The Cowbear's Christmas Shotgun Wedding (Curvy Bear Ranch 3)

by Liv Brywood

  “My mom can help judge,” Rachel said.

  “But she can’t enter. It wouldn’t be fair,” Madison said.

  “Well of course she can’t enter. She’d win every category.”

  Madison laughed. “She does make amazing cakes.”

  “Her pies are better.”

  “No one can make a pie as good as my mom’s huckleberry pie,” Logan said.

  They looked up as if they’d forgotten he was in the room.

  “Of course not. I hear her pie was legendary,” Madison said.

  “It was.” His heart clenched. Time could never heal the hole his mom’s death had left in his life. He missed her so much.

  “You hungry?” Madison asked.

  “Does a bear shit in the woods?” he quipped.

  Both women laughed. Madison grabbed a plate from the cupboard and piled eggs, bacon, and toast onto it. As she handed it to him, the aroma of the freshly cooked food made his mouth water.

  “Thanks for the grub,” he called over his shoulder as he walked toward the dining room.

  He found the table empty except for his brother Brady, and Brady and Rachel’s son, Jimmy. He slid into the chair next to Jimmy. “How’s it going little man?”

  “Uncle Logan, I made an airplane!” Jimmy shrieked.

  “You did?”

  As Jimmy swooped a paper airplane around the table, Logan noted the boy’s rosy complexion and clear brown eyes. The little tyke had been through hell with leukemia but was recovering quickly thanks to a bone marrow transplant from his dad.

  “How’s Kate doing?” Brady asked.

  “She’d be fine if she’d let me help her fix up the place. But she’s stubborn as hell.”

  “Not the same timid mouse she was in high school?”

  “Far from it. But hey, if she wants to do everything on her own, then it’s up to her. I can’t make her want my help,” Logan said.

  “You can’t make a woman want anything she doesn’t want,” Brady said with a grin.

  “True that.”

  “Give her a few days with a hammer and nails. Maybe she’ll change her mind.”

  “You never know,” Logan said.

  He doubted she’d change her mind. She seemed hell-bent on getting the out of West Yellowstone. He just hoped he could keep himself occupied until she was gone. The temptation to look in on her appealed to his bear. The beast had decided she’d make a nice little sex snack. He couldn’t argue with that. His bear had impeccable taste in women. He stuffed three strips of bacon in his mouth, hoping it was enough to satisfy his bear.

  Chapter 3

  Kate climbed a ladder to get to the barn’s second level. A bevvy of cobwebs clung to her like a veil. Apparently her father hadn’t been up in the hay loft in a while. He’d always done the bare minimum to get by, so why would this be any different?

  She’d spent the better part of each summer hiding amongst the hay bales, especially during his drinking rages. He’d kept extra panes of glass, wood, and tools in unsorted piles in and around the barn.

  Once, when she’d tried to organize the mess, he’d yelled at her for hiding his favorite hammer. Before he could find it, she’d run into the forest and had hid until well after dark. When she’d finally returned, he’d been passed out on the couch with an empty bottle of beer in one hand and the hammer in the other. She had no doubt that he would have killed her that night. After her mother had died, he’d spent more time drunk than sober.

  Just thinking about the hell she’d been through as a child brought her bear out of its slumber. A rush of anger clawed at her ribcage. Her bear never tried to get escape unless she was raging. If she didn’t find a way to channel her anger, she’d end up shifting.

  She couldn’t take that risk, so she returned her attention to the current pile of broken tools and wooden planks. Just below a rotten board, she found a hammer. It wasn’t the hammer. She’d made sure to hide it in the woods that night after her father had passed out. In her sixteen-year-old mind, if he didn’t have access to things to hit her with, he wouldn’t hit her anymore. She’d been wrong. But at the time she’d been grasping for any way to stop another beating.

