Bear and Baby_A Shifters in Love_Fun & Flirty Romance

by Elsa Jade

  It gave Mac a strange feeling inside. It was a feeling as warm as waffles, sweet as strawberries, fresh as cream from Farmer Dell’s yaks.

  Hope.

  He held his breath—not sure if he was holding the feeling in or trying to stop it from sinking deeper. Blaze had been just one wayward wolf, not an entire disgraced clan of sometimes admittedly surly bears. But if he could do it…

  “Yeah,” Blaze said slowly. “I see what you mean.” He straightened. “Great idea, Mac. Run with it. Or dig it, I guess.” He flashed a smile. “I’m surprised a rough and tumble bear thinks about babysitters.”

  Mac gave him a steady look. “Even bears need a place to play.”

  A couple other Domingo trucks rumbled into the lot just as the sun was peeking over the horizon, and Blaze waved at them as he climbed into his truck. He stuck his arm out the window, drumming his fingers again. “You going to run the course and try to win the throne?”

  The hollow sound of his idle gesture seemed to thunder on the back of Mac’s skull. He looked down at the schematic and started furling it very neatly. “Nah.” This time he was able to keep his voice casual. See, he was getting better at this. “Don’t have a partner.” None of the shifter folk or their allies would partner with a bear; not this year, not with the treachery still so raw. Maybe never if Mac couldn’t change perception and lighten the anger.

  “What about one of the Wick sisters?”

  Mac flinched and his thumb went through the paper. Dang, there went his cool. “Uh…”

  “I hear they’re housesitting Tilda’s place, so they should come to the jubilee.”

  “Uh…yeah. Maybe so.”

  Blaze’s clear wolf eyes settled on him with a hunter’s patience. “From what I hear, one of them might be staying on here with Tilda. They’d probably be interested in hearing how Kane Villalobos bringing back the Founder’s Throne is such an important symbol for the town, about how nobody believed this was a good place being in the shadow of the devil’s mesa and all. Winning the throne would go a long way toward winning good will.”

  Mac stuck his thumb over the hole he’d made in the schematic. “Yeah, maybe somebody could tell them about that. Well, guess I better start digging.”

  With a short bark of laughter, Blaze started up the engine. “See you at the jubilee, Mac.”

  Stepping back, Mac gave his boss a one-finger salute—not that finger—and stalked over to check with the rest of the crew just as Ben pulled into the lot.

  He sketched out the changes to the schematic and assigned the tasks.

  When he started to re-roll the drawing, one of the wolf shifters put his hand over the paper. “Where’d Boss go?”

  Mac twitched the paper free, though the other male’s shovel-inflicted calluses were like velcro. “He’s home with Annie and the baby today.”

  The old wolf narrowed his eyes. “And left you in charge?”

  “Guess so.” Mac squared shoulders to him. At his back, he sensed Ben stiffening. Aw hell, no fighting on his first day as team leader. “That a problem, Ammon?”

  “Guess he doesn’t think so.”

  “Guess not.” For an instant, Mac flashed back to Brandy snarkily reminding him—in this very parking lot—to use his indoor voice when discussing problems. “Is it worrying you?”

  Ammon’s flat gaze flashed with surprise. “Just seems to me that—” Abruptly, his gaze cut sideways and down, like a tree marked for clearing falling faster than expected. “Nah. No worries.”

  Mac blinked at the unforced submission. Wow, maybe mama Brandy was onto something with this volume control concept. “Okay then.”

  A whiff of furious boar bear hit his sinuses like a sledgehammer.

  Oh. So it wasn’t his suddenly discovered mastery of interpersonal communication. He glanced over his shoulder at Ben. His cousin’s eyes were screwed shut and he had his finger and thumb pinched over the bridge of his nose. Like that could cut the stink of a bear fight about to happen.

  Mac glanced over his other shoulder at his other cousin.

  “I’m here,” Thor growled. “What needs breaking?”

  The implication was unfortunate, but the timing was fortuitous. No shifter wanted to linger in the presence of a thwarted king, and even the blissfully unaware humans had enough primitive instincts to get away from an alpha male.

