Saddled Bearback (BBW Shifter Cowboy Romance) (Bear Ranchers Book 2)

by Becca Fanning

  Mel climbed the concrete steps and paused only long enough to check her reflection in the polished steel door. She saw clearly what everyone else saw: Miss Average—average height, average figure, clear complexion dotted with freckles, and shoulder-length, curly auburn hair, which had been the bane of her existence since the first grade. Running her hands through her hair one last time in an attempt to flatten it down in spite of the humidity, she told herself to relax, opened the door, and stepped inside.

  Mel hesitated as the door closed automatically at her back, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim light which was little improved over the dusk enshrouded parking lot. As her surroundings became clearer, she saw a long wooden bar on the left and pockets of light fanning out on the right, where steel pendent work lights hung over a collection of bare round tables with beat-up metal chairs. There were blackout blinds on the wide front windows, and decorations were limited to car and motorcycle parts and posters. It took her only a moment to realize everyone in the bar was staring at her. Her second thought was that they were mostly men, rough-looking men, who were running their eyes along her slim form from head to toe as though undressing her. Suppressing a shudder, she took a deep breath and smelled cigarette smoke, beer, fried food, and sweat. The men all seemed to be dressed in leather, their heads wrapped in colorful bandanas. When she looked closer, she saw there were a few women present, but most of them wore leather, too, though theirs had fringe and sometimes sparkling beads. Swallowing hard, Mel turned toward the bar, where she noticed two other women dressed in matching shorts and tight blouses that highlighted their ample breasts. They carried trays with glasses and beer bottles.

  One of the waitresses took a step toward her.

  “You lost?” she asked, her voice raspy, probably from cigarette smoke, since this bar obviously ignored the city’s recommendations on indoor smoking bans.

  Mel had to clear her throat before she could speak.

  “No,” she managed. “I’m actually looking for someone.”

  “You a cop?” a huge man wearing a dirty Titans cap asked belligerently from a table near the front.

  His question was met with guffaws from around the room.

  “If she’s a cop, then I’m a hooker,” another huge, burly man said.

  “If you’re not a cop, ya got no business in here,” another man said, as he turned back to the card game he had been playing with four other men, including Titans Cap.

  “I’m actually looking for someone,” Mel said, hoping there was at least one person here who would help her.

  “I guess you found someone, sugar,” a tall, greasy looking man sneered, straightening from the bar. He was dressed in a stained western shirt of indiscernible original color. His flashy belt buckle might have once been a hubcap.

  “No! I mean I’m looking for someone specific. The Saint brothers.”

  “Ain’t no saints in here, lady,” one of the women said, eliciting more laughter.

  “No, I don’t mean men who are saints. I mean a group of men whose name is Saint.”

  There were more crude comments and laughter, and she almost gave up, until the bartender caught her eye and gestured toward a door at the far end of the bar.

  “Back room,” he said, wiping down the bar with what looked like a very dirty rag.

  Mel swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

  She headed that way only be stopped by the oily man.

  “Whatcha need them for?” he asked, reaching out to take her arm.

  “Please, sir,” she said, fighting to keep fear from her voice. “I’m here on business.”

  The man grinned. “Well, I can give you plenty of business, girly.”

  Mel tried to shake off his hand, but he reached for her other arm and pulled her to him, turning in such a way as to pin her against the bar.

  “What? I’m not good enough for ya, girly?”

  He shoved her back hard enough that she knew she would have a bruise across her back. She fought him, calling for help, but the others just laughed and egged him on. When he released her with one hand to grab painfully onto her breast, she managed to twist and drop as she had once been taught in a self-defense class, and brought her elbow up into his groin, but he twisted at the last second, and she only got his thigh.

  “Try to castrate me, will ya?” he shouted, grabbing the bodice of her dress with one hand and backhanding her with the other.

  Her bodice tore, and she went flying; the back of her head hit the hardwood bar front with a sickening “thunk.” Blackness danced at the edges of her vision as she slid down to the floor. Then the man was on her, tearing the rest of her dress away.

