Can't Bear To Run (Kendal Creek Bears, #1)

by Lynn Red

  Can’t Bear to Run

  Kendal Creek Part 1

  An alpha werebear romance

  Lynn Red

  (c) 2015 Lynn Red

  Thank you so much for taking the time to check out my new book! Click here to subscribe to my mailing list to keep up to date on all my new releases, giveaways, and free books!

  Also by Lynn Red

  Jamesburg Shifter Romance

  Bear Me Away (Alpha Werebear Shifter Paranormal Romance)

  Kendal Creek Bears

  Can't Bear To Run

  The Broken Pine Bears

  Two Bears are Better Than One (Alpha Werebear Paranormal Romance)

  Between a Bear and a Hard Place (Alpha Werebear Romance)

  The Jamesburg Shifters

  Bearing It All (Alpha Werebear Shifter Paranormal Romance)

  Bear With Me (Alpha Werebear Shifter Paranormal Romance)

  Bearly Breathing (Alpha Werebear Shifter Paranormal Romance)

  Bearly Hanging On

  Bear Your Teeth (Alpha Werebear Paranormal Shifter Romance)

  The Jamesburg Shifters Volume 2

  The Jamesburg Shifters Volume 1 (BBW Alpha Werewolf Werebear Paranormal Romance)

  To Catch a Wolf (BBW Werewolf Shifter Romance)

  Standalone

  Lion In Wait (A Paranormal Alpha Lion Romance)

  Werewolf Wedding

  Horns for the Harem Girl

  Watch for more at Lynn Red’s site.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Also By Lynn Red

  Dedication

  -1- | Killer Karaoke

  -2- | Six Years Can Feel Like Forever

  -3- | Beared Up And Ready To Rumble

  -4- | When it Rains, It Pours

  -5- | Just the Facts, Ma’am

  -6- | And sometimes, it ALL goes down the river

  -7- | It’s All Worth It

  -8- | Of All The Damn Places...

  -9- | Serious as a Bear Attack

  -10- | From Colorado, With Love

  -11- | No Time Like This Time

  -12- | Night blind

  -13- | Definitely The Bad Side of the Tracks

  -14- | Smells Like... Victory?

  -15- | This Shit Will NOT Fly!

  -16- | Guns a-blazin’

  -17- | Hasta La Vista

  -18- | Rocky Mountain High

  -19- | Laundry Hampers And Lovin’

  -20- | Not Long Now

  Excerpt from Can’t Bear To Hide (Kendal Creek #2) | 1

  Lion in Wait

  Bearly Hanging On

  To Catch a Wolf

  Two Bears are Better than One

  Further Reading: Bearing It All (Alpha Werebear Shifter Paranormal Romance)

  Also By Lynn Red

  About the Author

  For all my readers - thank you!

  -1-

  Killer Karaoke

  Like most all of my greatest mistakes, it began with a rousing karaoke rendition of a Michael Bolton song.

  My friends – Karen, Matt and Dan – and I had been warming seats at Finnegan’s Irish Pub for about six hours at that point, and to say I was “lubricated” is an understatement. It was a busy Friday at the pub, but nothing out of the ordinary. There are, to be sure, no shortage of bars in Boston, but this one was ours and we held onto it with an iron fist. We owned this damn place, especially on karaoke night.

  Okay, to be more accurate, I owned the damn place. At least for the four minutes at a time that I was the rock star I always should’ve been.

  “Raine Matthews!” the overly excited DJ announced. “You’re up!”

  With a final, decisive swig of beer, I exchanged a very serious nod with Karen, and made my way to the stage, not knowing what I was about to sing. That’s how the real masters do it – your drunk friends sign you up for whatever they think you won’t be able to sing, and then you show them up.

  Blood pumped through my temples. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, flaring every single nerve in my body into a state I can only describe as “just this side of ecstasy” and I stepped up to the mic.

