by V. Vaughn
Jen ran her finger back another generation, until she found her great-great-grandfather’s brothers. “There’s a Clive here,” she said pursing her lips, “But this one is supposed to have died in the war.”
“Let me see,” he took the book from her and turned it around. Colin, George, William and Clive were brothers. Clive and Colin had little crosses and WWII by their names.
“That means Clive didn’t come back from the war,” Jenna said. “William is my great-great-grand.”
“My Great-granddaddy Clive fought in the second world war, for sure,” Zeke said. “But he sure enough didn’t die in it. Moved to Colorado in 1946, had four wives, and five or six kids, maybe more. This probably isn’t him. Or someone got the facts wrong.”
“Well, there are Bascoms all over the Ridge,” she said and turned more pages. Together they looked for Clive’s name in several different sections. Nothing.
Jenna moved to the back of the album.” These are the records from Gleed. That’s over in Oregon.” Her fingers ran over the entries. “Here we are. These guys are the generation that fought in WWII. Lots of Bascoms.” She shook her head and her braid swayed. “But no Clive here at all.”
He took the book back from her. “If my great-grandfather is the Clive who was your great-great-granddaddy’s brother, we have three or four generations between us. You think that’s enough?” He watched with interest as Jen’s healthy glow changed to crimson.
“Are you asking if we’re kissing cousins?” she said stiffly, not meeting his eyes.
Zeke chuckled and she felt the vibrations right through her body as if he was charging the air with electricity. “What other kinds are there?” His deep voice was curious.
“Just the two — kissing and close,” she snapped.
He sniffed the air. “You sure don’t smell like Laura,” he spoke his thought.
“And she would be?” Jen’s voice was tart.
“My cousin. But her great-grandma and mine were different women.” Clive mused. “So we’re both Clive’s great-grandchildren, and third cousins? Would that be right? But I wouldn’t call her a kissing cousin, more like a sister.”
“Depends how many places you meet up on the family tree,” Jen said cautiously.
Zeke laughed hollowly. “That’s the whole problem in my family. We don’t meet up enough.” He got up and stalked back to the front window. There was nothing to see there but snow, but he kept his back to her.
Of all the things he didn’t want to think about right now, his family back in Colorado was high on the list. He hadn’t come all the way out to Washington State so he could import his family problems. All he wanted to know was if this luscious angel was his to keep. Although her figure was as ripe as his cousin Laura’s, she sure as hell didn’t smell like her.
Jenna examined his rigid form warily. Now what had she said? This Laura was dear to him, but he thought third cousins too close for them to wed. Was that it? Because one moment they were sitting talking, and the next he was glaring at her and stamping off.
Well, she didn’t put up with much, but she didn’t know this guy well enough to tell him off. She replaced the mementos that had fallen out of the book and refastened the elastic carefully before she tucked it neatly back in its drawer. Then she went to stir her stew and wash up the lunch things.
8
Zeke stared blindly through the scarlet haze that clouded his eyes and his brain. The last thing on earth he wanted to have to explain was his family. His anger at his father and great-grandfather mingled with a general feeling of foreboding about his future. What the hell had Granddaddy Clive been thinking to leave his money in such a way as to set the whole family at each other’s throats?
It wasn’t as if things had been great before they all found out about the old devil’s crazy will. He and his father had been at cross purposes since he started sprouting chest hair. Jeremy Bascom could never seem to accept that Zeke’s career in the army was as important as Patrick’s career as a lawyer for the family firm. As much as he loved his brother, as far as Zeke was concerned, his career was infinitely more important than his twin’s. Hell, lawyers were two for a penny. Rangers were a rare breed.
Of course, probably he wasn’t a Ranger any more. Because nobody cared how sorry you were that you had ordered your men to run to their deaths. Sorry didn’t cut it. But without the Rangers he felt lost and emasculated.