  They got to work.

  By the time the town volunteers showed up—still yawning and scratching and exclaiming at the early hour—the Domingo crew had the heavy lifting and deep digging underway. At lunch, Ben charmed the Chamber of Commerce ladies into running back to town for more dessert.

  “More pies, more holes,” he told them, flashing his dimple like a “back it up here, ladies” reverse taillight.

  While they tittered happily and brought cookies too, Mac hated that the clan’s disgrace had kept his cousin from seeking the mate he so obviously wanted to find.

  And Thor was worse.

  At least he kept working through lunch and didn’t scare—or eat—the volunteers.

  By day’s end, the festival grounds were clearly marked and coming together. Mac stood back with his hands on his hips, comparing the scene to the schematic unfurled in Ben’s grasp. “Not bad,” he murmured.

  “Still got two days.” Ammon’s grumble was pissy enough to fertilize an entire golf course, but the old shifter stalked away before Mac could respond.

  Was that how it would always be for the bears of Angels Rest from now on? Always another test, never any real trust?

  Mac took the plan from Ben and rolled it carefully. It was that or strangle the mangy wolf. Strangling didn’t require his indoor voice, did it?

  “Stop growling where the volunteers can hear you,” Ben murmured. He flashed his smile at the chamber ladies who tittered some more.

  When the parking lot finally cleared out—only the big Domingo trucks remained since the work wasn’t done—Thor emerged from the woods. He was bare from the waist up, his heavy shoulders streaked with dirt.

  “Got the obstacle course dug out.” He strode past them, not heading for Ben’s light truck.

  “Want a ride back home?” Ben called.

  “No.”

  “So not all the obstacles are done,” Ben murmured.

  Mac resisted the urge to remind his grim and grimy woulda-been king to take a bath when he got home. And make sure he washed behind his ears.

  Where had that—certainly doomed and possibly deadly—impulse come from?

  “Well, a good day’s work,” Ben said. But even his boundless cheer sounded strained.

  They couldn’t keep at this, banging their thick bear skulls against the suspicious shifters. Maybe Blaze had a better idea. And if that didn’t work…

  Maybe they’d dig a hole deep enough to never come out.

  Chapter 10

  Chasing after a boy on two legs versus a cub on four should’ve been only half the work, but by dinnertime, Brandy was on her last legs.

  Actually, she was on tiptoes beneath the front yard oak, trying to find her missing son.

  “Aster,” she called, keeping the note of panic (mostly) out of her voice. “You have to come down now.”

  Rita stepped down from the porch, the rubber tips of her crutches thunking a counterpoint to her shoes. “Want me to try?”

  “Unless you have a ladder…” Brandy double-checked her sister. “Have you been in the basement all day?”

  Rita blinked hazily. “What day is it?” She smiled wanly. “I’m just trying to understand what happened with the talisman.”

  That morning, after Mac’s late-night visit, Brandy had confessed to losing faith in the spell and destroying the talisman. But Rita had said that wasn’t possible.

  Brandy didn’t care. All that mattered was she had Aster back.

  Well, not right at this very moment she didn’t.

  Through the oak’s gnarl of branches, the flash of his yellow and black Batman ensemble seemed too small even for his l
ittle body. How high was he?

  Gin strolled out and plunked herself down on the top step. “You lost my nephew again?”

  Though Brandy knew her sister was joking, the truth was a little too close to home. And too far from the ground. “This new obsession with up is getting old. Which explains my gray hairs.”

  Muttering a curse—he was definitely too high to hear that—she reached for the bottom limb and hiked up her foot. When was the last time she’d climbed a tree?

  A low voice rumbled behind her. “Maybe you should let me.”

  Before she could glance over her shoulder, the scent of working male—earthy, salty, oh so manly—swept over her. Strong hands clamped around her hips, plucked her from the tree, and swung her around.

  “Mac,” she gasped, her heart skipping a beat.

  Hadn’t she told him she wouldn’t see him again?

  Hadn’t her skittering heart gotten the message?

  Wait, what? Her heart didn’t get a say in this. Her lady bits had gotten her in trouble, and her brain had gotten her out. She couldn’t risk her heart throwing things out of whack again.

