The Bears of Blackrock, Books 1 - 3: The Fenn Clan

by Michaela Wright

“Oh my god, the poor thing.”

  “It’s alright. His dad pulled his shit together – pardon my French, sweetie,” Gracie said, shooting a parting glance toward Rory. “Billy went home when it was safe, and Kirk got him a job here. His way of sorta keeping an eye on him, you know?”

  Joe nodded. “Well, what’s going on? Is something wrong?”

  Gracie spotted Billy and Kirk coming back through the front door of the restaurant and smiled at Joe, squeezing her hand as she slipped out of the booth. “Billy got accepted to Dartmouth. Sh, don’t tell them I told you.”

  There was no time for comment as Billy rushed by the table, heading back toward the kitchen. Gracie turned to follow him as Kirk slumped back down into his seat. He turned toward the wall of the restaurant, crossing his arms over his chest, silent. Joe watched him as subtly as she could. He pressed his thumbs to the bridge of his nose, then wiped his eyes. When he finally turned his attention back to Rory’s homework, as though he hoped to hide there, Joe could see the puffy redness around his eyes.

  She stared at him openly, as though daring him to meet her gaze. When he finally did, he stifled an almost laugh and instantly excused himself, disappearing to the bathroom.

  Joe turned to Rory, watching her chew on a piece of her hair as she worked out the last of her math problems. Joe struggled with her own thoughts.

  Could it be true that a man like this existed? Could Kirk Fenn, the seemingly gruff, massive lumberjack looking fellow that had taken her in – could he really have one of the biggest hearts she’d ever encountered. Seeing him teary eyed rendered her suddenly, and she wanted nothing more than to tuck him into her arms and hold him. She’d never felt anything like it in over a decade.

  How does one comfort a giant of a man like that?

  She touched Rory’s hair, letting herself contemplate Rory’s helplessness the night her mother was almost killed in that station wagon. Joe was sure there was no better man to have taken her daughter in that night. She stifled a sadness that came and went throughout Rory’s life – the sadness she felt when she imagined what life would have been like for her little girl if she’d just had someone else for a father – someone like Kirk. Joe pursed her lips together as her throat grew tight, and let herself utter a silent prayer for that night; for her and Rory’s survival, for her recovery – for Kirk.

  Thank you, was all she could find to say.

  Kirk plopped down in the booth across from her just as his steak arrived, and it was Joe’s turn to excuse herself, rushing to the ladies’ room to regain her composure.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Rory was curled up into the corner of the backseat, buckled up and wrapped in Kirk’s work coat. She’d pulled it up to her chin as Kirk started the truck outside the restaurant, his breath casting clouds across the inside of the cab. Despite the warmth of the previous few days, February seemed to be remembering its nature that evening, and Blackrock was growing cold with purpose. Joe rubbed her arms, shuddering against the feel of the cold leather seats. Even with the heat full blast, it took a few minutes to warm up.

  “God, it was so warm this morning! What the hell happened?”

  Kirk smiled as he turned the truck into the Fenn roadway and hopped out. “Maine. You’ll get used to it,” he called as he opened the massive gate. “It’s gotta be fucking miserable sailing the boat over.”

  She shuddered loudly. “Oh god, I completely forgot you had to go do that!”

  “No, no. No worries. Dad actually offered to sail it over before the sun went down. Should already be there or close to it. And hey, it’s Maine. Weather should change soon enough. I could take you and Rory out for a sail, if you’d like.”

  “That would be amazing” Joe said, melodramatically shivering.

  Kirk snorted, fighting not to betray the smile those words inspired. He spent a good amount of time hoping that Rory and her mother might find reason to settle down there – that the job and the school would be enough to keep them there, to keep them close enough for him to see them and keep them safe. He hopped back out to close the gate, and rubbed a hand over Joe’s arm as he climbed back in. “Almost there.”

