by Layla Nash
A Lion Shame
Bear Creek Grizzlies Book 3
Layla Nash
Callista Ball
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
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Also by Layla Nash
Also By Callista Ball
Copyright © 2016 by Layla Nash
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design by Resplendent Media
Chapter 1
Tate
Tate sat at the bar and nursed a glass of whiskey, trying his best to ignore the commotion behind him. Rosie's bar had gotten busier and busier as Bear Country Tours took off and more tourists moved through the town, drawing the locals in as well with promises of additional revenue. And new faces to hit on.
He made a face and focused on the liquor as one of the local girls, only a few years out of high school and facing a lifetime of working on her daddy's farm, sidled up to him and batted her eyes at Rosie behind the bar. She asked for a diet Coke and Tate wanted to slam his face into the bar. It wasn't that the girl wasn't pretty — she was. But that was all she was. She hadn't been anywhere and maybe wanted to change that, so she was eying him like her ticket out of the small town. He'd just be a way to get to the big city for that girl, or maybe a meal ticket if she didn't want to work. Tate wanted more from a relationship, and since he wasn't going to find it there, he wasn't interested in any of it. Not even for a night, since it wouldn't be fair to the girl.
Rosie eyed him as she slid the girl her drink and told her to scamper away home before last call, otherwise Rosie would call her mama, and then the bartender leaned her elbows on the scarred surface of the bar. "Okay, handsome. Spill. You're glummer than a colt in the gelding barn."
He snorted, glancing up only enough to tip more whiskey into his glass. He'd convinced her to get the good stuff, finally. No more of the bullshit rubbing alcohol those cowboys called whiskey. No taste. "Nothing to worry about, Rosie."
"I could put a smile on your face, darlin', but since you've turned everyone else down this week, I don't think I'll put my ego on the line." Rosie took away the bottle, though.
"You sure about that, sugar?" Tate winked at her and Rosie laughed, waggling her eyebrows.
She gave him a good look at her ample cleavage in response, and Tate nearly snorted his drink through his nose as he tried not to laugh. Rosie was a grade-A cougar, in every sense of the word, and if Tate hadn't enjoyed her company so much, he might have taken her home. But he didn't want to ruin their friendship with sex. So he heaved a dramatic sigh and half-stood from his stool to reach over the bar, retrieving the bottle of whiskey she'd tried to hide. He refilled his glass. "Oh, Rosie. You'd love me and leave me. I'm not sure my heart could take it."
"It's not your heart I'm worried about," she said under her breath, moving away to shout at one of the drunks who tried to fish his keys out of the bowl near the register.
Tate chuckled into his drink, pretty damn certain he knew what she was thinking, and shook his head. It had been a long couple of months since he moved to Bear Creek after his half-sister Zoe nearly got killed by her mobster boss. And since Zoe had shacked up with Simon, Tate's battle buddy from too many years in the French Foreign Legion, Tate didn't exactly like hanging around their house. Zoe being pregnant only made it worse, since it left absolutely zero possibility that she hadn't slept with Simon and they only read poetry to each other in bed. Tate really didn't want to think about his little sister getting it on with anyone, even his buddy. Especially his buddy.
Tate made a face and swirled the whiskey in his glass, debating whether he wanted another burger. It was too damn cold and a snowstorm had been blowing for hours. He didn't have to walk far to get to the apartment he rented over the hardware store, but he hated every second of being outside. He was a mountain lion, not built for deep snow. He was the desert kind of mountain lion. He liked sun. Lots and lots of sun. So it would be a long winter in this frozen town. He'd taken over the business side of Simon's tour company, greeting the tourists when they reached town and arranging their transport up the mountain. The roads were too treacherous in winter to send the tourists up the mountain on their own, so Tate did the honors.
Rosie sauntered up, slapping a dish towel against her palm, after sending the drunk off with his son. The snow blew in as soon as the door cracked open, and Tate shivered. He really hated snow. The bartender planted her fists on her hips and leveled a “no messin' around” look at him. "Spill, Tathan."
He shook his head, fighting a smile. He'd never told her what Tate was short for, so she started guessing it was like Nathan and Nate. Tathan and Tate. He rubbed his forehead, suddenly too tired to play games. "Just a bad time of year, Rosie. A couple of rough anniversaries I don't want to think about. Whiskey takes the edge off."
