“I’m putting your shirt on the doorknob,” he called, pretending not to hear her sobs. He had put his size fifteens in it with the world’s least romantic proposal, and he needed to move to Plan B. When he figured out what Plan B was.
When she emerged from the bathroom she was red eyed and dejected. He patted her awkwardly. “I’ll be quick,” he promised. He could hear her clattering in the little kitchen as he was shaving with a suspiciously dull blade. He swapped it out for a new one, and reminded himself that a SEAL was used to sacrifice. What was a little skin if his bride wanted to share his razor? Whatever made her happy. Except she wasn’t.
It was one of the ironies of life that when his mate had celebrated both her natures she had been a confident, vital, happy queen who delighted in her body. She had worn her clothes with pride. Her hair had been stylish, her brows neatly shaped, her pits and legs as smooth as a baby’s, her mound covered by a groomed triangle. Her nails had been polished and unchipped. Her toes sparkled and every inch of skin was soft and sleek.
Now that she was as stuffy and prudish as some sex-starved, self-conscious Victorian maiden aunt, she had become a sort of dingy and unhappy Earth mother. Her brows grew straight across and almost met. Her pits and legs were stubbly. She sported a thicket of black curls that crept towards her navel and down to her thighs. Her hair was either a rough nimbus of frizz or scraped back in a bun.
Trouble was, he was a primitive brute. He acknowledged that. His favorite activities all began with f. Couldn’t help it. Martha’s natural thatch and earthy musk spoke to his inner bear. But if she liked to wax and deodorize, he could live with that, because he loved her. He hated her new wardrobe, but so long as she stopped short of the flowered pinafores his Aunt Klara favored, he was cool. Because he loved her without qualification.
What he missed most about the old Martha was not her elegance, but her sparkling exuberance, her lightheartedness and energy. His mate was a sad shadow of the woman she should be, and he didn’t think a trip to a day spa was the cure. Although if that’s was what she wanted, she could have that too. He needed Plan B fast.
Will was still searching for a way to keep his mate’s she-bear activated when he had cleaned his plate and was working on his third cup of coffee. She was sitting across from him and looking as straitlaced as it was possible for a woman wearing nothing but a shirt that was considerably too big for her to look. Because the sleeves of his shirt were so wide, he got flashes of her sweet side breasts every time she sipped her coffee or lifted her fork.
He could also smell that she was coming into season as a she-bear should, and the intoxicating aroma of his mate’s heat was making him a little dizzy. And horny. Not to forget that. After four years of sexual hibernation his bear had woken up with a potency that was reassuring and revelatory. But at least the question of whether he was bonded to her was definitively settled.
He sniffed surreptitiously, mindful that his mate now found his predilection for her scent low and vulgar. She was ripening all right. But not pregnant. Not yet. Should he tell her so? Probably not. Because she almost certainly would be ovulating soon and he had a feeling his guys would be swimming for a long while yet. And of course he was precisely the sort of uncouth oaf who exulted at the idea of his mate rounding with his get.
“You never finished telling me about Hannah.”
“Huh.” He thought quickly, “I don’t know all that much. What do you want to know?”
“Where does she live?”
“Seattle. She’s a CA. Has a job with a big insurance company. She’s good with numbers like you. She just bought a house in the suburbs and she makes a great chocolate cake.”
“She went to college, real college?” Martha asked.
“University of Wisconsin. Jack says she got a free ride on an athletic scholarship. Which is pretty amazing for a girl who grew up in about a zillion foster homes.”
“She didn’t stay with our mother?” Martha was surprised.
“Went into care when she was really little. Trisha died about five or six years later. Hannah got bounced around even more after that. She says her foster parents were okay, but I don’t think any of them gave a forking meatball for her. Still she turned out well.” Will winked at Martha. “Got some powerful good bear genes there.”
“You think it’s her bear genes that made her successful?” Martha was beyond skeptical.
“Partly. Woman’s got a lot of drive. But she got lucky in high school. Gym teacher recognized her as a natural athlete and got her into track and field. Turned out to be a great shot putter. Her high school started to win meets, the U of W coaches came hunting and snapped her up.”
“Just like that?”
“Well, she worked her butt off in high school. And her math teacher took an interest and teamed up with her coach. So when her foster family stopped taking kids, they insisted that she remain in their school even when social services moved her out of district. So she got lucky too.”
“She sounds pretty impressive.” Martha sounded wistful. “Have you told her about me?”
Will shook his head. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’ve been selfish. Of course, you and Rob want to get a firsthand look at your sister. Only I’m warning you, once we spill the beans, my Mom will want to be on a plane to Wausau or have you and Shelly on a plane to Seattle lickety-split.”
“Shelly too?”
“Well, sure. Shelly and Rob are your family. So Mom will want to take them over too. Your life as you know and love it is about to get a direct hit from a Ukrainian cannonball.” Will shook his head. “Just wait till my Uncle Vanya gets a hold of you.”