  But now her trembling knees were telling her to let him go for it. How had he managed to incite her whole body into quarreling chaos with one touch?

  The first time he’d touched her, all of her had been in alignment, feeling everything…

  As he hugged the tree and drew himself upward, her gaze tracked down the length of him, from his dark hair, shiny and damp, over those broad shoulders and down his powerful back to the taut butt muscles nicely filling out his Levi’s.

  She pressed her knuckles to her lips, less in fear and more to stop herself from calling out advice. Or maybe to keep her tongue from lolling out.

  He was a bear, after all.

  Which should have scared her worse. A bear going after her boy. Hadn’t this been exactly what she didn’t want?

  The branches above thrashed, and a handful of leaves shifted down around her. She closed her eyes.

  “Up!” Aster’s insistent chirp held no fear at all.

  “Down,” Mac responded in his deep voice.

  For a moment, no more leaves fell. Then the glossy green veil parted. She’d never been so relieved to see a muddy work boot.

  Three more steps—as smooth as if he were walking up the porch stairs—and Mac deposited Aster in her arms.

  “Down,” Aster acknowledged sadly.

  She hugged him hard. “Dinner?”

  That perked him up, as she’d known it would. Growing boys were always hungry.

  “That sounds great,” Mac said. “Thanks.”

  She jerked her head around to stare at him. “I didn’t mean—”

  “And it just so happens”—he bent over to grab the insulated tote bag he must’ve abandoned on the walk when he saw the situation with Aster—”I brought dinner with me.”

  “Oh.” She racked her brain—that smart brain that had guided her through a difficult childhood and single motherhood—for some polite rejection, but her brain had apparently decided it had saved her enough.

  So she looked at her sisters.

  “I was working downstairs all day,” Rita said with a shrug. “I’ll set the table.”

  Gin pushed to her feet, arms akimbo, when Brandy turned an imploring stare to her. “You know how much I love someone else’s cooking.” She circled Mac to pluck the bag from his hand, and Aster wriggled down from Brandy’s slack arms to trail after his aunts into the house, his nose curiously in the air.

  Brandy swiveled her pursed lips from one side to the other, as if she might find the right words in some other corner of her mouth.

  Mac waited patiently.

  She frowned at him. “You have to wash up first. You have bark all over you.”

  “But no bite,” he murmured as he shadowed her into the house.

  She flushed at the oblique reproach. “Thank you for fetching Aster,” she said, knowing she didn’t sound gracious.

  “Any time. I like saving you.” When she cranked her head around to glower at him some more, his dark eyes shone with sincerity. “Gotta make up for not being there before.”

  Oh, her stupid, stupid heart…

  “You didn’t need to be there,” she said, if not quite so rude as her initial mental protest: I don’t want you here!

  Her tongue wouldn’t let her say it.

  Without being reminded, he kicked off his boots at the door. She led him to the main floor bathroom and handed him a guest towel. Except for the flecks of oak bark, his T-shirt and those nicely snug jeans were too clean, the material worn soft but not stained from a day’s work, so he must’ve changed before coming over.

  He emerged from the bathroom—drying his hands with the same exaggerated care Aster used when he wanted to show her he was being good.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid heart…

  “You still have twigs in your hair,” she fussed. Leaning forward to pluck off a leaf, she sifted her fingers through the dark, damp strands. The shaggy locks smelled of manly cedar shampoo, and her lady bits and even her brain were suddenly all in agreement again.

  She’d come to Angels Rest to exorcise the bear spirit from her son.

  Maybe she needed to do the same for herself.

  ***

  Mac swore to himself that he’d buy Ben an entire season’s worth of farmers market blueberries after stealing the salmon cakes. But it would be worth it. Rita exclaimed over the golden patties. Gin saluted him with her fork. Aster was tucking into his second one—totally ignoring the bowl of some strange orange-colored goop sprinkled with peas. And Brandy…

  Well, three out of four wasn’t bad.

  She spent most of the meal pestering Aster who, though he didn’t speak much, seemed perfectly content to focus on eating and used his spoon to shovel down impressive amounts of salmon. Between bites, he grinned at Mac. “Up!”