  Mel thought she screamed but couldn’t be certain. Then there was a ferocious-sounding roar and the man on top of her disappeared. More screams followed, and Mel struggled futilely to see what was going on, but all she saw was a chaotic mass of dark shadows throwing people around. Shouts and screams were so loud they hurt her head, and she finally closed her eyes, resigned to whatever fate brought.

  Then suddenly, a single male voice reached her.

  “Easy now,” he said, and the voice was low-pitched with a hint of a rumble.

  When hands lay on her shoulders, she tensed in anticipation of another blow, but these hands, though big, were gentle as they steadied her. Light fingers reached around to feel the back of her head, and Mel cried out in pain.

  “Sorry ’bout that,” he said, as she felt him lightly searching through her hair. “The skin’s not broken, but you’ve got a helluva lump coming on. Can you look at me, now?”

  Mel managed to open her eyes and found herself staring into familiar deep golden eyes. She couldn’t stop trembling. After a long moment of studying her, the man finally smiled.

  “How many fingers,” he asked, holding his hand in front of her face.

  Mel blinked hard and tried to focus on his fingers.

  “Two,” she said, surprised somewhat that her voice actually worked.

  Unable to meet his eyes again, she glanced down and stared in shock. The man who had attacked her had ripped the top of her dress away, and since she hadn’t been able to wear a bra with that clingy black sheath, she was completely naked from the waist up.

  “Oh, my God!”

  She felt herself blushing deeply as she fumbled with the tattered remains of her dress in a frantic attempt to cover her nakedness.

  “Here. Take this.”

  The man quickly pulled off his flannel shirt and helped her into it. She’d never felt so embarrassed or so helpless. He had to guide her fumbling arms into the sleeves, and when her uncoordinated fingers couldn’t manage the buttons, he brushed her hands away and buttoned it up for her. When he had finished, she hugged the shirt close to her. The flannel was soft and warm and smelled of something musky but not unpleasant.

  “We need to get you outta here,” he said. “Do you think you can stand?”

  Mel nodded then wished she hadn’t. “I think so.”

  “Okay. Here we go.”

  His strength left her dazed as he pulled her effortlessly to her feet. When she wobbled and would have gone down, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close against him. She could feel the hardness of him through his t-shirt, and while strong men normally made her very nervous, for once she was content to rest her head against a sturdy shoulder.

  “Your kind ain’t welcome here,” someone growled.

  Mel managed to look up and see it was the bartender who had spoken. He held a baseball bat in his hands and looked as though he was ready to use it on someone.

  “Hey, we’re not the ones who tried…”

  An older man, who had the same build, coloring, and eyes as her rescuer, laid one big hand on the shoulder of a younger man who was obviously related, effectively silencing him.

  “We won’t be back,” the man said, reaching into his pocket and laying a wad of cash on the counter.

  “See that you don’t,” the bartender spat, scooping up the money.<
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  “No worries.”

  The big man patted the younger on the shoulder, and they turned toward her.

  “You need any help?” the man asked.

  She felt the man holding her shake his head. “I have her.”

  “Good. Let’s get out of here.”

  As they were leaving, Mel managed to look around the room. All the tough-looking bikers were just standing around, staring at her rescuers and looking uneasy. No one said another word or made a move to stop them. Then she saw the man who had assaulted her. He was lying on the floor, moaning. His shirt was in tatters, as though it had been ripped apart by claws, and there was blood everywhere.

  Dear God…

  She felt the man helping her tighten his hold when she hesitated.

  “Don’t look,” he whispered for her ears only. “The bastard only got what he deserved.”

  Okay, so she wasn’t quite willing to argue with him about it, but his strength made her tremble all the harder, and she wondered if she was going into shock.

  Out of the frying pan and into the fire? She had to wonder when the warm night air closed in about her as they left the bar, her escort all but carrying her down the stairs and across the parking lot, the other men with yellow eyes watching their backs.

  “Where are your car keys?” the man asked.

  “In my—my purse! Where’s my purse?”

  “Got it right here,” one of the younger men said, producing her small evening clutch. “I figured it was too fancy for the other ladies inside,” he added with a grin as he handed it to her.

  “Good call,” someone said.

  Mel fumbled with the latch, and finally the older man stepped in to open her purse, pull out her keys, and hand them to the man holding her.