  As she climbed down the stairs, her foot landed on a rotten rung. It snapped, throwing her off-balance and catapulting her the last ten feet through the air. She landed on her back with a thud. Air whooshed from her lungs. For a moment, she couldn’t take another breath, and then she gasped as oxygen rushed in to fill the void.

  This was all her father’s fault. She wouldn’t be lying on her back in the middle of the barn if he’d taken care of the ranch. But he’d been too busy drinking away his bitterness when he wasn’t blaming her for ruining his life.

  He’d hated her from the moment she’d been born. He’d wanted a son more than anything in the world, but after her birth, the doctor had warned them that it was too dangerous for her mother to carry another child. Her father had blamed Kate for ruining his dream of having a huge family. He’d never get a chance to have a son.

  Fury propelled her to her feet. Screw him for taking his rage out on her. She stalked through the damp barn into the blinding sunlight. Her gaze fixated on the windows at the front of the barn. Her bear growled and huffed, wanting to be released. But she refused to shift. Instead, she lifted the hammer and smashed it against the window.

  The resounding shatter coursed through her veins. Her bear loved destruction, but so had her father’s bear. Maybe it was in her blood. Maybe wrecking things was a genetic necessity. Maybe she should just tear up the whole fucking place.

  She ran through the snow to the next window. The reflection in the glass wasn’t hers; it was her father’s. She smashed the glass, fracturing her image. With each window she destroyed, the fury in her belly intensified until she screamed, “Fuck you, Daddy. I hope you’re burning in hell for being a monster.”

  She froze in front of the last window as a realization hit her square in the gut. She wasn’t just smashing her father’s image, she was smashing her own. Deep inside, she knew what she was—a monster. No better than her father. Sometimes, she wished she’d never been born. Then she wouldn’t have to worry about the bear hibernating in her body, just waiting to unleash its fury on the world.

  “Freak.”

  “Demon.”

  The echoing voices of the vicious kids at school still haunted her at night. Why hadn’t she been born normal? Why did she have to be different from everyone else?

  Sure, West Yellowstone had its fair share of shifters, but their presence wasn’t ever acknowledged. The humans in town had learned to coexist with them. As long as shifters never appeared in their bear form, the humans would leave them be. She knew what would happen if she let her bear run free. She’d be hunted. Shot. Stuffed. And then hung on a human’s wall as a trophy.

  She shuddered. As she raised the hammer to break the last window, the sensation of being watched crawled across the back of her neck like an army of spiders. She whipped around and gazed through the glare of reflected sunlight. Nothing moved.

  As much as she hated being a shifter, she never ignored her instincts. Someone was out there. Watching. Waiting.

  She shook the fear away. It was probably Logan, hanging around just waiting for her to give up on making the repairs herself. Well that wasn’t going to happen.

  She turned back to the window and proceeded to attack the remaining shards of glass. One piece stuck in the frame as if it had been glued in. But when she reached to remove it, the jagged piece dropped. It sliced through her sleeve before driving deep into her arm. She screamed as blood gushed from around the edges of the glass.

  Without thinking, she yanked it out of her arm. She threw it into the snow then clamped a hand over the wound. Crimson droplets landed on the muddy snow at her feet. She swayed, dizzy from the shock of seeing so much blood.

  After sitting down hard, she cried. Snow seeped in to dampen her jeans and steal her warmth. She didn’t care. She couldn’t stop sobbing
as the weight of her father’s disappointment rained down on her. She’d never been good enough for him, or for anyone else, and she never would be.

  To think that she’d be able to repair the ranch by herself was just stupid. Logan was right. She needed help, but she couldn’t get her legs to move. The realization that she was utterly alone in the world broke her heart. If she’d been smart, she would have just sold the ranch to the developer and moved on.

  She missed Mittens. She missed her own bed. Screw this place. As soon as she could bandage up her arm, she’d call Mr. Milton and get rid of this albatross.

  A trickle of warm blood ran down her arm. She lifted her hand just enough to get a peek at the wound. A gash, at least six inches long, exposed raw flesh. As a rancher’s daughter, she’d had more than a few accidents, but other than stepping on a nail when she was twelve, she’d never been hurt this badly.