  Tugging at the waist of my jeans, which had somehow ridden down just far enough to reveal the beginning of my ass crack, I steeled myself. My ill-made pony tail rested against the back of my open collar, a tendril of dark brown curl hanging down the side of my face. I was sweating before the song came up.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Raine Matthews, local karaoke legend, with Michael Bolton’s How Am I Supposed to Live Without You!”

  My stomach hit the floor and I shot a nasty glare at Karen and Matt.

  “Michael-fucking-Bolton,” I sneered, accidentally into the mic. Half the audience looked really offended, and half of them started laughing uncontrollably. You never can tell with fans of the Bolton.

  I laughed, nervously, as the first bars of dramatic piano music plonked along, and by the time I was about to open my mouth to bolt out those lines that could only come from the 1980s, I saw Dan staring at me.

  It wasn’t a normal stare. It wasn’t the stare of someone waiting to see their friend make an idiot of themselves. It was a hungry stare. His pale blue eyes were narrowed just enough to make the corners of his eyes crinkle a bit. The laugh lines on the sides of his face joined the ones in the corner of his mouth, and for a moment, captivated me.

  I’d always thought he was good looking. And aside from that, he was funny, witty, and usually at least a little charming. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t some kind of heaven-sent Prince Charming, but for a twenty-six year old on the downhill part of her first divorce, Prince Charming is a pipe dream.

  I got to the chorus, belting it out as best I could, hoping to at least sort of match the intensity of overblown emotion that the song captures. As I let the words flow from my lips like mana from heaven, I realized that my heart wasn’t just pounding from the glory that is Michael Bolton. It’s weird, but as I surveyed the crowd, a couple of guys caught my attention. First there was this big, gruff-looking, muscular dude with shaggy hair and dark brown eyes who I don’t think I’d ever seen before. He was watching me like a hawk about to dive on a squirrel.

  But it wasn’t him that I noticed the most. Dan’s eyes had managed to bore their way into my heart.

  And hell, I wasn’t even sure if he was meaning that longing stare the way I took it, but right that second, it didn’t matter. The only thing that did was that whatever emotions he was stirring inside me were... well, let’s just say they didn’t hurt my love song singing.

  Sweat was running down the sides of my face by the time I finished my turn at the mic, and my nerves were absolutely shot. I felt like I’d just downed a handful of amphetamines and chased it with a gallon of Red Bull. As I took my seat, and snatched the handle of my mug, Dan was pouring more from the pitcher for me.

  “That was good,” he said. “Probably better than the real thing. At least these days.”

  There wasn’t a damn thing in the world except for the two of us right then. I couldn’t hear the girl on stage singing that one Four Non Blondes song that always seems to herald the end of karaoke night. I couldn’t hear Karen and Matt yammering at me, I couldn’t even hear my own thoughts bouncing around inside of my skull.

  My brain was telling me to cut him off, not to let this go too far, but... like I said, downhill slope of a real nasty divorce. Things like that tend to make a girl let her head take a backseat to her heart. And besides – Dan was a friend. He was safe.

  At least that’s what I told myself. I mean, I didn’t have any reason to think otherwise. He’d nev
er been anything but nice and kind to me, how was I supposed to know?

  “Thanks,” I said, diverting my eyes from his. I could feel the heat boiling up inside the pit of my stomach. Even if I wasn’t thinking particularly straight at that moment, I always knew better than to make that outwardly obvious.

  “I think those two have, er...” he trailed off and I turned my attention to our two buddies. Karen had her hand in Matt’s, and before I knew it, the two of them locked lips in a way that would be extremely dangerous if they had braces.

  “Think they’re gonna want to hit the IHOP?” I joked.

  “I think they’re gonna want to hit a motel,” Dan said. I smirked with a little blush coloring my cheeks. “Can’t blame them though.”

  When he said that, he grabbed my hand in his and squeezed. “You were really something else up there.”

  “Oh,” I chuckled. “I get really into whatever I’m singing. One time I did a Meatloaf song, and the entire audience was in tears, holding cigarette lighters in the air.”

  “I believe it.” Dan’s eyes were sparkling.