  The dirt road was empty of any other vehicles, the Fenn family all tucked into their homes for the evening. Deacon’s house was dark as they passed, the youngest of the Fenn cousins out driving his ambulance in the twilight hours. Kirk silently wished his cousin a good night, as he always did. Though Kirk ran Patrick Fenn’s construction company, he kept his phone close, ready for a call to bring him in, to suit up and put out a fire. There were no paid firefighters in Blackrock, only volunteers. Still, Deacon had been the responding EMT on many of Kirk’s calls. The younger man had seen more than most, and despite being the youngest Fenn cousin, he had the oldest eyes.

  Kirk pulled into his driveway and shut down the engine, letting them both sit in the dark a moment, listening to the engine click and hum as it cooled down. When he finally climbed out, he rounded the truck, gently opening the back door to collect Rory from her seat. She’d passed out before they reached the gate to the Fenn property.

  “She’s too heavy, Kirk. Just wake her up. She knows I can’t carry her in anymore.”

  Kirk ignored Josephine’s protests, hoisting Rory up into his arms as though carrying a feather pillow. The dark curls were tangled now, but the pale face pressed to his chest, her mouth half open, drooling onto his shirt as he let Joe open the door of the house for him. He slipped through the kitchen and down the hallway, putting Rory into her bed, his tall frame making easy work of settling the ten year old into her top bunk.

  Joe was watching him from the bedroom door, her hair still up and messy about her head from her long shift at the Tavern. He fought not to let her see him smile as he slipped back out into the hallway. Kirk made a quick run over to the rec room, slipping out onto the deck to look down at the dark water below. The rhythmic clack of his boat could be heard shifting in the water below. Thank you, Dad, he thought.

  “Well, Hob Along Cassidy. Do you want a tour of the apartment now?”

  Joe smiled at him, and nodded. He fought his own smile even harder. Despite the doctor’s orders that she not spend a lot of time climbing up and down stairs, and her refusal of his help when he offered to take her up anyway, he knew she’d been up on her own. He’d come home from work with Rory in tow one afternoon and found the staircase heading up from the garage smelling of plastic, sweaty sock, and Joe’s jasmine perfume. He hadn’t said anything at the time. How the hell do you explain to your houseguest that you can smell that they’ve been exploring? Still, she gestured to her newly freed limb and he grinned, turning to lead her up into the apartment.

  The sun was down now, the tall windows at the front of the house only betraying the slightest hint of light far over the Atlantic. Giving the boat a thorough check would have to wait til tomorrow. Kirk slipped back through the kitchen to the garage and opened the door to the upstairs apartment. Joe passed him, making her way up the stairs first. She smiled at him as she passed, whispering, ‘thank you,’ so softly, it almost sounded intimate. He tried to ignore it.

  Kirk followed her into the small apartment. He flipped the light switch, only to remember he’d not yet replaced an old, dead bulb overhead. Yet before he could comment or apologize, Joe was off.

  It wasn’t as palatial as the main part of the house, but the little garage apartment had a large living room, a small eat-in kitchen, and two good sized bedrooms off the back end of the house. There was a nice bathroom with a shower and bath combo, and enough closet space to park a Buick. Joe went from room to room, exploring and praising every detail even in the dark.

  “Oh wow! This closet is huge.”

  “Oh, I love the bedspread in here.”

  “Why don’t you use this soap downstairs, it smells so nice?”

  By the time Joe was fawning over the plates in the cabinets, Kirk gave her a stare down.

  Joe spotted the expression and stopped, covering her laugh with he
r hand. “What?”

  Kirk gave her a wide eyed expression. “Who put you up to this?”

  “Put me up to what?”

  Kirk began lunging around the living room, gesturing at random objects. “Have you ever seen such glorious fringe on a pillow. Oh my god, look at this curtain! Is this couch real pleather?”

  He plopped down onto the couch, running his hand over it languidly as Joe laughed again.

  She held her hand over her mouth as she did, and he wished she would let him see her smile.

  “Am I not allowed to appreciate things?” She asked.

  Kirk scoffed. “Sure, you can appreciate all you like, but given I’m pretty sure I cooked you the best steak of your god damn life last night, and all I got was a ‘Hmm, thanks,’ I’m pretty sure you’re either about to try to sell me a used car, or someone – to whom I’m probably related – put you up to being nice to me, today.”