He sure as hell wasn’t going to let Clive finish cutting his balls off by taking that desk job in Denver. The day he gave in to Clive or Jeremy Bascom’s demands was the day he might as well cut his throat. He refused to go work for B and B Oil. Jeremy, Gilbert, Calvin and Patrick might be able to endure fiddling with sales figures and stock reports day after day, but Zeke Bascom would rather dig ditches with a fork.
Clive was an evil old goat who had kept them all dancing to his tune while he lived and wanted to keep on doing it from the grave. Zeke had drawn a line when he turned eighteen and had refused to be manipulated ever again. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let Clive’s will bully him into doing what he had sworn he never would.
Whenever he thought about his sprawling, dysfunctional family he felt like an animal caught in a trap. Except that he was the exception. He was the Bascom who had avoided Clive’s carefully laid bait and hadn’t fallen to his doom.
It wasn’t that he didn’t sympathize with Great-granddaddy Clive. Had to be tough — even for a mean old bastard — like Clive to watch each of his sons go off to war and none come back. Had to be tough when your grandsons did the same and your great-grandsons looked to be following suit. But hell, bears were bears, and if they weren’t in the services, likely they would be like his Uncle Freddie, trying to kill themselves riding bulls.
Clive had attempted to lure Zeke into a comfortable cage at B and B Oil. But even if managing an oil company had suited his natural talents, the last thing on earth Zeke had ever wanted was to work for that interfering despot. It was beyond him how his own brother liked it so well. He didn’t understand Dad either.
Of course, Jeremy Bascom was driven by money. He liked the trappings of power that being an executive at B and B gave him. He liked having the ear of his congressman and his senator. He liked having young women drool over him. Working in an office in Denver seemed to fit him like one of his ten thousand dollar suits.
Clive had been displeased when each of his great-grandsons in turn had elected to enlist. But he was fighting nature. Adolescent bears were eager for adventure, risk and danger. Better to work it off in uniform, than chasing tail like Clive and Jeremy, but Clive hadn’t seen it that way. He liked to think he called the shots in his family.
Clive had been plenty pissed when Zeke and his cousin Luther joined the army. And when Patrick and Calvin had signed up with the Reserves, he had gone ballistic. Luther’s death in action had made him even angrier. He had only come round when Cal and Pat had graduated from college and started wearing suits and getting waxed and manicured so they could handle B and B’s affairs.
But the mere thought of Cal and Pat showing up at the Reserves for training looking like male models had amused Zeke for years. Take a whole platoon to tie him down for manscaping. And the beautician didn’t draw breath who could get him to pluck his eyebrows.
He was a fricking bear. He liked being a soldier. He loved the Army. It was everything he had ever wanted and he wasn’t going to give it up to please anyone. Of course, the Army had given him up. Had to remember that.
His discharge papers were probably waiting for him in Colorado right this minute. Medical fucking discharge. He would almost have preferred the court martial and getting what he deserved. His team would at least have got justice.
A wave of depression rolled over him. He was a washed up soldier at thirty-six. He would be doing everyone a favor if he just put a bullet through his brain. Not that he seemed to have his service revolver. What the hell had he done with that? And surely he had had a flashlight last night? He was a wr
eck. A used-up screw-up – not worth spit.
The only person who would really care if he offed himself was Laura. Laura would mourn her cousin. She still thought he was her hero. Her brave cousin. She didn’t know the truth about him. No one did.
What the hell did he have to offer the lovely, fresh faced woman who had saved his life? Nothing. Bloody nothing. Pretty soon whoever she had made this sweater for would be along to claim her, and there was nothing he could offer Jenna that some other bear couldn’t top. A clean bill of mental health for a start. He wanted to punch something or someone, but he made himself fold his arms over his chest and keep staring out at the snow.
Zeke smelled like he was the one. Masculine. Dependable. Strong. Sexy. She was probably an idiot, building castles in the sky around some stranger just because he smelled good. But his scent laced the air in her house. It called to her and made long dormant feelings emerge.
