She thought. “Forty bucks?”
“Deal,” he pulled out his wallet. It was. That was a $300 blade. And one of his favorite tools.
She set a dainty forefinger on his blade. It shimmered and turned white hot. She pulled her finger away. The oiled soapstone counter sizzled and a slight smell of scorching filled the air, but the stone didn’t mark. Fine smoke drifted up. The air cleared. His blade shone brightly and perfectly.
“Thank you.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve run out of time. I have to get back to work.”
“You can come in after work and pick your new knife out.” Moira took his twenties. She paused. “If your shell work is as good as your wood carvings, I could sell everything you make. I manage the artists’ co-op.”
He shook his head. “I’m no artist, ma’am. I whittle a bit and do some cabinetry – just as a hobby.”
“Hmm.”
*Desired by the Dragon
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Serena~
“Dad it’s lunchtime. I can’t talk right now.” She shouldn’t even have picked up her cell.
Dad snorted loudly enough to make her ears ring. “Not too busy to talk to that danged bear.”
“If you mean Anton, I saw him to wave to, but not to speak to.” Not that his smile hadn’t made her feel as special as her dreams. It was just too bad that as soon as he had swallowed his lunch he had disappeared from the tent, without a backward look. In his own way her bear was as arrogant as the mer-king.
“That’s not what I heard,” Dad bellowed.
“Nonetheless, it’s true. I wouldn’t lie to you, sire.”
“Better not.”
“I really do have to go. I’m in charge. Can we talk later?”
He hung up in her ear. Serena met the curious eyes of her crew with as bland an expression as she could manage. This was the second angry call today. Dad had called before breakfast to inform her that Anton had been rescued by the mer-patrol. He had been caught in the riptide.
Dad appeared to feel that this was proof he was no fit mate for a mermaid. Plus he had assumed she had broken her word and gone swimming with her lover. Really, Dad was getting beyond paranoid and unreasonable. She had promised not to marry Anton without her father’s blessing. Which left a lot on the table. She was flipping tired of being treated like an unruly teen.
So when Anton showed up at the inn, showered and changed, to invite her to dinner, she accepted. “Where did you have in mind?”
“My place. I bought a couple of steaks and I thought we could cook ourselves our suppers in peace and quiet.”
The kitchen of Sunflower Cottage wasn’t much, but it was rather pleasant to sit and watch while Anton dealt competently with broccoli and baked potatoes. “The steaks would be better on the grill,” he said. “But there isn’t one. I’ll broil them once the potatoes are mostly done.”
“Sounds good. After an entire day in a kitchen, this is very pleasant.”
“Want a beer?”
“Sure.”
He poured them both one before washing up the few things he had used. “It such a tiny kitchen,” he apologized, “That it’s best to clean up as you go.”
She hid her smile in her beer. She didn’t think that Robin or her staff had lined up the toaster, kettle and coffeemaker according to height and stowed their cords in identical zip-tied bundles. That was her Marine making sure his kitchen was ready for inspection.
“Done.” He hung the dishcloth neatly over the sink, dead center and level. “Let’s sit in the living room.”
“I’d like that.”
To her surprise, Anton settled her on the couch and sat across from her. He put his feet on the hassock and crossed his ankles. He winked at her. “Your daddy and uncles seemed to think I didn’t know you well enough to love you. They’re right. Sort of. Go ahead, tell me about yourself.”
“It would be cozier on the couch,” she murmured.
“Too cozy. Dinner would burn for sure. How did you wind up a catering manager at the inn instead of working at the Crab Hut?”
“Not you too! Dad and Mom are always after me to work for them. But the truth is that there isn’t enough business to occupy four people at the Crab Hut. Justine picks up any slack left by Mom and Dad. It would be different if either of them wanted to retire, but you’ve met my dad, he’s nowhere near ready to hang up his apron.”
“So you took a job at the inn,” he prompted.
“First I went to college and studied business and catering. In Portland.”
He took a pull of his beer. “How did you like Portland?”
