Smolder: A Werebear + BBW Paranormal Romance (Bearpaw Ridge Firefighters Book 2)

by Sexton, Ophelia

  Mark, apparently exhausted after his long night, was now sprawled against the back seat, his eyes closed.

  "Um, no, Mark offered me his spare room," Caitlyn said, feeling inexplicably shy.

  Annabeth shot Caitlyn a startled look.

  "He's not an axe murderer is he?" Caitlyn was only half-joking.

  Mark snorted. Not asleep, after all.

  "Just a lawyer," he drawled.

  "Which some people would say is worse," Annabeth quipped.

  "See, this is why I tell people I'm a firefighter. Lawyers get no respect."

  Annabeth shook her head wryly before asking Caitlyn, "So what brings you to Bearpaw Ridge? It's unusual to see anyone but fishermen this early in the year. You're not here for the salmon run, are you?"

  Caitlyn shook her head. "Nope. I'm a journalist, and my boss sent me here to follow a lead on a story." She paused and decided to just forge ahead. She might not get an opportunity like this again. "Actually, you were one of the people I was hoping to talk to…"

  "Really? Me? Are you doing a story about small-town bakeries?" Annabeth gave a self-deprecating chuckle.

  "No, but if I were, yours would definitely be on the list," Caitlyn said, and meant it. "But I was actually interested in what happened to you last year. Do you mind talking to me about Roger Pemberton?"

  Annabeth glanced at Caitlyn warily. "Please tell me he's still in prison. He hasn't escaped or anything, has he?"

  "Nope. He's still in prison. And not eligible for a parole hearing for at least fifteen years," Caitlyn assured her.

  Annabeth blew out a breath, looking relieved. "I still have nightmares about waking up to find my apartment filled with smoke," she said. "Roger set the stairs on fire to make sure I couldn't get out." She shuddered.

  "That sounds awful," Caitlyn said sympathetically. "So can I ask you a few questions about what happened that night?"

  "Sure," said Annabeth.

  "Just remember that she has her lawyer present," Mark said from the back seat.

  Caitlyn reached for her miniature recorder, stuffed into a side pocket of her messenger bag. To her surprise, it had survived the crash unscathed.

  In fact, it looked like it was in better shape than she was right now.

  She started the recorder and made a brief verbal note with the date, time, and subject.

  "I read the trial transcript," Caitlyn said to Annabeth. "It sounded like you had a really close call. Can you tell me what led to the attack?"

  "I was hoping to make a new start here," Annabeth began. "It all started when I was still living in San Francisco, and my boss Maggie heard about a bakery for sale in Bearpaw Ridge. I was engaged to Roger at the time, but he was starting to get pretty abusive. He never hit me, but he had all these rules I was supposed to follow, and if I made a mistake…well, let's just say he thought up some pretty awful ways to punish me."

  "Ugh," said Caitlyn.

  "He wasn't like that at first," Annabeth said, a little defensively. She took a deep breath and continued. "So anyway, Maggie was originally from Bearpaw Ridge, and she thought I might like it here. On the day I broke up with Roger, I left him a note while he was at work, packed up everything I owned in my car, and drove straight here from the Bay Area…"

  Annabeth continued to tell her story as the miles rolled by and the sun rose slowly higher in the sky. She described starting up her new business, meeting the Swanson brothers and dating Dane, and the awful day when she had realized that Roger had managed to track her down to her new home.

  By this time, Caitlyn knew she had a compelling story on her hands, even if Roger's claims of seeing Dane turn into a bear didn't pan out.

  She asked lots of questions and found Annabeth to be a good interviewee, who answered each question clearly and with good detail, but who didn't ramble or try to take control of the conversation with a monologue.

  Despite the traumatic events that had occurred, Annabeth seemed comfortable talking about Roger's harassing phone calls and creepy packages.

  Then they got to the night of the fire, and Caitlyn finally asked the question that she'd been sent here to ask.

  "So, one of the things that caught my eye in the trial transcripts was that Roger claimed that your fiancée, Dane Swanson, turned into a bear on the night of the fire and attacked him. He told the authorities that the bear ripped his car door off its hinges and tried to kill him."