  Joe moved closer to the couch, still covering her mouth as she smiled. “Nobody put me up to being nice.”

  “No? Then what’d I do? Cause this is new. Even I can admit that interior design skills are not my strong suit.”

  She swallowed, stopping just a few inches from the end of the couch. “I’m just grateful. I had a really good day.”

  Kirk’s heart swelled. “Oh man, I’m so fucking glad, Joe. I really am.”

  Joe stepped closer, and Kirk straightened. Her scent hit him again, the way it had when she passed him on the stairs. He hadn’t noticed it then, somehow. He was so used to her usual dower mood, the usual tension she carried herself with, as though wound tight like a bow string. Yet, now her scent had shifted to something enticing, and she was moving closer.

  “Did you make good tips?” He asked, almost cringing at how stupid it sounded.

  She smiled. “Not too bad. If it keeps up like today, I might actually be able to pay you rent by the end of the month.”

  Kirk shook his head. “No, no. Don’t even worry about that.”

  Joe closed the distance between them and, without a word, set her knee into the couch, and straddled his lap. He startled, half yelping as he sat up taller. She lowered herself down onto him. Despite his heart shooting straight up into his throat, he didn’t protest.

  “What are you doing?” He asked, his voice cracking slightly as he spoke. He closed his eyes, as though he might escape the embarrassment of sounding like a fifteen year old boy as this woman – this grown, voluptuous women straddled him on his tired old couch. Her hair was still clipped and messy, and her clothes smelling of onions and gravy. He didn’t care; she smelled like lust, too.

  She leaned down closer to him, letting the tip of her nose press to his. “Do you want me to stop?” She asked.

  Holy fuck, no! He thought. Yet no words would come. He let his hand brush against her elbow, fighting not to seem like a nervous idiot.

  Come on, Kirk. Man up. Get debonair, you shithead!

  Joe’s hands found the buttons of his flannel shirt, gently unbuttoning them from his neck down. He kept his hands on the couch beside her, afraid to touch her, as though agreeing to this moment might cause her to stop.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked, finally.

  She smiled down at him, nodding. “I am.”

  His shirt was open now, and she ran her hands over the fabric of his undershirt, pulling it up from the waistband of his jeans. Her hands were cold when they touched the skin of his belly, drawing a gasp as she ran the back of her fingers across his skin. He wanted to take her up in his arms and ravage her, and he’d admit he’d fantasized more than once about her slipping into his room at night and climbing into bed with him in nothing, but her underwear and a nightshirt. Yet, now that she was close to him, touching him in the way he fantasized, he almost felt as though returning the touch was taking advantage. As though he’d somehow coerced her into this.

  “I don’t know if I -”

  She grabbed hold of her own long sleeve shirt, pulling it up from the waist and over her head. Her bra cradled her breasts in such a way that they burst from beneath the shirt, round swells between which he wanted to bury his face and live. Still, he didn’t move.

  “Touch me, Kirk.”

  He startled, looking up to meet her eyes. Hearing her say his name in that soft, husky tone of hers was almost too much for him to take. He lifted a hand, cautiously, settling it at her hip.

  Joe was up and on her feet in an instant. She grabbed the buttons of her jeans, unbuttoning them and tearing them down to her ankles and kicking them off. She stood there before him now, a nude bra that framed her breasts like a Da Vinci painting, and black boy short panties that framed her ass like an adult film. He stared at her, wordless and breathless.

  “Do you want me or not?” She said, and her tone betrayed frustration.

  “God, I - You’re springing this on me, I’m sorry. I’m just -”

  “Just answer the question. If I misread you, I’m sorry. I just thought I was catching a hint of something, and I’ll be completely honest with you – I haven’t…” She paused, unclipping her hair and brushing it aside in frustration. “It’s been a really long time. I’m sorry. I thought you wanted to.”

  She turned from him, bending down to grab up her clothes. Kirk sat there, stunned a moment, watching her gather up her things, the cheeks of her ass jiggling at him mockingly as she turned away and headed for the door.

  He’d never wanted to sink his teeth into anything so bad in his life.