  “Yeah. You’re a good climber,” Mac acknowledged and got a grunt of agreement in return.

  Seeing the kid so high in the tree had given him a touch of vertigo, but the gleeful smile when Aster reached out had steadied him. And that little body tucked under his arm… Oaks were great climbing trees—plus, their acorns were a tasty staple of the autumn feast—but the one in the Victorian’s front yard needed some care.

  He cleared his throat and glanced at Brandy. “While I was up in the tree, I found some crotch rot.”

  Three pairs of feminine eyes settled on him in dismay.

  “In the tree!” he said hastily. “Where a branch meets the trunk at a bad angle, water can pool and weaken the limb. You don’t want any of those bigger branches coming down.”

  “Up!” Aster agreed.

  Mac nodded. “Exactly.” He shuttled his gaze between the sisters. “I can ask my cousin—he’s the arborist at Domingo Landscaping—to take a look, see what he recommends.”

  Brandy finally looked directly at him, her cinnamon-brown eyes troubled. “Oh, you don’t have to—”

  “That would be lovely,” Rita said. “Since we’re watching the house, I want to make sure there’s something for Aunt Tilda to come back to.”

  “And you could bring dinner again,” Gin said. When her sisters sent her repressive looks, she shrugged. “Rita, you’re good with a, uh, crockpot, but woman cannot live on soup alone. And Aster is a growing boy.” She arched her brows at Brandy.

  “I stole dinner from my cousin,” Mac confessed. “But the pizza at Grampa’s in town in pretty good.”

  Brandy lifted her chin at a pugnacious slant. “Hard to beat a New York pizza.”

  That shut down the conversation for a long minute.

  Until Gin said, “Soooo, what else does your cousin cook?”

  When he showed them the salted caramel pecan bars, even Brandy cheered.

  They took dessert into the parlor along with coffee for the adults and milk for Aster. Brandy started to reach for him, but Gin whisked him to the bin of oversized Legos and plunked down on the floor with h
im.

  Brandy watched them for a disgruntled second then turned to sit. Rita had taken the solitary wingback, which left the smallish couch next to Mac as the only option.

  Again, he sensed undertones among the sisters he wasn’t quite following, but he thought just maybe he wasn’t the only one feeling discombobulated this time.

  With a nearly soundless huff, Brandy settled at the other end of the loveseat. His greater weight dented the cushions, and she tipped slightly toward him despite the stiffness in her spine.

  “So you were telling us about the solstice jubilee this weekend,” Rita said as she delicately nibbled her pecan bar. “I’ve always been interested in pagan-themed rituals.”

  During dinner, he’d mentioned all the preparations at the park because the whole county—shifter and common folk alike—came to celebrate, but he still wasn’t sure how much the sisters knew about the stranger side of Angels Rest. So he gave her the Wikipedia highlights, not the weirdopedia version.

  “There were no inhabitants on this spot when Angel Villalobos came through the Four Corners region looking for gold. No gold, either, turns out. But there was a year-round stream, rich bottomland, lots of sun, good hunting on the plains and in the forest. He didn’t understand why no one stayed.”

  Rita shivered a little as she sat back. “That ominous old mountain out there would be one reason.”

  Mac nodded. “Mesa Diablo. Lots of ancient stories walked and died in the shadow of the mesa, left their mark in petroglyphs on the black basalt. The tribes and trappers warned Angel away, but he was ready to stop chasing the gold.” Only to have the shifter spirits that haunted the mesa start chasing him. But that was a different story. “The first tree he chopped down on the mesa, he made a throne for his wife-to-be. Just had to find her first, a helpmeet and soulmate, someone tough enough to survive the high desert, but gentle enough to make Angel’s resting place a home.” Except the wolf spirit found Angel… “One of his descendants—Kane Villalobos—is interested in the history and the future of the town, and he wanted to revive the tradition while maybe bringing in some visitors from farther away. So that’s why the solstice jubilee celebrating the highlight of the year has a foodie feast and trending musical acts. Plus the partner obstacle course to win Angel’s throne.”