She made a face remembering. “Too crowded. Too normal. No swimming allowed, if you know what I mean? I had to dye my hair.” She had gone red until graduation.
“But you completed your courses?”
“I did. And then I came home. I had a choice between crowding Justine or waiting tables at the Crab Hut. So when Robin Fairchild offered me a job on her catering team, I took it.”
“And now you’re manager?”
“Right. I got lucky. The old manager wanted to retire. But instead of being happy for me that I found a great job right here in Mystic Bay, Dad acts like I betrayed him.”
“Maybe that’s how he feels,” Anton’s voice was sympathetic.
“It certainly is. But that’s just crazy. The Crab Hut is popular. But on West Haven there’s no room to expand. In the summer, the Crab Hut joins with Gordon Sullivan to run supper tours on his whale watching boats. But it’s not as though if Dad opened a second restaurant in Mystic Bay, that he would serve twice as many meals.”
“He’d double his overhead but not his sales,” Anton agreed.
“Right. In the summertime, he sells fish and chips on the public beach from a truck. But to tell you the truth, I don’t want to spend my days frying fish in an eight by twelve space. And it’s not a full-time job. June to September only. Mind you, it’s a great summer job for Scotty. I mean, Scott.”
“Sounds like even before this thing with Bock, you and your dad were at loggerheads.”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “We used to be such a happy family. Before Carlyle and Dad had their big fight.” It was getting harder to remember those happy times.
“Gotta be hard having that kind of tension at every family gathering,” he said sympathetically.
“And I haven’t told you the worst thing of all. Just because Uncle Mark and Uncle Cliff said that Carlyle could join their fishing crews if he didn’t want to work at the Crab Hut, Dad acts like they committed treason! But they both supply the Crab Hut before they sell their catch elsewhere.”
“Hmm. Sounds like bringing home a bear was the last straw for your old man.” Incredibly, he actually sounded sympathetic.
The stove timer ended her rant. Anton put a companionable arm around her shoulders on the way back to the kitchen and kissed her ear. That was more like it. Even though he couldn’t fix her dysfunctional family, his presence was a comfort.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Anton~
As much as he felt for Serena, he couldn’t see how he could alter the Merryman family dynamics. Looked like they were doomed to fight lost battles from now till kingdom come. Pity. He couldn’t imagine returning home to constant fighting. He and his siblings had had their moments growing up, like any kids. But Mama and Daddy hadn’t laid him out in lavender since he enlisted.
The Benoit family reunions were all about good times. A little deer hunting. Bit of fishing. Lots of bear shifting. Big family parties at the community center to admire new babies and dance until the fiddlers gave out.
If quarrels erupted, old Uncle Pierre who was the genial patriarch of their clan* would give them the rough edge of his tongue, remind them that blood was thicker than water, and generally sort out those fractious bears until they were ready to shake hands and be friends again.
If lectures and sermons were normal Merryman fare, it was no wonder young Carlyle had taken his banishment as the
royal road to freedom.
Serena was opening the kitchen window, even though there was a range hood. “Don’t want to set off the cooking alarm.” She pointed to the smoke detector.
“Fair enough. How do you like your steak?” He slid the pan under the broiler.
“Medium well.”
“Me too.” He dumped the broccoli into boiling water.
“So what about your family?” she asked.
“I have two brothers and two sisters. All flown the nest. My folks keep talking about going to live near Janet. But it’s not going to happen. French Town is home. And after they got out of the service, Brent and Lucas got jobs at the lumber mill**, so they live in Hanover which is only half an hour away. Unless the road washes out, Mom and Dad are close enough to babysit their grandkids.”
“You’re an uncle!”
“You bet. Six nieces and three nephews, not counting Gabby’s kids.”
“Gabby from Bear Claw Construction?”
“Yup. She married a cousin of mine*** and they have triplets. I’m godfather to the boy,” he bragged.
“So that’s how you walked into a job!”
“Uh huh. Plus, I’m good with my hands.” He winked at her.
“Back up, Romeo. Are triplets usual in bear families?”