  “Where are we going?” she asked weakly, as he used the remote to unlock the door then helped her into the passenger seat.

  “I’m taking you home, as soon as you tell me where that is,” he said, reaching for her seatbelt.

  “Think we’re gonna have trouble with that crowd?” one of the others asked, and Mel looked up to see the five men staring at the front door of the pub.

  “Not too likely,” another said. “It’s not like the guy didn’t have it comin’ to him. Besides, they won’t want the cops crawlin’ all over the place, considerin’ how much illegal gamblin’ they got goin’ on.”

  “There’s that,” the older man said. “Let’s back straight out, though,” he added. “No need to give ’em a look at our plates.”

  “Got it,” her rescuer said.

  “Where do you live, darlin’?” the older man asked, and for a moment Mel wondered how on earth they knew her name until she realized it was just an endearment to the man.

  She hesitated. Did she really want these men to know where she lived?

  “We’re either takin’ you home or to a hospital, darlin’,” he said. “I gotta figure you’d prefer home.”

  Mel took a deep breath. “A little north and east of downtown, in a place called Lockeland Springs.”

  “Good choice.”

  He turned to her rescuer. “You remember where that is?”

  “You bet.”

  “Then we’ll follow you. Get the details as we go. I wanna get out of here.”

  Her rescuer nodded, and checking to see that her door was clear, he closed it softly and headed for the drivers’ side. The others all piled into the rusty van she had parked beside. For once her car started without a hitch, and he backed slowly toward the road, leaving the headlights off until they hit blacktop. The lights in the van came on behind them, and she wasn’t certain of whether that made her feel better or worse.

  “You with me?” the man asked.

  “I’m here.”

  “Good. I’m still thinkin’ it might be a good idea to get you to a doctor on account of that bump on the head you took.”

  “No doctor, please.” She was certain she couldn’t afford the copay on an emergency room visit. “I’ll be fine, I promise. Thanks to you.”

  She laid her head back against the seat and turned to watch him. The lights from the dashboard only emphasized his chiseled features. She remembered the stage lights had done the same to him and his brothers. They were a fierce-looking group, their physical similarities echoed by the deepness of their voices. The older man had both looked and sounded much the same, and she was almost certain he must be related, too.

  “Mr. Saint…”

  “Matt,” he corrected, shooting her a smile with a quick glance.

  “All right. Matt.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t know quite how to thank you for what you did back there.”

  He seemed to consider. “I guess you could start by tellin’ me who you are and what the heck you were doin’ there in the first place.”

  “My name is Melinda Darling.”

  Matt grinned. “So Uncle Bart was right to call you darlin’?”

  She cringed. “I prefer Mel.”

  “Okay, Mel. So what were you doin’ in the Irish Town Pub?”

  “I was looking for you.”

  At his sharp glance, she backtracked. “I was looking for you and your brothers, that is. I heard your performance last night.”

  He seemed puzzled for a moment then turned to look at her with a broad smile that reached his eyes.

  “You’re that woman at the bar,” he said, as though finally remembering where he had seen her before.

  “There were a lot of women at the bar last night.”

  “Yeah, but you were the only one I noticed.”

  Mel felt herself blush and was thankful for the dim light.

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “It’s true, all the same.”

  Someone tried to cut them off, and Matt had to slam on the breaks to keep from hitting the idiot. Mel held her breath then let it out in relief when Matt simply backed off instead of needing to prove his manhood to the other driver.

  “You weren’t there when we finished,” he said, as though their conversation had not been interrupted.

  “No. I was called away. By the time I got back, you and your brothers were gone, but the bartender told me you liked to play pool at that place.”

  He cursed under his breath. “I can’t believe you went there alone.”

  “Not one of my brighter moments,” she admitted.

  “So why did you?”

  “You’ll want to turn right here,” she directed, avoiding his question, “then take an immediate left onto Clearview.”

  He followed her instructions, checking his rearview mirror to make sure the van was still with them.

  “So why did you?” he repeated.

  “Turn left at the third traffic light—on Fourteenth Street—then look for Gartland Avenue and turn right.”

  “You’re gonna have to tell me sooner or later, you know.”

  “Later,” she said, “so I can tell you all at once.”