadora Montrose

  She turned the canvas revealing the luminous seascape. Pearl gasped. Roger roared. Anton was beginning to worry about the mer-king’s limited emotional range.

  “Do you like it?” Serena asked.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Serena~

  Mom was crying. Big tears rolled down her cheeks as Serena tipped the canvas backward to expose the lustrous oil painting.

  “Let’s put it on the couch,” Anton said. He helped her lift it out of the protective wooden cradle. They rested it against the back cushions. The narrow frame wasn’t heavy, but a four-foot by six-foot canvas was awkward and delicate. Any flexing could crack the paint.

  “Where did you get this?” croaked Dad.

  “Portland,” Serena said. “Anton bought it for you.”

  “Were you there, Serena?” Dad’s voice was gravelly and full of hope.

  “I was.”

  “Carlyle painted this,” Mom declared. She reached reverent fingers to caress the plain ivory frame. “I don’t see a signature,” she worried. “But this feels like his work. The light or something...” her voice trailed off.

  “Just initials in the lower right-hand corner,” said Anton.

  Mom peered. “RC,” she said, disappointed. “But it feels like Carlyle’s handiwork. And for sure that is Sunset Cove. Isn’t it?” Mom appealed to Dad.

  Sunset Cove was one of the few natural beaches on West Haven, and the only one with sand that color. Dad said so.

  “I think so too,” Serena said. She felt mean keeping her secret, but a plan was a plan.

  Mom wiped her tears away and began to chuckle.

  “What’s so danged funny, Pearl?” snapped Dad.

  Mom pointed to the rock on the left-hand side. Gray and craggy, whittled by the sea, and glistening with spray, it stood like a weather-beaten sentry guarding the cove.

  Serena bent over the painting, took a couple of steps backward, and collided with Anton who wrapped her up in his arms. She stared from her new vantage point. She too began to laugh.

  “I don’t get it,” Anton rumbled into her hair. “Share the joke.”

  “That rock is a portrait of Dad,” she managed to choke out. “See, he even has seaweed for a crown.”

  “Rubbish.” Dad peered closely at the rock. “It’s just a danged rock. Where there never was one.”

  “Step back, Roger,” Mom pleaded.

  Roger shared a glance with Anton who shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “I don’t see you, sir. Just a big old standing stone.”

  “And Justine, Serena and Charlotte, and I are in the water.” Mom pointed to the ruffle of surf at the shoreline.

  Serena squinted. Mom was right. A quartet of miniature mermaids frolicked under the stern gaze of the sentinel rock. Like those funny sketches of rabbits that could be ducks if you looked long enough, their rippling hair shifted back and forth between being the edge of the wave and Mom swimming with her daughters.

  “Could be,” Dad conceded. He blinked. Looked again. His jaw dropped. “It’s like they’re actually moving.”

  “It’s a bit spooky,” Mom agreed. “One moment it’s just a nice picture of a beach sunset, the next it’s a sort of GIF. How did he do that? Gorry mighty, Roger, I don’t care what initials are on this, it has to be Carlyle’s work.”

  She grasped Anton by the arm. “If you find our boy, I’ll take that as a s-s-sign you and Serena are fated.”

  “Who sold it to you?” Dad had regained his composure, but he didn’t comment on Mom’s vow.

  “Fellow by the name of Richard Constantine.” Anton’s level voice fell into the Merrymans’ awed murmuring like a stone into a pond.

  Dad looked at Serena. His green eyes asked a question. “No, sire,” she said. “I was hopeful when I learned the owner had the same initials as the artist. But Dr. Constantine is an older gentleman. And he’s not the artist. Just the purchaser.”

  “Did he tell you where he got it?” Dad pressed.

  “Los Angeles,” Serena said.

  “Oh.” Dad spread his legs and stared fixedly at the seascape. “Los Angeles.” Horror laced his words.

  “Did Constantine tell you where in LA he picked it up?” Mom asked.