He knew a loaded question when he heard one. He nodded and bent over the steaks. “Should I flip them?”
“Be a good idea. So about triplets?”
“Brent and Lucas and I are trips,” he admitted. “Janet and Judy are twins.”
“For Pete’s sake.” Her face was a picture. Edvard Munch’s The Scream.
“You always have a buddy handy when there are three of you,” he offered hopefully.
She rolled her eyes. “I can just imagine. Your poor mother. Three boys raising hell all at once. In cahoots.”
“Mom managed,” he said defensively. She always said she was glad not to have to experience the terrible twos or the tense teens again, but no need to share that factoid with Serena.
More eye rolling. “I’ll bet.”
They ate perfectly cooked steak at the kitchen table. Of course it could have been charred to a cinder and the potatoes rock hard and wouldn’t have mattered a scrap. As long as his woman was sitting right next to him eating food of his providing, he was a happy bear. He had forgotten about dessert when he was shopping, but fortunately there was half a cantaloupe left. They split it.
After they had set the kitchen to rights, cleaning up as efficiently as if they had been working together forever, he permitted himself to sit beside her on the couch to drink his coffee. He had just set his mug down on the scarred coffee table the better to cuddle, when the pounding at the front door commenced.
“Benoit,” bellowed a deep and wrathful voice.
“It’s Dad,” squeaked Serena.
He opened the door. Red-faced and wrathful, the mer-king over-topped his diminutive and embarrassed companion by a good foot. Walter Babcock opened his mouth but was forestalled.
“Where is she?” demanded Roger.
“I’m right here, Dad,” Serena walked into the tiny hallway. “Alive and well.”
“Not you, Miss Serena,” Deputy Babcock said. “Carmody Belfast is missing.”
“Stop yapping, Babcock, and search the place,” cried Roger.
“Carmody is Samantha Belfast’s three-year-old daughter,” Serena whispered to Anton. “They’re unicorns.” She raised her voice. “Carmody isn’t here, Dad.”
“Mind if I take a look, Sergeant?” Babcock asked.
What could Anton say? It wasn’t as if he had anything to hide, or anywhere to put it in this tiny cabin if he did. “Nope. You go right ahead, Deputy.”
Roger dashed into the kitchen and began opening doors. It didn’t take long. He found a few canned goods, a cupboard of battered pots and a mop and broom that had seen better days. The back porch did have a view of the ocean and the sunset. Roger ignored it go outside to look underneath the wooden floor. Anton was impressed by what the merman didn’t find. The gravel was bare even of leaves.
Roger turned his attention to Anton’s truck. “Open that locker,” he demanded.
Anton handed him the keys to the box he had built in the back of his pickup. His shotgun and toolbox were strapped down tightly next to windshield washer fluid and a shovel.
“Is that thing loaded?”
“No, sir. Ammunition is in my bedroom in a lock box.”
They met Babcock coming out of the bedroom. “No sign of her,” he said worriedly. His nose was twitching and his voice was trembling.
“Pull yourself together, Babcock,” snapped Anton. “Report.”
As he had expected, his command voice had a bracing effect on the deputy. “Samantha Belfast reported her daughter missing ten minutes ago. She went into the child’s bedroom to check on her and she was gone. The window was ajar. Which it shouldn’t have been in this weather.”
“Go on. Big enough gap for a three-year-old to slip out of?” Anton asked.
“Maybe. The screen was removed for the winter – they block the light and there are no bugs in the winter.”
“If it’s not him, it’s one of those damned hunters from Bear Claw,” roared Roger. “We’re wasting time, Babcock.”
Serena placed a hand on the agitated mer-king’s shoulder. “Calm down, Dad.” Roger shrugged off her comfort.
Anton held up a hand. “Have you called out your Search and Rescue squad?”
“We don’t have one,” muttered Babcock. “There’s just me and a couple of deputies. And Slim Medford is holding down the phones tonight.”
“Where’s the sheriff? You do have a sheriff?” Anton asked.
“Sheriff Coleridge is off duty,” Babcock said.