  Caitlyn was expecting Annabeth to laugh off the claim or look at Caitlyn as if she were crazy. But Annabeth's reaction took her by surprise.

  The bakery owner's face went completely white, the scattering of freckles over her nose and cheeks suddenly standing out in sharp contrast against blanched skin. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

  "What?" Annabeth said. Her hands clenched the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles whitened.

  She glanced nervously at Mark in her rearview mirror.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Caitlyn saw Mark shake his head minutely.

  "That—that's delusional!" Annabeth added. "Why would on earth would Roger say something like that? He really is crazy!"

  Caitlyn might have been more convinced if she hadn't happened to see that odd little exchange between Annabeth and Mark. They were hiding something.

  "And did you read the police report that mentioned that Roger Pemberton was trying to get out of town when Dane and Sheriff Jacobsen stopped him? And that they found an empty gasoline container in his trunk?" Mark's tone was dry.

  "Roger always wanted to blame someone else for any trouble he encountered in his life," Annabeth added, a little shakily. Color began slowly returning to her face. "As I found out once we started living together. He couldn't stand the idea that I had left him and was actually happy with someone else. Someone who treated me right."

  All of this sounded perfectly plausible. Perfectly.

  Except for the fact that sweet-faced Annabeth was a terrible liar. And Mark was now sitting tensely upright in the back seat.

  What's going on here? Why was that such a trigger question?

  "Caitlyn, perhaps you should tell Annabeth who you work for," he suggested. His tone was soft, but Caitlyn could tell that he was not happy with her.

  Too bad, buster. I'm just doing my job.

  Annabeth shot Caitlyn a look. "You know, you never did mention that part. Where do you work?"

  Caitlyn sighed. "I'm the lead investigative reporter for the Mythtrust News site."

  "The Mythtrust—oh," said Annabeth, giving Caitlyn a sidelong glance. "Wait, that's the same site that's telling people that the Bearpaw Springs Resort is haunted! Eddy says he lost a lot of business because people heard about the murders. But there weren't any murders!" She shook her head. "Did you really write that story?"

  "Only part of it," Caitlyn said, trying to keep the resignation out of her tone. She had fought hard to keep Jake from including that anecdote from one of the less credible witnesses they'd interviewed by phone. "And honestly, news of a haunting usually makes a hotel or B&B more popular. In any case, my boss said he's posting a retraction on Monday morning."

  "Good," said Mark grimly.

  Caitlyn felt a little abashed by the realization that the stories she'd been writing for the past couple of years weren't just pure entertainment for the credulous. They had an effect on the real world and real people.

  She had only just met them, but she liked Annabeth and Mark. Dane too, because he'd helped rescue her last night. Would pursuing Roger Pemberton's story hurt them? Should she just drop it and tell Jake that the story hadn't panned out?

  Shapeshifters couldn't possibly exist. And yet Caitlyn was now sure that Annabeth and Mark knew something about last year's arson incident…something interesting.

  How could she not pursue it?

  The remainder of the drive to Bearpaw Ridge passed in uncomfortable silence.

  Chapter Five – Kissed

  Where the hell am I?

  That was Caitlyn's first
thought upon waking up in a room filled with late afternoon sunlight.

  She looked around at the simple furnishings—a four-poster bed, a tall antique dresser made of honey-colored wood topped by a beveled mirror, and an old-fashioned gas lamp-style chandelier. The wallpaper looked antique too, with a pattern of delicate cream-colored vines and flowers on a dark green background.

  This didn't look like a motel. It looked like a fancy B&B…or someone's guest bedroom.

  She lay in a very comfortable bed and sorted slowly through a confused jumble of memories of being trapped in her car and hospitals and ambulances until she remembered that this was Mark Swanson's house.

  They had arrived here shortly after dawn. Annabeth had dropped them off somewhere in one of the neighborhoods in the small, picturesque town of Bearpaw Ridge, where Mark had parked his big white pickup.