  She struggled to stand. “Stupid glass.”

  After managing to roll onto her knees, she shuffled through the snow. Her half-frozen legs locked in protest, but she fought through the pain. She was just inches from the porch when someone yelled her name.

  ***

  “What are you doing on the ground?” Logan asked as he ran toward Kate.

  The coppery scent of blood hung in the frozen air. He sniffed. Fresh.

  “Go away,” she said. “I can’t deal with you right now.”

  His gaze shot from her face to her arm. Blood trickled out from beneath her hand. “What the hell happened?”

  “I fought the house. It fought back.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. I cut myself.”

  “Let me see.” He gently pried her hand away from the wound. Holy shit it was deep. “You need stitches.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You are not fine. You’re crawling through the snow, bleeding. Stop being stubborn for two seconds and let me help you.”

  “Fine,” she huffed.

  He leaned down and scooped her into his arms.

  She squealed in protest. “Put me down. I can walk.”

  “There’s not enough time to argue. If you lose too much blood, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

  She stiffened in his arms. Good. At least she had the sense to cooperate. Shifters knew better than to go to a hospital unless absolutely necessary. Unusual characteristics in their blood made doctors ask too many questions. Brady and Rachel had been lucky enough to find a shifter-friendly doctor for their son, but that was rare. Most doctors wanted to lock you up and subject you to a million tests.

  “Where’s the first aid kit?” He carried her into the house and kicked the door closed.

  “In the bathroom under the sink.”

  Good, he’d been afraid he’d have to carry her home. Considering how much blood she was losing, he didn’t want to waste a second. After walking down the hall, he strode into the bathroom and sat her on the edge of the bathtub.

  “Don’t move. Keep pressure on it,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  She eyed him warily. She didn’t trust him. Too bad. He’d have to find a way to gain her trust. He didn’t know why he wanted it so badly, but he did. The idea that she could fear him didn’t sit right in his belly.

  After locating the first aid kit, he set it on the sink counter. He rifled through the contents. Bandages in all shapes and sizes were strewn throughout the box. He pulled out a bottle of iodine and a tube of antibiotic cream. He checked the expiration date on the cream. Fortunately it was good for another month.

  He grabbed a roll of gauze and found a stitching kit. Living this far away from a hospital meant they had to be ready for any medical emergency. Fortunately, Jack had kept his medical supplies up to date.

  “We’re going to have to wash out the wound first,” he said. “It’s going to hurt.”

  “It already hurts.”

  “It’s going to hurt more.”

  Asking her if she needed help standing was pointless, so he wrapped an arm around her waist and supported her as she wobbled to the sink. He turned the water on and waited. Too hot and it would burn her flesh, too cold and it wouldn’t do enough to clean the cut.

  Tension crackled in the air. She didn’t want his help, but that was too damn bad. His bear’s protective instinct wouldn’t allow him to leave her, not when she was bleeding all over the place.

  “How did you cut yourself?” When she hesitated he added, “I need to know what you cut yourself on to know whether or not you’ll need antibiotic shots.”

  “A piece of glass was hanging in the window. When I knocked it out, it fell and cut me.” She kept her gaze fixed on the flowing water.

  “You could have cut off your hand. If you’re going to insist on doing the repairs yourself, then you need to be careful. My offer still stands. If you need help, I’m here for you.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “What? Helping you? Because it’s the decent thing to do.” He could have sworn a flash of disappointment crossed her face before vanishing. Interesting. Maybe she did want his help but was too proud to ask for it. Like father, like daughter.

  As he moved her hand off of the cut, blood dribbled into the sink. At least the bleeding had slowed. He held onto her hand as he drew her arm into the water.

  She winced.

  “I’m sorry. I know it hurts,” he said.

  “Have you ever been cut like this?”

