Look Before You Bake: (BBW Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance) (Honeycomb Falls Book 2)

by Cassie Wright

  A moment later Rachel emerges, Mama B's staff of power in hand. Her face looks grave. "I've asked, and Simon says that if it was an honest oath, freely given, then it can't be broken from outside. This Harold didn't force your father. So he's truly bound."

  My heart sinks. I don't know what I expected. For her to wave her hands and fix everything? "Is there nothing we can do?"

  Rachel cocks her head as if she's listening, and then nods. "Well, Simon suggests we call Harold and offer him something else in exchange. Something of equal or greater value. The only way out is to have Harold himself dissolve the oath."

  "But – I don't have anything of value." Then it hits me. "Other than my ten thousand dollars. And maybe Mr. Whitman's fifty thousand?"

  "Money is good," says Hui. "Cash is king."

  "But how do I call Harold?" I feel on the verge of panic. "And I don't even have the fifty thousand yet. If I gave it to Harold I'd go to jail."

  "Hmm." Rachel taps her lips. "Here's what I suggest. Offer him the ten thousand and a partnership in your bakery, giving him a large percentage of the profits for a set amount of time. It's a bad situation, but with hard work and time, you'll be able to get him out of your life."

  "Anything. I don't care about the money. How do we reach him?"

  Rachel cocks her head to one side again, and then looks surprised. "Simon has his phone number. Harold's been around awhile. He and Mama B had arguments back in the day. Simon doesn't... think too highly of him. Here." She digs out her smart phone. "You ready?"

  I nod, smoothing my hand over my dress. "Yes." Am I? I have no idea.

  Rachel dials the number, then hands me the phone. It rings and rings, and just as I think it's about to go to voice mail, somebody answers. "Who the hell is this?"

  "Mr. Harold? This is Anita Hall. David Hall's daughter."

  "Ah," says Harold, and I get the image of a crocodile opening its mouth wide with satisfaction. A smile that's really a prelude to a bite. "My future daughter-in-law. It's so lovely to hear from you."

  "I want you to break the oath. I want you never to talk to my father and me again."

  "Really? Well, that's interesting, I suppose, but it ain't going to happen. You're Gerry's. You have been since I reached into the dark and pulled your spirit back into your broken body. An oath sworn in blood is an oath carved in stone."

  I shiver. His voice is chilling. "I'll give you money."

  A pause. "How much?"

  "Ten thousand dollars."

  Another pause. He's thinking about it! It's not a completely ridiculous offer. "Nice, but not enough."

  "And I'll make you a partner in my new business. I'll send you a monthly check, up to the amount of –" My mind whirls, trying to think of an impressive number. "One hundred thousand."

  An even longer pause. "You'll put that in writing? Make it legal?"

  I nod, then realize he can't see me. "Yes."

  "One hundred and ten thousand dollars." He muses. "Well, that's a tidy sum. I'll agree to that. With a couple of conditions. Each month you pay me three thousand. And if you fail to make one payment, I keep everything you've paid me so far, and you marry Gerry on the spot."

  I gulp. I feel like I've been dunked in ice water. "OK." Do I have a choice?

  "Very good. Have a lawyer draw up the contract, then call me. If I don't hear from you within seven days, your daddy's dead. Got it?"

  "Got it," I whisper, and hang up. I hand the phone back to Rachel.

  They're both watching me with concern. Hui's still holding her mop. "What did you agree to?"

  "My ten thousand up front. Three thousand each month, to the tune of one hundred thousand total. If I default, I have to marry Gerry that month."

  Rachel's face blanches. "My god."

  "I can do it." I feel a steel resolve arise within me. "I can make that money. I will make that money, if it means saving my dad. He saved my life. I'll save his."

  We sit in silence. "You really need to find that honey now," says Rachel.

  I nod. I feel like I've been hit on the back of the head with a shovel. "I know. But. I've found someone who knows the werebear. Arthur. A really nice guy. He's going to take me to the valley tomorrow morning."

  "Arthur?" Hui frowns.

  "He saved me from Gerry. He's – he's really nice. I trust him."

  Rachel and Hui exchange dubious looks, and then Rachel puts away her phone. "If you're sure. Do you want us to come with you?"