Jenna had known she desperately wanted a family of her own. But now it appeared that what she wanted was this particular man and his babies. Her flesh seemed sensitized and her blood was fizzing. Even though he was a rude bastard, she wanted to rush back into the sitting room and smooth things over between them. She wanted to offer herself to him.
Everyone in her family had always said that when you met your destined mate you knew. That the feelings of connection were immediate and intense. And that your mate would feel them too. Was Zeke feeling the same sense of intimacy, of deep affection and physical certainty? Or was he still too close to his brush with death to feel anything at all?
Was his brusque manner and active rudeness something she should take personally? Or was it just that he was still recovering? Hypothermia messed up all the body’s systems — heart, lungs, brain. He had to feel crappy this morning. Plus it had to be disorienting to go camping and then find that your truck and all your possessions had been swept away, leaving you lost in a blizzard.
She couldn’t imagine how even a bearshifter had made it up the mountain to her place in the blizzard. Zeke had to have walked for several hours at least. Even in good weather with perfect visibility it would have been an exhausting hike for a strong man in great condition. How he had made it at all was a pure mystery.
Fifteen miles of trails lay between the decommissioned Ranger Station and her cabin. After all the rain they had had, she knew they had started muddy. Snow on top would have made them even harder going. It was little wonder his clothes had been in ripped and coated in mud and snow. The real puzzle was why he had not been overcome by exhaustion.
A weaker man would not have made it. A less tough specimen would have died out in the snow or on her floor. She ought to be making sure that he was okay. Nursing him, not fantasizing about getting him to make love to her.
By rights he should be in hospital being examined by doctors with the entire panoply of instruments. But she could at least muster sufficient professionalism to take his temperature and listen to his heart and lungs and check his reflexes instead of indulging in adolescent fantasies.
Zeke turned from the window as Jenna called his name. She was looking determined and she was opening a satchel on her table.
“I should be keeping track of your temperature and blood pressure,” she said apologetically. “You nearly died last night, and I should be keeping track of your vitals.”
“What are you,” he snarled, “My doctor?”
“Close,” she said smiling calmly. “Nurse practitioner. I’ve been looking up hypothermia — which I should have done this morning — and by rights you should be on observation for forty-eight hours with IV re-hydration, followed by bed rest and fluids for a week.”
“Huh.”
“Of course,” she said cheerfully, “The books apply to humans. They don’t apply to shifters. With our high metabolisms and rapid healing, we’re a different animal altogether. But certainly you ought to be taking it easy today, and replacing your electrolytes and water.”
“I’m not your patient,” he growled.
Her face looked hurt and then smoothed out. It was perfectly neutral when she said, “You need food and rest, and you have to keep drinking until you pee.”
Zeke got up, narrowing his eyes at her. It was a practiced look designed to stop insubordinate troops in their tracks. It had worked on more than a decade’s worth of hard-asses and troublemakers. Jenna’s pleasant expression did not falter. Zeke stomped off to the head clutching his blanket which was coming undone.
When he returned, a perfectly composed Jenna asked him to take off his sweater and sit on a chair so she could take his blood pressure and listen to his heart. Her stethoscope was cold against his skin but it was the feeling of those soft fingers ruffling his chest hair that made his heart race.
She moved behind him to listen to his lungs. “Take a deep breath,” she said.
Zeke inhaled.
“Breathe out.”
Zeke complied. Jenna moved her stethoscope around and repeated the procedure. “Your lungs seem to be clear,” she informed him.
“I’m fine,” he repeated.
“Did you look for white patches when you were in the bathroom?” Jenna asked him.
“I did,” Zeke growled. “I’m fine.”
“Mmm.” Jenna conducted her own examination, pushing his close cropped hair around to look for the telltale signs of dead skin. His scalp was pitted with old white scars and one of his ears was missing a piece beside a narrow furrow on his skull. He was lucky that his hair was so thick that even clipped short his old injuries didn’t show.