  Anton fished a slip of paper from his breast pocket. “Davenport Gallery.”

  “When the Constantines were there, this artist was having a show,” Serena said. “Dr. Constantine bought it as an investment.”

  “Yeah?” Dad was skeptical.

  “Yeah.” Anton was rueful. “Made a killing on it too.”

  “Did he?”

  “Uh huh.” Anton grinned. “Six years ago when Dr. Constantine bought this piece, he paid just over five thousand. I paid a wee bit more than that.”

  Serena rolled her eyes at this understatement.

  “Five thousand American dollars?” Dad demanded, torn between outrage and awe.

  What did he think, that in LA they took pebbles? Serena smiled gently. “The price has gone up, Anton paid the current market value for this piece.”

  “Now, honey,” her bear cautioned. They had already had this argument. The canvas had cost even more than her ring, but he kept insisting it was a gift for her parents. More like a freaking bride price.

  “How much?” asked Mom.

  Anton shook his head. “My mama always said you didn’t discuss the price of gifts. Let’s just say that Mrs. Constantine is going to be able to afford something that matches her living room suite better.”

  Several somethings.

  Dad narrowed his eyes. “And just where did a security guard get the money to buy that flashy ring and an overpriced painting?”

  “I used last year’s bonus, sir. I figured both articles were good investments.”

  “Balderdash.” Dad sneered. “No one pays a security guard that much. Bonus or not.”

  “Well, sir, I did try to explain that I’m not exactly some sort of mall cop. I do cyber-security. Last year I wrote a little algorithm that detects online fraud. Let’s just say my boss was grateful.”

  “So what the heck are you doing working construction?” Roger threw at him.

  Anton tried to explain. “I didn’t want to be sitting around idle in Mystic Bay, mooning at Serena’s feet, like some sort of bum. I figured you and Mrs. Merryman would want to know that I intend to take care of my wife and kids, whichever way I can.”

  “Hmph.”

  “How could they bear to part with it?” Mom asked wonderingly.

  “I think Mrs. Constantine wanted something a little less lively,” Serena explained. There was no accounting for taste. “Or less representational. Although she acted like she found it a bit uncanny. Maybe the mermaids put her off?”

  “Think he drew that horn from life?” Dad asked almost unwillingly.

  “Who knows?” Serena hid her smile. “Probably not. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Not quite how I always imagined the great conch would look, but impressive just the same.”

  “It was supposed to be as long as a man’s forearm,” Dad said thoughtfully. “Or so my grandfather always maintained.”

  “Just remember, sire, great-grandfather had never seen it either. And stories grow in the telling.”

  “So they do.” Dad bent forward. “You really think that rock is supposed to be me?”

  “I do,” Serena assured him.

  “Then I need a facelift.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Anton~

  When Serena had shown up on his doorstep after work he had been thinking supper and bed. Not necessarily in that order. One weekend of her company had spoiled him for this living apart nonsense. But Serena had told him she had a surprise for him.

  They weren’t far from the Old Forest. In fact with every turn of his truck wheels they got closer. “Where exactly are we going?” Anton asked. He loved forests, but the Old Ones made him wary. He did not want another nighttime stroll among those eerie trees.

  “If I told you that,” she said merrily, “It w
ouldn’t be a surprise.”

  “All right, honey, I can be a patient man. I just hope there’s a bed at the end of this road. Heaven knows what these potholes are doing to my shocks.”

  “It could use a load of gravel all right. Turn here.”

  He hung a left into what looked like a driveway overhung by tree branches. If anything this stretch was even more rutted than the road they had left. He caught glimpses of roofs through the pines and bare branches. He came to a fork in the lane.

  Serena consulted a paper in her hand. “Go right,” she said. “About 200 yards.”

  He slowed the truck and bumped along slowly. A cabin came into view, illuminated by his high beams. It was rustic and although it didn’t exactly look old, and the paint on its clapboards was fresh, its cedar shingle roof was already growing moss.