  You know the way that some guys can make their eyes sorta... twinkle? Car salesmen do it right as they’re convincing you that they’re offering you ‘the lowest I can go, really, this is two grand below cost.’ Even when you know better, it makes you trust them, at least for long enough to make a really stupid decision.

  “Hell yeah, give me that SUV,” or “why yes, I do want to sleep with you ten minutes after we got together.” Either way, you’ve got to get checked the next day, but damn if it doesn’t feel good when you’re putting your name on that line... or whatever. I kind of got sidetracked.

  “Well,” Dan said with a sly little note in his voice, “want to let those two crazy kids be, and go get some of those really nasty stuffed pancakes? I could use some carbs topped with sugar topped with carbs.”

  My stomach rumbled in a way that would probably embarrass most people who aren’t me. “Well,” I began, unconsciously starting to fumble with that fallen curl of hair. “I mean, what could it hurt? You haven’t drank much tonight have you?”

  “Nah,” he said. “Couple beers. Been awhile since the last one.”

  I nodded. “If you’re sure. I don’t want to put you out or anything.”

  I don’t want to end up wrapped around another guy’s finger and have him break my heart... again, I thought. The next time my heart breaks, it could kill me. That is, unless the guy does it first.

  “No worries,” he said with a little half-smile. “I gotta get some food in me anyway.”

  Michael Bolton and cream-stuffed pancakes.

  Thinking back it’s all so stupid, but at the time... well, like I said. It’s hard to tell you’re making one of your life’s great blunders when you’re making it. And it’s harder still to figure out you’re living in one until you’re on the other side. But then, the real trick is getting to the other side, isn’t it? Sometimes – most times, I guess – the only way out is through, or just giving up.

  I might be a little impulsive sometimes, and I happily admit to burying my head in the sand to keep from facing reality. I’m no quitter though.

  If nothing else, I don’t give up. I just have to remember that, no matter what, Raine Matthews does not give up.

  -2-

  Six Years Can Feel Like Forever

  Pancakes turned into a ride back to my place turned into “one more drink” at my place. The next thing I knew, six years were gone and my whole life had become the inside of a decently-sized house in suburban Boston. I’d become the “Mrs.” on letters addressed to “Mr. And Mrs. Dan Dodson.”

  I hated that. But, outwardly, everything was fine.

  It was all so “normal” that I felt like I was living in a sitcom from the 60s.

  Dan went off to whatever job he’d lined up that week, sometimes carpentry, sometimes drywall, sometimes tile. He did pretty well for himself. We took vacations, mostly nature-type trips, to go hiking in the mountains, to explore Yellowstone, normal city-dwelling hippie kind of stuff.

  He’d come home every night, I’d have his dinner ready, and then he’d eat it, mumble some conversation over whatever sporting event he’d decided was really important that night, and then he’d go to bed.

  If it sounds stiflingly boring, it was. But when you’re in the middle of it, you feel like an idiot for getting upset about having a normal life – or what you think is a normal life – because, damn it, there are kids starving in Siberia or Rwanda, and what the hell is my problem that I complain about being bored.

  Of course, it was anything but normal. Exactly how abnormal life was revealed itself slowly to me, like a millipede unwinding himself to test his surroundings and make sure there are no... er, whatever eats millipedes waiting to eat him.

  Every time Dan told me to stay in rather than see a friend. Every time he made me turn down an invitation to go have dinner because he “wanted to see me,” it became a little clearer. But it was slow – so, so goddamn slow – that by the time I realized what was happening, I’d gotten myself so wrapped up in comfort and not having to think or worry, that the only thing more frightening than staying with him and surviving his jealousy and his rages, was not staying with him, and facing the unknown.

  The weirdest thing of all is that in my darkest moments, most of them in the middle of lonely nights, I kept thinking back about that gruff stranger from the night Dan and I got together. I remembered every single feature of his face. I never knew his name, and I never saw him again after that night, but there it was, hanging in my memory like a dream that never fades.