“CNN said your mother defected from the Soviet Union in 1967. Did she already have family in the States?”
“Nope. Not a soul. But when the USSR fell apart, first thing she did was sponsor as many members of her family as she could find and bring them to Hanover. Uncle Van is the oldest. To hear him tell it, he took bear form to evade the Tzar’s recruiters, but got scooped up by the Red Army during the second world war.”
“That would make him incredibly old. Like over a hundred and twenty years. Maybe older.”
“No one can tell a taller tale than my Uncle Van,” Will said proudly. “He lives to mislead the young. Anyway my mom always insists that Uncle Van is the head of the family because he is her grandmother’s uncle. She calls him her little father. No one contradicts my mom.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Kyle Brown drove slowly into the outskirts of Wesheno trying to remember the turn off for Lester’s farm. Fucking hillbillies didn’t even have fucking street lights. The red barn looked vaguely familiar. He tried to read the faded writing on the side. He thought he could make out the image of a cow with a bell. Old man Bell was such a fucking idiot. This had to be the Bells’s side road.
The double wide was where he thought it should be. It still sagged where Les had driven his girlfriend’s car into the back corner. What a fuss that fucking bitch had made. Kyle pulled into the space in front of the trailer navigating past the rusted hulks of ancient sedans and stacks of old rims. He’d catch a little shuteye and in the morning, Les would tell him where to find those two bitches.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Mrs. Deer will be expecting us to pick up Shelly before supper. I want to take you someplace nice for lunch.”
Martha thought. “There’s the Shack, or the Crane restaurant. Oh, and the Derry King out by the highway.”
“I was thinking something a tad more upscale. Where maybe there are real tablecloths.”
“Well, there is the Stone Croft Inn. But it’s in Wayford and it’s more than a bit upscale.” Martha sounded doubtful. “It’s really fancy.” And expensive.
“Napkins?” Will asked.
“Oh, yeah, and those fancy wine glasses that hold a whole bottle.”
“Always wanted to try that. We’ll swing by your place and you can shower and change and I can put the sheets on to wash. We can head over to Wa
yford and pick up Shelly on our way back. Plan?”
* * *
Martha was feeling happy and replete. Getting out of Wesheno had been relaxing. The Stone Croft Inn was as expensive as she had feared it would be, but Will had ignored all her efforts to economize. He had ordered a bottle of wine, although he had not actually checked the capacity of the stemware. And he had resisted the efforts of the snooty hostess to seat them in a corner by the kitchen.
“We’d like to sit where my fiancée can see the garden,” he had said in his taking-no-prisoners-today-ma’am voice.
Ms. Country Casual had trotted obediently over to the picture window. “Will this do?” she had cooed.
“Satisfactory.” Will had pulled out Martha’s chair and seated her as if she wasn’t wearing last year’s faded cotton skirt and a tee-shirt of ancient and dubious ancestry. He of course looked great in pressed khakis and another crisp short-sleeved shirt.
“Where do I turn off for the Deers’ place?” he asked. His GPS had had to be turned off after it tried to get them to go across a long defunct bridge.
Martha directed him down the narrow, gravel track that led to where Sam and Mary Deer lived in a cluster of small houses that backed onto the woods. It was only seven-thirty but looming rain clouds made it seem dark. “That one.” She pointed to a blue house with cream trim.
The little drive was crowded with an ancient sedan, a pickup, an ATV and a minibus.
“That’s strange,” Martha murmured. “Mr. Deer only has one car.”
Will drove past without slowing. He turned the SUV out sight of the Deer house and parked. “Wait here,” he told Martha. “I want to do some recon.” He reached into the back seat and handed her a shotgun. He pointed to the safety and she flicked it off. “Lock the doors.”
He listened for the click that told him the car was locked. Then he ran crouching into the woods, circling around until he came to the back of the cluster of houses. He counted the houses off. Bingo. The curtains at all the windows at the back of the Deers’ house were closed, although it was still light out. Not good. He kept going to the next house over and went down its side yard and crouched even lower as he approached the Deers’ driveway.
The ATV had Waukau’s scent. Where was that boy? The pickup stank. It smelled of chicken manure, goats, and carrion. He identified raccoon. Trace of skunk. Probably just roadkill. The minibus had a trace of a bear he didn’t recognize, and one he did. The little bear had been in it, or was still in it.
Will crept around the back of the rusty vehicle and tried to look in the dirty windows, but ragged curtains of no particular color obscured them. Dang. He tried the side windows and through a crack he saw a slice of legs tied at the ankles by clothesline. He kept moving. He passed the passenger side door and kept low, sniffing and listening.