  As a native of the Pacific Northwest, he knew that given enough shade and humidity moss grew as if it had a mission to turn everything emerald green. That bright moss sure looked like home.

  “Park here,” she ordered.

  “It’s a pretty spot. What is this place?” he asked.

  “It’s your new home,” she said smugly.

  “I’d prefer it if you said our new home,” he replied.

  Serena sighed. “Maybe one day. Let’s take a look inside.” She fished keys out of her purse.

  The cabin was a simple structure. Just a big eat-in kitchen that led to a smaller sitting room and single bedroom and bath. The place was furnished but had obviously been mothballed for the season. Serena led him to the last door and opened it with a flourish.

  “Ta da.”

  They were standing in a big bare room. The stars were visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows and glass roof. During the day, the room would be flooded with light. Anton flipped on the wall switch.

  Two big overhead fixtures made pools on the stained and gouged floorboards. A long counter and cupboard filled up the wall opposite the windows. A deep sink was set into the counter. Open shelves lined one of the short walls. The room smelled of oil paint and turpentine.

  “What is this place?”

  “It’s one of the artist’s cottages. Part of the Tidewater Art Colony. Isn’t this space fabulous?”

  It was quite something. He turned in a circle, bemused. “Why are we here?”

  “In the summer, Robin lets artists live and work here for free. She has agreed to let you use this cabin as a studio if you will winterize it in exchange.”

  “What would I need a studio for, love?”

  “To turn the sea shell Carlyle gave us into a horn, of course.” Her words fell into the silence.

  He laughed. “What I need for that is a workshop.” He studied the space. “I suppose I could run some wiring and put a couple of outlets in the middle of the floor for my tools. Build a bench. With all those windows, the light sure will be great. So will the view.”

  He moved to the window and made a circle with his hands against the glass. The cabin sat in a clearing that ended in a view of thick firs. No bear ever got tired of looking at trees.

  “I knew you would love it. And I figured that after emptying out your savings you would be happy to save money on rent. It can’t be cheap to stay in Sunflower. Robin said she’d give you a refund.”

  “Hmm.”

  She peered up at him worriedly. “I thought you would be pleased.”

  “I am pleased.” He lifted her by the waist and spun her in a circle. “I was just figuring out how long it would take to get this place set up. Truth to tell, working outside in the cold with just that one porch light is getting old fast. And that conch is a huge project.” But if he spent his evenings renovating, it would delay getting started on the horn, much less finishing the pendant.

  “Really?” Her face tightened in doubt.

  “Really.” He kissed her. “Only I hope you didn’t tell Ms. Fairchild I was any kind of an artist. I wouldn’t want to accept her cottage under false pretenses.”

  “I told her what you want to do. She thought it was a great idea. She even offered to put a spell on our shell, so it won’t break while you’re carving it.”

  “Probably be best,” he said.

  Her brother had given them the huge conch he had used as an artist’s model when he painted the seascape. But its lavish decorations and excised outer layer were entirely from Carlyle’s artistic imagination.

  The conch was an untouched natural beauty. Because such shells were protected, Carlyle had paid dearly to acquire a legal shell. Carving it was an awesome responsibility. And one Anton had accepted only in order to win his mate.

  “What are you doing?” Serena asked.

  “Taking pictures. I’ll need to figure out what I need to buy in order to get this place winterized and build a workbench.”

  “Robin said she’d pay for materials, if you’ll provide the labor.”

  “Is that so? That’s a pretty sweet deal, all right. You’re quite the negotiator.”

  “Thank you.”

  He made notes on his cell. “Let’s go take a look at the living quarters.” He leered at her. “If you had thought to bring some sheets, we’d be all set.”

  Serena rolled her eyes at him and laughed. “Sorry. What I want now is my dinner.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Two weeks later…

  Anton~

  “You know I’m supposed to be spying on you?” Will said gloomily. “Not just dropping by for a beer?”

  They were sitting in Anton’s new kitchen on a Saturday afternoon. “I figured.” Anton passed the merman another brew. “How’s Rinelle?”