  They had made a quick stop at a wide cinderblock building with four huge garage doors that proved to be the fire station, where Mark returned the equipment he had brought back from the hospital. Then he had driven them out of town to his family's ranch.

  They had turned off the highway about twenty minutes later and bumped up a narrow dirt-and-gravel road that wound through grass-and-sagebrush-covered hills for another mile or so, until they had reached a cluster of six houses set like a miniature neighborhood on either side of the unpaved road.

  The biggest house was a grand Victorian, painted a cheery yellow, with gingerbread eaves and beautiful bay windows fronted by a small garden colorful with crocuses, tulips, and daffodils and a big tree covered in delicate pink blossoms.

  The other houses were more modest and ranged in building style from Victorian to a modern log cabin with huge floor-to-ceiling picture windows and a wide deck.

  Mark had pulled up in front of a two-story house built in the American Craftsman style of the turn of the twentieth century. It was painted deep blue with white trim.

  "Home sweet home," he had announced before jumping out of the car and coming around to the passenger side to carry her into the unlocked house.

  Despite his earlier irritation with her for questioning Annabeth about Roger's wild story, Mark's chivalry remained undented.

  Her head spinning with fatigue and the effects of her first dose of painkillers, washed down with Annabeth's excellent coffee, Caitlyn hadn't resisted when Mark had carried her into the house and up a set of wide wooden stairs to this bedroom.

  "Sleep now," he had ordered, placing her gently on the bed. "We'll see about getting the rest of your things out of your car later today, once Mike's had a chance to winch it up out of that field and tow it back to his shop."

  "Okay," she had said fuzzily.

  She had thought wistfully about a shower, but in the end, it had taken all her strength just to get undressed before crawling between the sheets.

  That was the last thing she remembered before the smell of grilling steak awakened her.

  Her mouth watering at the delicious scent, Caitlyn tried to sit up. She groaned as pain attacked every joint, and she realized that Dr. Jacobi had been right.

  Caitlyn felt as stiff and bruised as a ninety-year-old woman who'd spent the night being used as a punching bag.

  Footsteps pounded up the stairs. A moment later, she heard a tap at her bedroom door.

  "Caitlyn?" she heard Mark ask. "Are you all right?"

  "The Mafia goons caught up with me," she replied.

  She heard his deep laugh. "May I come in?"

  "Sure," she said automatically.

  An instant later, she remembered that she wasn't wearing her usual pajamas. In fact, the only things she had on were her panties.

  She had just enough time to yank the comforter up to her chin before the door opened and Mark strolled in, wearing comfortably worn jeans and a tight T-shirt.

  In the light of day, Caitlyn could see every well-defined muscle of his chest, abs, and biceps under the cotton fabric. He looked like pure sin and temptation as he came to stand next to her bed.

  "You hungry? I fixed some dinner," he said in his deep, smooth voice.

  "You are definitely my hero," she told him. She tried to smile and winced as her battered lips protested.

  He gazed down at her with a frown of concern.

  "That bad, huh?" she asked. "I haven't been brave enough to look in the mirror yet."

  He shook his head, and the frown disappeared. "You weren't kidding about the goons, but any accident you can walk away from—"

  "Or hobble away from?" she asked, spying the crutches leaning against an old-fashioned armoire next to the bed.

  That got her another laugh. "Can I give you a hand up?"

  He extended a big hand, but Caitlyn shook her head. "I'm, uh, kind of naked under here."

  Heat flared in his eyes, calling forth an answering surge of warmth from somewhere deep in her belly.

  Caitlyn saw him swallow hard before he stepped back from the bed.

  Okay, yeah, he's actually interested in me!

  Last night and early this morning, she had been flattered by his attention, but it had crossed her mind that he might just have been flirting with her to help put her at ease.

  Now she knew…and the knowledge made her pulse quicken.

  "I'll wait for you in the hall," Mark said. "You'll need some help getting down the stairs."

  "Thanks."

  As Mark turned to leave, Caitlyn remembered something. "Oh, and Mark?"

  He stopped and faced her with an inquiring look.