  The decision never happened. Kirk simply rose from the couch, crossed the room in three strides, and blocked the door to the stairs. She glared up at him, defiantly. Somehow, this familiar, displeased expression restored his confidence. This glower he recognized as Josephine.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  She exhaled out her nose, frustrated. “What, now you want me?”

  “I’ve always wanted you.”

  They both stopped a moment as the unintended weight of his words hit. He was grateful when she rolled right over it. “Then show it. I need you to show it because it literally took every ounce of confidence I’ve ever mustered to do what I just did.”

  He felt almost relieved to hear her say this. “Ok, then. Uh,” he stalled, looking down at her face, then at her body. His eyes kept drifting to her breasts. They were full and pale – delicious looking. He wanted to feel them, put his mouth all over them, watch them bounce in front of his face when she rode him. Yet, the thought of declaring any of that left him frozen to the spot. He half expected her to call him an asshole for doing exactly as she seemed to want.

  Joe moved suddenly, dropping her clothes to the floor at his feet. Then her hands disappeared behind her just long enough to unhook her bra. A second later, she pulled the garment down the length of her arms, letting it fall as well. He exhaled one shuddering breath. He’d never practiced more restraint in his life.

  “Are you really going to make me do everything?” She asked, exasperated. “Because I really don’t know if I can.”

  “Fuck, ok,” he said, unable to break this strange, almost awkward dance. He set his hands on her hips, pulling her closer to him. Then he bent down to her, his lips drawing close to hers. She seemed to recoil almost at this, not out of displeasure, or fear, but as though overwhelmed by the sensation. Kirk let his hands graze up the slope of her lower back, pulling her closer to him.

  Dear god, this was happening. His cock had never been so hard in his life.

  “Momma?” A voice called from down the stairs.

  The two of them parted from one another instantly, bumping heads together as they both bent to retrieve her clothes from the floor.

  “I’m right here, sweetheart. I’ll be right down,” Joe called.

  Kirk moved quickly, hauling ass down the apartment steps to find Rory standing in the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. “Hey kiddo. What’re you doing back up?”

  She frowned. “I had a bad dream.”

  “Oh, well
that’s not a good plan. Don’t do that.”

  Rory smiled at him just as Joe appeared in the hallway behind him, her hair clipped up again in a messy bun. She crossed the kitchen to her daughter, opening her arms to embrace her and kiss the top of her head.

  “What were you guys doing up there?”

  Kirk went to the fridge, looking inside as though he might absolve himself of lustful guilt therein.

  “Kirk was just showing me the apartment.”

  “Are we really going to live up there? I like my room down here,” Rory said, letting her mother lead her back down the hall.

  “I know you do, sweetheart, but Kirk has already done more than enough for us. I’m sure he’d like to have us out of his hair.”

  Just as she reached the bend in the hallway, Joe turned back toward the kitchen, shooting him a soft look before disappearing into her bedroom.

  “Good night?” She said, but it was a question.

  His brows went up, and he half shrugged. “Good night?”

  Joe disappeared into her bedroom. The tone of their parting betrayed conspiracy – an almost, ‘shall we pick this up again once she’s asleep?’

  Yes, he thought. Yes, please. Holy shit, yes please.

  Kirk tugged at the crotch of his jeans, repositioning himself. His cock was still half stiff when he slumped down onto the living room couch to wait. He’d be ready this time. He knew exactly what he’d do, how he’d do it. Now that he had warning, Kirk was prepping himself for her return. He’d give that confusing, exasperating, beautiful woman the night of her damn life when she came back.

  Kirk woke on the couch to the sound of Rory’s morning alarm singing away in her empty bedroom. It was snowing outside.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Momma! Momma!! Wake up! Wake up, come look!”

  Joe stirred in her bed, rolling over to find Rory awake and giddy, standing by the bedroom window.

  She turned, her eyes wide and her voice low in a whisper. “Momma, come look! Quick!”

  Joe rolled over the length of the bed, coming to sit at the edge of the mattress before her stomach turned into itself. She’d almost forgotten the night before – the moment she lost all semblance of self-restraint and straddled Kirk Fenn in his garage apartment.