  “Testy. She was figuring on a mid-winter wedding. How’s that conch coming?”

  “Slowly. Even with the guys from Bear Claw helping out, I’ve just finished getting the insulation in and building a workbench.” Anton took a pull at his beer. He could see himself having to tell his mom that he wouldn’t be coming home this Christmas. Which wouldn’t be the first time, but it would still mean a whole lot of disappointment for the home folks.

  “Can I see?” Will asked.

  “Sure.” Anton led the way to his workshop. “Not that there is much to see yet. I just got the tip removed and filed down.”

  “This it?”

  The conch was lying in the protective foam box that Anton had built for it. He placed it in a clamp when he was working on it, but he didn’t like to leave the shell under stress all the time. Even with Robin’s spell safeguarding it against his clumsiness, he didn’t want to take any chances.

  “May I?” Will asked.

  “Sure.”

  Will lifted it out of the box with both hands. His fingers did not meet around the massive base. Including the slender pipe at the end, it was a good two and a half feet long.

  “It’s heavier than I thought it would be,” Will marveled. “He ran a finger along the pink and cream inner surface inside the pipe. “Smooth as glass and as lovely as a sunset.” He raised it to his lips as if to blow, but hastily set it back down in its foam cradle.

  “They say,” the merman said sheepishly, “That blowing the great conch was a prerogative of the king.”

  Of course it was. As far as Anton could tell, the mer-king got to make all the rules and have all the fun.

  “You think Carlyle will show up for Christmas?” Will asked.

  “So he told Serena last Thursday.” How the heck should Anton know? He had met his future brother-in-law exactly once. “Not wanting to insult your Aunt Pearl, but that boy strikes me as four-fifths mule.”

  Will laughed. “Hard-headed works both ways. I guess he’ll show up.”

  “Is he a fellow of his word?” Anton asked.

  “He sure used to be. Is he really a famous painter?” Will gently stroked the spiral shell.

  “I don’t know about famous. But he sells well. But truth to tell, by what I see Moira asking for a dinky little two-by-two unframed oil down at that co-op, Carlyle is seriously underpaid.”

 
“Really?”

  “Yup. I guess that’s why he’s kept his day job at the aquarium lab.”

  “A merman needs to be near the water,” Will reminded him gravely.

  Anton double-checked that the conch was secure. “Well, he is that. Out on the water most days collecting specimens. Nursemaiding them half the night. His office even has a live feed of the open sea. It’s a cushy setup for a merman.”

  Carlyle used his electron microscope to examine larval forms of comb jellies. The labeled drawings he created were industry standard, in high demand by marine researchers, guaranteeing Carlyle a job at the aquarium for as long as he wanted.

  Will sighed. “I sure hope the horn and Carlyle are enough to loosen up Uncle Roger.”

  “Only one way to find out. I better get back to work.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Christmas Eve

  Anton~

  “You sonuvabitch.” The mer-king stood in Anton’s kitchen clenching and unclenching his fists. “What the heck are you up to out here anyway?”

  “Whittling, sir,” Anton said with perfect truth. He wasn’t making great progress on the conch. Removing the periostracum was slow and delicate work. But, by George, whittling was what he was doing.

  Or at least he had been before Roger had interrupted him by banging on the door. Anton’s respirator mask hung around his neck and his safety glasses were on top of his head. And he was covered in shell dust from head to toe.

  “Where in blazes is Serena?” shouted Roger. “She was supposed to stop by to bake with her mom this morning. And they haven’t seen her at the inn. She took the day off. They’re not best pleased, what with the Christmas rush on, having her disappear again.”

  Underneath all his fury and bluster, the mer-king was just a worried father. Not that Anton intended to put him out of his misery and spoil Serena’s surprise. Not yet, anyway.

  “I haven’t seen her all day,” he said, which was true but beside the point. He pulled out his cell. “She texted me this morning.” He showed the text to Roger.