"What kind of anniversaries?" Rosie pulled a few bottles of beer from the cooler and slid them down the bar to a waiting customer, never looking away from him. Despite the joking and flirting, Tate knew she worried about him. He believed she genuinely cared, regardless of whether or not he let her get in his pants. They were both mountain lions in a town run by bears, so he'd always felt a connection with her. If there was anyone he would admit it to, it would be Rosie.
"Well..." He almost spilled the beans on Paris. Just as the whiskey encouraged him to whisper Monique's name, that he'd loved her in the city of lights, the door to the bar blew open once more and a cold blast of air froze him to the stool. He turned in time to see a young woman, bundled up and carrying a small child, tumble into the bar.
Rosie blinked, then said, "Sarah Jane?" in a disbelieving voice as she hustled around the bar to the shivering young woman.
Tate stared, his heart in his throat. The young woman, wild-eyed and red-cheeked from the storm, looked familiar, though he couldn't say from where. The mountain lion sat up to take notice as well, static running through his veins. Maybe she was more than familiar. Either way, Tate didn't trust her. Didn't trust her or himself.
He returned his attention to the whiskey as Rosie and the girl spoke in low voices, and the little one she carried started to cry. A metallic, chemical smell clung to the air around the girl and reminded him of some work he'd done a long time ago for the DEA. She smelled like meth and everything that went into making it, which meant the girl smelled like trouble. He took a deep breath and pushed away the memories, of Paris and the DEA and everything that came before Bear Creek. Some things were best left in the past.
Chapter 2
Sarah Jane
Sarah Jane didn't think before she ran away. S
he stole the cheapest car in Chuck's garage and got the hell out of there the second she found the bag of drugs and the pile of cash, and the only thing she took with her were the baby and a black eye. It took five hours of driving through a damn blizzard before her hands stopped shaking and she didn't look in the rear view mirror, checking for Chuck to come tearing after her, and luckily Dakota was being an angel. For once.
SJ concentrated on breathing and not crying as she drove into the storm. She didn't want any part of drug running, and that was definitely what Chuck's guys were into. He'd seemed like a good guy, when they met. He threw around more cash than she'd ever seen in her life, and offered to pay for her school and clothes for the baby and everything else. It didn't occur to SJ to ask where he got his money — he put on nice clothes every morning and drove to work, and said something about being in sales.
She cursed under her breath, not wanting to wake Dakota, and pounded her hand against the steering wheel of the shitty sedan. It was a piece of trash but it was the easiest to throw the car seat into. Even though he owned half a dozen SUVs and nicer cars, SJ didn't want anything from him. She couldn't give Chuck a reason to chase after her, and he wouldn't come after her over a two-hundred-dollar car. It wasn't worth it. She wasn't worth it.
SJ started driving without a plan, without clothes or even the diaper bag. Just her purse and cell phone and enough cash to fill the gas tank. She didn't know where she was going until an hour down the road. She had nowhere to go. Except Aunt Rosie.
Hope rose in her chest, for the first time in a long time, as she thought of Rosie. She wasn't really SJ's aunt. She'd been a neighbor when SJ was little, a no-nonsense lady who ruled the trailer park where SJ's mama ended up after her third husband left. SJ followed Rosie around for years, until Rosie finally uprooted and went somewhere else. Somewhere in Oregon.
She sent letters to SJ and stayed in touch, and invited her out to visit more than once. SJ had never been brave enough to go — she wanted to make something of herself before she saw Rosie again. She wanted Rosie to be proud of her. And yet here she was, running from a drug-dealing ex-boyfriend piece of shit with nothing more than a baby to show for it.
The tears flooded her eyes anyway and SJ almost ran off the road. She pulled over so she could squeeze her eyes shut, leaning her forehead against the steering wheel as her shoulders shook. It wasn't fair. She'd done everything right. Graduated high school, studied hard, went to community college, worked two jobs to make ends meet for herself and then the baby after her asshole boyfriend left. Chuck seemed like an adult. Like the way to really begin being an adult and a good mother. He offered to take care of them, and SJ had been so tired of struggling.
SJ couldn't breathe, staring out the windshield as the snow piled up. She failed at being an adult. She was a terrible adult. And stupid, too. She hadn't even bothered to ask Chuck what was going on. She found the drugs and just ran. It had been the smart thing to do. Or so she hoped.
The baby stirred and SJ looked back, making sure the fluffy pink blanket was still tucked carefully around Dakota in the car seat. She checked the mirrors before pulling back onto the lonely two-lane highway, pushing the shitty car faster until it started to shake. Chuck owed her the sedan, after everything he'd put her through. They were even. And if Chuck came after her, she'd give him the car back and walk away.