  One night – it was a Tuesday, in the middle of December – Dan called from whatever job he was working and told me he’d be late. About ten minutes before he phoned, Karen had called and wanted me to make a triumphant return to Finnegan’s karaoke night. At first, I’d turned her down because, well, Dan “needed” me.

  It didn’t take me a half-second after hanging up with Dan to call her back.

  “Dan’s gonna be late tonight,” I said. “Pick me up at six?”

  “Hell yes!” Karen almost shouted. I had to take the phone away from my ear to protect my hearing. “Oh man, this is gonna be awesome. It’s just us – Matt ended up having to take a trip to New York for some reason. He told me, but let’s be honest – who really listens when their spouse tells them what kind of business trip they’re taking?”

  She laughed in a bellowing, almost breathless way.

  It hit me at right that second that I hadn’t heard anyone laugh like that in... well, in about the two years since I’d really gone out of the house. I faked that I was busy, or that I was just tired, but the truth was, Dan wouldn’t let me out of the place. If he came home and I was gone, he raged out and I couldn’t ever tell what he was going to do.

  He’d never hit me, not really, but the way he shouted and carried on, I never knew when it was going to hit that next peak. So like so many people do, I just... swallowed it. I took what he had to give, and never asked questions or complained. But, what the hell, he wasn’t going to be home until way after ten, apparently, so what would it hurt?

  After all, I convinced myself, he wasn’t a bad guy – funny thinking about that now – he was just protective. Let me tell you though, it’d be a good six months before I learned what “protective” really was, and it don’t have a thing in the world to do with jealously controlling someone you pretend to love.

  But I’ll get there.

  Anyway, dressing that night was similar to what a prisoner getting a weekend reprieve must feel like. I slipped into one of my favorite dresses – high waist, big, poofy skirt, black and white swirls – and smoothed the top down against my stomach. It’s been a long time, girl, I thought as I adjusted things in the mirror. Way, way too long.

  A car pulled up and a door slammed shut outside, near the curb. Even if I tend to make gloriously bad decisions from time to time, I do have the gift of really good senses. I’m the sor
ta girl who can tell you how much cilantro is in a taco, or exactly how good the vodka in a martini actually is.

  She got a new car, I thought. The slamming sound was heavier than Karen’s old – and I mean old – Pontiac. I finished brushing my teeth, flashed a winning smile in the mirror to make sure there wasn’t any spinach stuck there, and shut off the light.

  As I went to open the bathroom door and make my way outside, a clinching feeling, deep inside, stopped me in my tracks. I flicked the light back on and looked at the mirror again, really studying my face.

  There were lines in the corners of my eyes, and a few gray hairs speckled here and there throughout the mass of dark brown. All things considered, I looked pretty good for thirty-two. Or at least, for what I’d always thought thirty-two looked like. My eyes had a little puffiness underneath them, but that was easy to explain away by my habit of not going to sleep until well after I should, and always waking up before I wanted to wake.

  “You’re pretty,” I told myself, in a way that didn’t sound like an affirmation, it was just an observation. A cold, detached note of fact. “You deserve better than to be a prisoner.” That part was affirmation. It’s one of those things – you tell yourself stuff like that all the time – but just the act of having to think it means that you’re still trapped. As I stared, that old familiar face that wasn’t familiar at all, floated in front of my eyes. Just another one of life’s funny circles, I guess.

  After another long stare at myself, I guess I’d come to the conclusion that regardless of my current situation, my friend was banging on the door and I was going to see her for the first time in two years.

  It was honestly like nothing changed. We took a cab to Finnegan’s, we got drunk, we sang bad songs with more emotion and heart than anyone on earth has ever sung them, and we talked and talked and talked. I spent a lot more time than I’m willing to admit scanning the audience on the off chance that my stranger was around. It was so stupid that every time I caught myself doing it, I mentally chided myself. Finally, when I noticed that someone at the front of the bar was complaining that they wouldn’t make him a burger, I realized it was half-past eleven.