  A storm of conflicting emotions arises within me. I immediately want to say yes. Please come! Don't let me face this alone! Rachel would be able to convince the werebear. I could just hide behind her and let her do all the heavy lifting. But then that cold, hard new voice speaks up. You need to do this. You need to convince the werebear. You need to be responsible.

  "No, thank you." My voice shakes, but I make myself sit up straight. "I'll do this. I'll convince the werebear. I'll get Whitman to sign on. Then I'll work my ass off and pay Harold off in no time. I'll make this work."

  Rachel nods and takes my hand. "I know you will. Oh, Anita. You're being so brave."

  "No, I'm not." I feel anything but brave.

  "Yes," says Hui. "You are. It's a fact."

  "A fact?" I look up at Hui, who nods gravely. "Well, in that case, OK. Maybe I am."

  Rachel smiles sadly. "I'll be your best customer. I'll order ten of everything you make."

  I laugh, but the pain and hope and sadness make it a bitter sound. My dreams of a bakery have been completely hijacked. My hopes for a fresh start are ruined. But I'm getting my father back. And I finally understand him. Understand why he did what he did. And I will save him. I will not let Harold harm him. I stand up. "I'm going to get packed. I'm meeting Arthur first thing in the morning. I have to be ready."

  Rachel and Hui stand and nod. "Let us know if there's anything we can do."

  I look at them both, and fight the urge to cry all over again. I feel so lucky. "You've both done so much already. I can't thank you enough."

  Hui pats me on the shoulder. "No thanks necessary."

  Rachel nods, and I see tears in her eyes too. "You'll never have to thank me. The way you stood by my side when the Blood Moon pack came calling? I'm the one who's in your debt."

  I go to protest, but they both envelop me in a hug. We stand there, arms around each other, holding tight. My friends. With them at my back, I know I can do this. I close my eyes tight. Nothing will stop me. Nothing.

  Chapter 5

  My bear is ready to head back into the mountains. Ready for the verdant slopes, the fresh, crisp air, the echoing silence between the peaks that's broken only by the eagle's cry. I stand before the general store, thumbs looped in my belt, ready to go and watching the cars pass. Listening to them rumble over the truss bridge's wooden planks. Honeycomb Falls is a good town. It's still got heart, still got its own sense of identity. The folks here will look you in the eye as you pass them, the men giving you a nod, the women a shy smile. I come down here often enough that I'm not a complete stranger, but not so much that they know my name. It's how I like it.

  I shift my pack over my shoulder. It's always empty when I come into town, and filled to bursting when I leave. The bottom has a good dozen books from the library. The middle is filled with coffee beans. The top with new tubes of oil paint, fresh canvas, and other art supplies. The basics. What I always get. The only things the wild doesn't provide.

  I smell Anita before I see her. Or, more accurately, I smell sugar-glazed treacle buns, and turning, I see her walking toward me, that shy smile on her lips. The same smile that near drove me crazy the day before. It's a hesitant smile that doesn't quite trust itself. A smile that just asks to be returned, so I do so, though I don't often smile. Her own lights up, and she stops before me, a hiking backpack looming over her head, a paper plate held in both hands.

  "Morning," I say. I don't know which is more delicious: this little lady, or the smell of the treacle buns. My bear rumbles. Suddenly i
t's not in such a hurry to be quit of human society.

  "Hi!" I can smell her nervousness. She looks tired but awake, as if she hasn't slept at all but has drunk enough coffee to see her through. "I baked us a little something to see us off."

  "So I smell." I fight the urge to pull the paper napkin aside. "I mean, see. What you got there?"

  "Ta da!" Anita pulls the paper off, revealing two large treacle buns, curled in on themselves like snail shells. "I'm calling them Hiker's Delight. Whole wheat flour to give it some heart, crushed pecans to give it some spine, and the finest treacle to give it some kick."

  My mouth is salivating. This is proving to be an even better decision than I thought. "May I?"

  "Please!" She smiles as I delicately pry a bun free of the plate, the treacle holding it fast, and take a large bite. My chewing slows down and I groan. It's amazing. Chewy and soft and sweet but not so much as to be cloying. The treacle is amazing. My bear rumbles, covers its eyes with both paws, and rolls over onto its back in delight. Anita is watching me anxiously. "Good?"