  He flashed back to his time in the Marines. “Once. I was in Baghdad on a supply mission. The convoy came under attack and the truck in front of us ran over an IED. The damn truck exploded, shooting shrapnel every which way. I was one of the lucky ones.”

  “I didn’t know you served.”

  “You’ve been gone a long time. There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he said.

  “I suppose not.”

  With his free hand, he reached for the iodine. “This is going to sting.”

  He gripped her wrist and straightened her arm. As he poured the antiseptic, it splashed onto the skin around the wound, turning it a sallow orange. To her credit, she didn’t make a sound. He admired her strength. Most women would be reduced to tears by now.

  “You’re doing great. Almost done,” he said.

  When he finished, he screwed the cap back on the bottle and set it aside. Now came the tricky part. He needed to stitch it together, but he didn’t have any numbing agent. Would it just be better to wrap a bandage around it and drive her to Bozeman?

  A quick glance out of the window made the choice easy. Another storm was blowing in from the north. They’d never make it all the way to Bozeman before it hit. He could take her to the clinic in town, but they weren’t usually open on Sundays. By the time he hunted down a doctor, she could be in serious trouble. The best option was for him to sew her up.

  “I’m going to have to put a few stitches in your arm,” he said.

  “What?” Her face paled. “I don’t think I need—”

  “You need stitches. Trust me.”

  She narrowed her gaze. “What makes you so qualified to sew me up? Shouldn’t we just go into town?”

  “It’s Sunday. No one will be around and I’m more than qualified.”

  “Really?” she asked with a hint of sarcasm.

  “I was a medic in the Marines. I sewed up plenty of men in the field with less than what we have in this kit.”

  “How do I know you’re not going to turn me into Frankenstein’s monster?”

  He couldn’t tell if she was serious or joking. “I wouldn’t maim someone as beautiful as you.”

  Her eyes went wide for a second before a blank mask fell across her face. “Okay Frankenstein, let’s get this over with.”

  After flashing a slight smile, he picked up the stitching kit. He selected the smallest needle and surgical thread. Although he wasn’t a surgeon, his medical training had included the basics. He had no doubt that he’d be able to sew her up with minimal scarring.

  “Do
you have anything to dull the pain? A bottle of bourbon, maybe?”

  She glared. “No. The first thing I did was dump all the booze down the drain. As long as I own this place, there won’t be any alcohol in it. Consider it a dry house.”

  “Whoa, I didn’t know I’d hit a nerve with that one.”

  “Like you didn’t know my daddy was the town drunk,” she snapped.

  “I had my suspicions, but you never let me get close enough to you to find out more about your family.”

  “Can you blame me? You ruined the one place… you know what? Never mind. Just stitch me up so I can get back to work.”

  The tremble in her voice wrapped around his heart and squeezed. He didn’t have to guess that she was referring to the prom. He’d been such an ass that night. As soon as one of the other guys had mentioned her tattered old dress, he’d spearheaded the merciless teasing. He should have known better than to make fun of her. He cringed when he thought about the things he’d said to her that night.

  “Kate, I’m sorry—”

  “Ancient history.” She cut him off with a wave of her hand.

  “But I want to—”

  “Just wrap it up and I’ll drive into town.” She pulled away. “I’m sure someone will be around to help me. There has to be an emergency number on the clinic door or something.”

  “No.” He grabbed her wrist. “I’ll do it. Just let me lick it first.”

  “What?” She stepped back as if he’d suggested cutting off her head. Apparently she didn’t know about his unusual talent.

  “I’m a shifter…”

  “I know that,” she snapped.

  “And I have a gift. My saliva will help dull the pain and it will help you heal faster.”

  She burst out laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Do you think I’m a complete moron? That is such bullshit.”

  Before she could protest again, he grabbed her arm, pulled it up and lashed his tongue along the length of the cut.

  She shrieked and yanked her arm back. “What the hell?”

  He waited a few seconds. The expression on her face melted from one of insulted rage to wonder.