Waukau had come this way too. The drive smelled strongly of the elderly Deers and their resident grandchildren. He had to act on the assumption that Brown had taken the lot hostage. Which probably meant a gun. He sniffed again but he picked up no smell of death except for the roadkill that had leaked on the pickup. No fresh blood. That was good.
He put up a cautious hand, thankful for arms that matched his height. The passenger side door was unlatched. He opened it a crack. He smelled the unknown bear and Shelly. Poor kid had pissed herself. No one shouted or shot. He pulled the door wider and climbed in. Shelly was bound hand and foot and her mouth had been duct taped closed.
Will took out his cell and snapped a few shots for the cops. Then he drew his knife and got to work freeing her. He put his fingers to his lips and begged her to be silent. She nodded, her brown eyes big and scared. It was going to hurt when he ripped the tape off, but he didn’t dare use his knife. He ripped. She gulped but didn’t yell. He squeezed her shoulder and beckoned her to follow.
Outside he pointed to his SUV. “Martha,” he told her in her ear. “Crawl.” He got down on his belly to show her. Shelly nodded and started toward the SUV. When she turned to look at him he had already begun to turn. Her eyes got bigger and she nodded.
Will padded around all the cars. He passed the screen door that led from the drive into the little house. Kitchen probably. His keen bear ears heard nothing. He kept going. He padded around the side of the house. The windows were small and high. Good. He walked silently on paws designed to stalk skittish prey. He listened and sniffed. They were behind him. He turned and there were Martha and the little bear following him. Bucket balls.
He crouched low and hoped they would copy him. They did. He indicated they should stay put and watch the screen door. Martha put her head to one side and thought before she turned to keep her eyes on the exit. Now all he had to do was take Brown out before he killed Martha or the little bear. Fork licking son of a biscuit cutter.
Brown had gathered his hostages in the living room and tied them up. Then he had helped himself to food and drink and lain down to watch TV. The coffee table held several cans of cola and a mess of dirty plates. Will could see the hulking brute asleep on the couch in his muddy boots, a pistol peeking out from under the enormous hands folded across his paunch. He launched himself through the window. Even if Kyle recovered quickly, he couldn’t kill a bear with that peashooter.
Kyle didn’t seem to know that. He scrambled up and fired his pistol before running for the kitchen. Martha pounced as he barged through the screen door. She held him down on his back, growling ferociously, daring him to shift. Shelly came up and sniffed at her father’s supine form. She growled and snapped at his ears. The sky opened and Kyle’s open mouth filled with rain.
Will came charging after Brown and found him already incapacitated. Brown’s bullet had gone through the frame of the window Will had broken out, missing him completely. There was nothing left to do but call the Tribal Police and release the hostages.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Several hours later Will was able to take Martha and Shelly home. The chief of police had told them they should get a good night’s sleep in preparation to giving further statements to the State Prosecutor when she got there in the morning.
“I want Honey,” a fretful Shelly demanded from the rear of the SUV.
“She’s still at the Deers,” Martha said wearily. “We can’t disturbed them so late, sweetie. I’m sorry.”
“Honey ran away,” wailed Shelly.
Martha sighed. She felt too exhausted to cope with Shelly tonight.
“Tell us about Honey,” Will said calmly.
“Daddy kicked her,” Shelly shrieked. “And she yelped and then she ran away.”
“We’ll look for her when it’s light. We’ll find her.” Will said reassuringly.
“She’ll be scared,” insisted Shelly.
“I think your dog is pretty brave,” Will said. “She’ll be okay for one night. I bet Kyle kicked her because she was defending you.”
“She tried to bite his ankle, but his pants got in the way. And he kicked her and called her a bad name.” Predictably, Shelly went on in this vein until Martha thought her head would explode. She wanted to find her dog right away, now. She had endless reasons, but Will kept patiently explaining why they had to wait until Shelly finally calmed down.
* * *
“What do you mean you won’t marry me?” demanded Will. “You love me.”
Martha put her hands on her hips and glared at him.
“The plain fact is I love you. And I know you love me.” He caught her around the waist and lifted her into the air. “Marry me and make an honest man of me,” he coaxed.
Martha burst into tears. Will let her cry herself out. He figured that she was entitled to a breakdown after the fraught events of the last few days. After a long while his shirt was sodden—he was going to have to run another load of wash at this rate—and she was calmer.
He kissed her and rocked her against himself. He was rock hard from the feel of her softness against him. But even though that meant he was a low animal, he was strong, he wouldn’t cop a feel
. He copped a feel.
“Hey, cut that out,” she swatted at his hands.
“Sorry, I’m a pig,” he muttered as he licked her ear and her salty tearstained cheek. “But it’s your fault.”
“My fault?” Her voice was low and sultry.
“If you weren’t so alluring I could behave better,” he explained as he rootled down her neck to the tops of her breasts.
“I thought we were having a serious discussion here.”
“Nah, I can’t concentrate when you smell like this.”
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