  I try to speak, but I can't stop chewing. Instead I slowly shake my head from one side to the other, frowning. "Mmm," I manage. "Mmmhmm."

  "I take it 'Mmmhmm' mean you like it?" Anita's smile is resurfacing.

  I swallow mightily, and restrain the urge to take another enormous bite. Lick my lips, and look down at her with all kinds of hunger in my eyes. "It means this should be illegal."

  Anita grins, grabs her bun, dumps the paper plate in the trash can outside the general store, and hoists her pack on her shoulders. I eye it uncertainly. It's almost as big as she is. "What've you got in there?"

  She glances over her shoulder. "Tent, sleeping bag, sleeping pad, a few cooking things, food of course, water, a cookbook, some lighter bricks, matches, cutlery, a table cloth – just a small one, a tarp in case it rains, my rain jacket –"

  My eyebrows keep going up and up. "Looks like you're ready for a hike."

  She nods seriously. "You've no idea. And you? Where's your stuff?"

  "My stuff? Why – right here." I swivel at the hips to show her my leather pack. It's a quarter the size of hers. Maybe a tenth.

  "And – your tent? Your hiking stuff?"

  I smile. "I make do."

  "You don't have a tent?" She looks up at me with big eyes.

  "I... well. I don't mind the rain?" It's hard to explain these things to humans. I can see more questions bubbling up, so I pat her pack and nod down the road. "Let's get going. We've a good distance to cover before we reach the Devil's Knucklebone."

  She falls in gamely next to me as we walk north, past the bridges and toward the edge of town. I take another bite of my bun. My bear kicks its rear legs in the air. I don't want this bun to ever end. Luckily it's large, but even so, I've only got a few bites left. It's going to take all my will to slow myself down.

  "Devil's Knucklebone?" Anita adjusts her black-rimmed glasses. I'm glad she's wearing them. They give her this sexy librarian look. I love libraries more than just about anything, and Anita looks just like a librarian out of my fantasies. I fight back a rumble of approval. We're not courting. I'm not looking for a mate. This is a serious hike. I've got things to learn about her. I will not think about what her hair looks like out of that bun, hanging down the sides of her face. Will not think about just how perfectly her full breasts will fit into my hands. The color of her nipples. The smell of her arousal. The things my bear wants to do to her, the things that will turn that tentative smile into a cry of pleasure.

  Anita's still waiting for an answer. Luckily I've been chewing, so she doesn't realize where my mind's been wandering. I nod. "Devil's Knucklebone. It's a notch in one of the peaks. Good view. But protected from the wind."

  "Oh," says Anita. "That sounds lovely."

  We leave Honeycomb Falls behind, and I find the trail entrance easily enough. We're setting out a little later than I like, but the weather is cool, and autumn is a fine time for hiking. Not so late in the season that I'm feeling lethargic, but neither is it spring, when I'm burning with fire and energy. Anita walks behind me on the narrow trail, and I make a point of going slow, giving her time to adjust to the weight on her shoulders, the uneven trail.

  As always, I begin to fall into an easygoing trance, my feet placing themselves on the trail where they need to go, my thoughts turning fluid, my mind wandering. The forest is gorgeous, a riot of rich colors that range from the darkest chocolate brown to a light butter yellow. The morning smell of damp earth and wet leaves is thick in the air, and I finish the bun without realizing it, licking each finger as I go.

  After a certain point, I stop. I can't hear Anita. I turn, concerned, and see her far behind, face red, struggling to keep up. Her pack's swaying precariously from side to side, and she's almost staggering. Cursing my stupidity, I hurry back.

  "You all right?"

  "Fine," she gasps, coming to a stop. "Fine. Just. You know. Enjoying the scenery."

  "Here." I reach out and take both large water bottles from the side pockets of her pack. Each is about a liter. Then I shake my head and set them down. "Come here a moment." I step up close, and unfasten the clasp over her chest. She blushes, and I realize that my hands are inches from her full breasts. My hands move with a will of their own. I reach down to the broad hip supports that clasp over her abdomen, and unlatch that too. The pack sags heavily on her shoulders. Anita smells so good. I want to lean down and inhale her scent, press my nose against the nape of her neck. Snuffle in her hair, lift her chin, nip at her throat.