“Hold out your arms,” she instructed. “Close your eyes. Touch your nose. Touch your left ear. Can you feel that?” To test his reflexes, she pricked the palm of one big hand and pinched the back of the other.
Zeke opened his eyes and glared at Jenna. She ignored his fierce expression and kept her own face pleasantly neutral. But he wasn’t fooled. She was agitated as all get out. Not scared. But excited and aroused. Why was she pretending she was only interested in his health? He had taken off his too tight, too short sweater and was sitting before her bare chested while she examined his skin for damage.
Her fingers ruffled through the dark curls on his bulging pecs. He heard her breathing change while she parted his chest hair and looked for patches of frostbitten skin. Her scent intensified and became even more enticing.
Jenna moved around him. “Lean forward,” she said. Her voice was a little huskier than it had been. She swallowed audibly and cleared her throat. I need to be sure your back is okay. Zeke felt her touching the scars on his back, making sure they weren’t frostbitten areas. It was delicious torture. Her professional patter dried up.
She handed him back the sweater and cleared her throat. “I need to check your glutes,” she said. “Stand up and take the blanket off.”
Now they were getting somewhere. Zeke crammed the sweater over his head and unwrapped his lower half. Jenna had no doubted expected him to hold the blanket over his privates, but he tossed it on the chair. Let her look.
Jenna’s soft hands lightly touched a pink scar next to his spine and the other bigger one in the small of his back. She made a little noise that meant exactly nothing, but didn’t comment. Her fingers slid slowly through the lightly furred hollow of his spine and palpitated his buttocks. Her hands moved slowly down the backs of his thighs to the creases of his knees.
She sighed audibly and pulled down his socks one at a time and ran her hands over his bulging calf muscles, ruffling the curls that covered them. “Did you examine your feet?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“I’ll inspect them when I test your reflexes. But so far so good,” she said in a croak. “You can wrap up now.”
Zeke was feeling better and better. “Don’t you want to check out the family jewels?”
She choked and gulped. “I’m sure you had a good look yourself,” she said tartly, trying to ignore his cocky grin.
Zeke tucked the blanket around his lower half. He was
warm and getting warmer. Jen stuck her thermometer in his mouth and narrowed her eyes at him, but he just crossed his arms over his chest and stood before her legs spread so his woody tented his blanket.
“Take off your socks,” she said a little shakily. She cleared her throat. “If you’ll sit down I’ll take a look. Toes are usually the first to lose sensation. “I’m going to check your reflexes.” She pulled out her little hammer and tapped away.
“You’ve been remarkably lucky. There’s no dead skin, and your temperature and blood pressure are pretty much normal. Reflexes are good too.” Jenna packed up her instruments and latched her satchel. “You should have a nap,” she said sweetly.
Zeke shrugged. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” he said trying to keep the growl out of his voice. “I’m a bit tired, and a lot thirsty, but I’m fine.”
He stood up and loomed over her and his big arms lifted her against his chest. “I’d rather be doing this,” he rumbled as he took her mouth in an urgent kiss. His blanket lost the struggle with gravity and his rock hard erection poked her pillowy belly.
All Jenna’s good intentions went up in smoke as she caught fire in Zeke’s embrace. His heart was thumping in time with her own and all she could do was clutch at his arms as passion swept her away once more.
9
Jenna’s protests died as Zeke’s mouth ravaged hers. His tongue swept through her mouth like a marauding pirate as he claimed the deepest recesses and sucked her tongue hard. Her hands clutched at his arms as he held her above the floor and plundered her moist cavity.
This was no leisurely first kiss. This was the ravenous kiss of a long denied lover. Jenna was past thought as she eagerly returned his hungry caresses. His spit tasted of hot man and aroused bear, and had an ambrosial flavor that was all his own. She slanted her head under his and used her tongue to return his ardent probing and claim him in return.