“If a three-year-old has gone missing, Otto Coleridge better danged well be on duty,” Roger declared. He whipped out his cell and began haranguing whoever answered.
Anton took the opportunity to confer with Babcock. “Searches are most effective when they’re organized. Have you any reason besides paranoia to think Carmody was snatched by a stranger? Stranger abductions are vanishingly rare. What about her father? Where is he?”
“Samantha is a single mom,” Serena said. “The dad is out of the picture and off-island – whoever he is.”
“Could he be on the island without you knowing?” Anton asked Babcock.
“Not a chance.”
“Excellent. That means there is a good chance that Carmody left under her own steam. Has her house been searched?”
Babcock rolled his eyes. “Her mother looked before she called the police station.”
“Sure, but I mean a systematic search. Behind heavy furniture, inside closets.” Even in the smallest, tidiest house, there were a gazillion places a kid could explore and get stuck or fall asleep.
“Huh.”
Roger snapped off his phone. “Otto is putting his pants on. Could take that old coot a while to find his suspenders. We better get moving.”
“Missing toddlers are often located asleep on Mommy’s shoes,” Anton said wryly. “Best case scenario is that’s where we’ll find Carmody.”
“And how do you know so much about it?” demanded Roger suspiciously.
“I do search and rescue in Denver,” Anton replied politely. He was one of a large volunteer force that could be mobilized in minutes. They looked for missing kids, lost hikers, stranded skiers.
“Huh.”
“This is a small island,” Anton continued calmly. “We’ll find her. Has your mer-patrol been notified to look for Carmody?”
“Not yet,” Roger admitted.
“Then, with all due respect, Mr. Merryman, you should deploy them at once. Every able-bodied mer-person should be out looking for her. Biggest hazard around here is the ocean.”
“How would she get there?” objected Babcock. “The Belfasts live right up on Ghost Hill.”
“Which is where?” Anton asked.
“Center of the
island,” Serena filled in.
Anton nodded. “Ocean sounds unlikely. Let’s hope so. But we don’t know how long ago the kid slipped away.” Roger started to roar. “Or was snatched. We should prioritize the most dangerous places.”
“I’ll call Mom,” Serena said. “She’ll round everybody up.”
“Mermaids don’t patrol,” Roger declared. But his voice had lost its edge.
“They do tonight. Hadn’t you better go swimming yourself, sir?” Anton suggested. “Get your platoon searching the bays and coves?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Serena~
For a wonder, Dad didn’t argue with Anton. He accepted the inevitable and drove her to the cabana to shift. It was weird swimming with him again after all these years. Dad almost balked when Serena appeared in her regular bra, but she gave him a look. Modesty was all very well and good. But between hypothermia and drowning, if Carmody was in the icy ocean, the child had precious little time left.
Serena knew every eddy and ripple around the island. Every tidal pool. Every scrap of rock that was visible now at high tide. Dad summoned the mer-patrol telepathically and gave them fresh instructions. They split up and raced to do a swift once-over of the Mystic Bay harbor and the entire West Haven shoreline. The island wasn’t big, but the uneven shoreline was long and would take time to investigate.
Mom had been quick. The ocean was suddenly full of merfolk awaiting orders from their monarch. Dad set up teams moving three abreast along the shoreline, doing a close search of areas given a once-over by the mer-patrol. The ocean was three-dimensional, and this kind of search would take hours. Meanwhile, Cousin Scotty had been assigned messenger duties and was relaying the patrol’s findings to the king. So far, all negative. Which was good, wasn’t it?
Her young cousin was overexcited by his role, but as long as he channeled that adrenaline-fueled energy into racing from the lines of searchers, to the patrol, and back to King Roger, it was good. Scotty was just a kid, but he knew this operation was in deadly earnest, and was treating it seriously.
Serena had expected to be sent to join one of the teams of close searchers slowly making their way along the shore, but Dad ordered her to stay close by him.
Beloved by the Bear: A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance (Mystic Bay Book 3) Page 9