  She's not breathing. I can smell her arousal rising up, sweet and intoxicating. I rumble deep in my chest. Swallow. "Here. Let me take your pack."

  "Oh," she whispers. "Sure."

  I step behind her and lift it up. I curse myself for a fool. I should have carried it from the get-go. I sling it over one shoulder and cough, clearing my throat. "There. That should help."

  "I – thank you." She won't meet my eyes.

  We're still standing close. Take her, says my bear. Push her down onto the leaves. Remove her human clothing. Mount her, and take her hard. I'm breathing deeply, as if I've just climbed a steep slope. How am I going to keep my cool if we're traveling for three days together? I cough again, pick up the waterbottles and slide them back into the pack pockets, and then nod my head politely, stepping past her again. I don't try to meet her eyes. I walk, but I can feel her behind me. Feel her eyes on my body. I have to rein in my bear. I have to keep a tight hold on my instincts so I can learn more about her. About her interest in the honey.

  We walk. We stop for frequent water breaks. It's a beautiful hike, and without her pack Anita does much better. The ground is mostly flat, and the few times we have to cross over a stream I hold Anita's hand, helping her balance as she walks over fallen logs.

  We stop for lunch. Normally I just forage as I walk, snacking on nuts, berries, occasionally digging up the random root, or even tearing up succulent plants as I come across them. That lets me walk without stopping, but with Anita watching, I restrain myself. A powerful hunger has built up by the time we sit on a rock by a rushing river. Anita's face is red, but she's not complaining.

  "Here," she says. "At the top of my pack. I made us lunch."

  "You did?" My tummy rumbles as I open the flap.

  "Of course!" She smiles, and steps next to me to dig out two massive tinfoil-wrapped objects. "I made sourdough loaves, with roast beef, Swiss cheese, a nice Dijon mustard, slices of red onion, and what else?" She unwraps one, revealing a sandwich the size of a football. "Vine-ripened tomato slices, watercress and arugula, fried onions..."

  It smells divine. The sandwich is actually large enough that I have to hold it with both hands, a rarity for me. I lean back against a tree and take a first bite. The sourdough is sharp, the roast beef fresh, the mustard tangy. There's crunch to the onion and watercress, and as I chew, the different flavors compliment and build off each other. "Damn," I say around the corner of a full mouth.
I look up at her, cheek bulging, eyes wide. "Anita."

  She grins and sets her sandwich down. It's a much smaller version of my own. "It's just a little something. Here, let me freshen up." I watch as she steps carefully down the riverbank to the edge of the rushing water and dips a cloth in with which she wipes at the back of her neck and face. I've got a perfect view of her ass as she bends down. Full and round, straining at her hiking pants. I take an even larger bite of my sandwich. Chew it almost aggressively. It's too easy to imagine grabbing her by the ass and pulling her toward me. Squeezing her cheeks tight.

  Mercifully Anita stands and comes back over to sit down. She flashes me a smile and takes up her sandwich. "So, I've been meaning to ask, how do you know Soren?"

  Luckily my mouth's full, and that buys me time to think. The impulse to hide my identity was a natural one; I was sufficiently intrigued by Anita to want to keep talking to her, but protective enough of my privacy to want to guard it. Now I have to figure out how best to keep the deception going without letting it spin out of control.

  "I've known Soren for a long time. You could say we grew up together on the same mountain."

  "Your families were close?" Anita's eyes are bright, her manner attentive and curious.

  "Yeah, you could say that." Inspiration hits. "His mother raised me as one of her kids."

  "Oh? What happened to your family?"

  Crud. "I don't know." Keep it simple. I'm starting to feel distinctly uncomfortable with lying. But what can I do? "I don't remember them." Anita's expression of sympathy makes me feel even more uncomfortable. "So, who's this big investor of yours? The one who's so interested in the honey?"

  "His name's Oliver Whitman. He's a big deal out in Boston, a chef and restaurateur." Anita's voice turns a little strange. Her excitement seems just a shade forced.

  I eye her carefully. "And how well do you know him? He a good person to do business with?"