  "I’m sorry about this morning. I didn't mean to upset Annabeth…or you."

  Her apology was sincere…but she was also curious to see how he'd react. That odd silent exchange between Mark and Annabeth niggled at her.

  Mark's expression softened. "Annabeth likes to pretend that she's put it all behind her and that everything is just fine now, but Dane tells me that she still has nightmares about the fire. I think you triggered some really unpleasant memories this morning." He paused and looked at her searchingly with those gorgeous, long-lashed hazel eyes. "Can I ask you not to bring up the subject of Roger Pemberton with her again?"

  Caitlyn hesitated. Of course she didn't believe in shape-changers, shapeshifters, whatever you wanted to call them. It was her role at Mythtrust News to balance out Jake's desire to believe with a healthy dose of skepticism.

  But she had sensed that there was a deeper story here, and her reporter's instincts wanted to find out exactly what had happened on the night of the fire.

  Almost as badly as she wanted to find out why Richard Montoya had been murdered after sending Mythtrust News that video.

  And if she alienated Mark and his brother Dane now, she'd never find out what she needed to know.

  "All right," she conceded, then added, "but I'd still like to interview Dane, if that's okay."

  Mark grimaced. "He's pretty busy right now—it's the middle of calving season, plus he's on call with the fire department until next week."

  Caitlyn wasn't sure what her expression conveyed, but Mark added hastily, "But feel free to ask him. He's a big boy, and he'll let you know if he's willing to be interviewed."

  "Okay," she said, impressed by his protectiveness.

  As an only child, she'd often wished for a big brother to step in and take her side, as Mark seemed to do with his brother and sister-in-law. "I'll do that."

  "I'll leave you to it, then," he said, moving towards the door…though not without another appreciative glance at her bared shoulders.

  Damn, but he's the sexiest man I've ever met, thought Caitlyn when the bedroom door had closed behind him, and she began the slow, painful process of exiting the bed.

  It wasn't just his looks, either. She had seen how his kindness and essential sweetness shone through on every occasion, whether it was helping a terrified stranger trapped in a car or making sure his sister-in-law wasn't hassled by an overeager reporter.

  Mark Swanson is a keeper. Too bad she was only going to be in Bearpaw Ridge for a s
hort time.

  Conscious of the man waiting for her in the hall, Caitlyn tried to hurry through using the bathroom and dressing in yesterday's clothes. Moving around with the aid of one of the crutches helped the soreness a little, after a few minutes, but she still found herself moving at quarter-speed.

  And when she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, her heart sank. She looked awful. How could Mark have stood there just now and acted like she was an irresistibly attractive woman?

  Her lower lip was split and puffy, and she had a large bandage plastered over the stitches in her forehead. A long chain of dark bruises traced the line of her shoulder belt from her neck over her breasts, and there were bruises and scabbed-over scratches on both arms. Another line of bruises marked where her lap belt had held her while the car tumbled over and over down the embankment.

  Though normally a confident person, when Caitlyn finally emerged from the bedroom, she felt horribly self-conscious.

  That feeling lasted until Mark smiled at her, the admiration undimmed in his eyes, and stepped forward to take her arm.

  The touch of his fingers against her bare arm sent a jolt of pure sensation straight to the pit of her belly.

  She hadn't felt anything like this since high school. Caitlyn froze and stared up at him.

  His hot hazel eyes burned into hers.

  She should say something. Anything.

  Her lips parted, but her mind was completely blank, as if the heat of his presence had burned away all rational thought.

  Mark made an odd sound low in his throat, almost like a growl. Then his big hands were cupping her face, his fingers sliding into her hair.

  Her heart hammered frantically as he bent his head, lowering his face to hers with excruciating slowness.

  She wanted to grab him and haul him down to her. She wanted to run away from this man, practically a stranger, who incited such overwhelming feelings in her.

  But she could do neither. She felt as if she were frozen in place by the strength of her yearning.

  She felt his breath against her lips like a warm caress. An instant later, his mouth brushed against hers in a feather-light kiss.