By the time she saw the sign to pull off to the tiny town where Rosie lived, Bear Creek, SJ's head ached and her hands shook from gripping the steering wheel so hard as she stared into the snow. She'd slowed to almost a crawl to keep from running off the highway, but she didn't dare stop driving. There was no telling when the storm would blow itself out, and she didn't have supplies in the car to survive. So she felt like she'd been awake for four days straight as she pulled the car into what might have been a spot near the bar with a flashing neon sign that said 'Rosie's.' That had to be the place.
Dakota's face crumpled in her sleep as SJ opened the door and the snow flew in. SJ got her out of the car seat as fast as possible as her shoes slid in the foot of snow that had accumulated on the street. She hushed her daughter and hugged her close, bumping the door closed with her hip before heading for the bar. Not the best place to take a one-year-old, but whoever was inside had to know where to find Rosie.
The warmth inside was such a shock that SJ just stood there in silence as the door banged shut behind her. Safe. Finally. And then she realized that everyone in there stared at her, including a huge dude with dark hair and a neatly-trimmed beard at the bar. Muscles nearly split open his flannel shirt, and from the hint of tattoos on his forearms and a deadness about his gaze, he could have been one of the creepy muscle-heads who provided security for Chuck and some of his friends. Or at least the same kind of guy. He frowned, blue eyes flashing, and whatever she'd intended to say stuck in her throat.
And then someone said, "Sarah Jane?" and Rosie appeared from behind the bar.
SJ almost cried in relief, hugging the older woman and trying not to crush Dakota in the process. "Oh my God, I'm so glad to see you. I'm so sorry for just showing up like this, I meant to call but I had to — I just wanted to see you."
"Honey, it's always good to see you. And who is this precious peanut?" Rosie immediately picked up Dakota, who'd started to cry at the noise from the sound system and the raucous pool players, and bounced her against her shoulder. "You look frozen solid, Sarah Jane. Come on upstairs."
"I can get a hotel room," SJ started, though she cringed at how to backtrack if Rosie actually recommended a hotel. There was no way SJ could pay, but it crushed her pride to mooch off of Rosie. She'd pay her back. Every penny. "We just — with the storm and everything —"
"Nonsense." Rosie caught a young man by the upper arm and directed him behind the bar with instructions to pull beers until she returned, then led the way into a back room and a set of stairs. "You'll stay with me, and don't you argue. I'll have none of that. I don't have a crib for this angel, but we can sort something out tomorrow."
"Thank you," SJ whispered. Her knees knocked as she climbed the stairs behind Rosie, thinking of the list of things she'd have to figure out the next day. Clothes, toiletries, food, crib, diapers... Practically everything.
"I'm glad you're here," Rosie said, opening the door to a cozy, warm apartment over the bar. The noise from the first floor faded away to the occasional muffled thump or thud, and Rosie cooed to Dakota as she pointed SJ to the overstuffed couch in the living room. "I could really use some help in the bar. We've had so much more business in the last few months, I started to think I needed to hire someone. But if you're here and planning to stay a while..."
She gave SJ a raised eyebrow, and SJ almost collapsed onto the couch, covering her face with her hands. "Rosie, you're an angel."
Rosie laughed. "Don't tell anyone or my reputation will suffer. Now, are you gonna tell me where you got that black eye, or is he going to show up here so I can kill him myself?"
SJ exhaled, whatever energy remained after the last few traumas fading away until only exhaustion remained. She wanted to sink into the couch and sleep for a week, though Dakota needed her mama to be strong. SJ couldn't afford to relax. "That's the reason I left in a hurry. And why I need a place to hang out for a while, if we're not an imposition. Dakota is a good baby, I promise, she's —"
"She's absolutely perfect." Rosie made a strange clucking noise at the baby, and Dakota blinked big blue eyes at her in response. Rosie smiled, resting her cheek against the baby's head. "You're going to tell me more about whatever piece of shit took a swing at you, and we're going to come up with a plan. But that can wait until tomorrow. Are you hungry? Thirsty?"
"I'm fine," she said, and tried to find the energy to stand up. "But it's almost time for Dakota's bottle and she definitely needs a diaper change, but I don't have —"
"Let's see what we can come up with." Rosie winked and handed Dakota over so SJ could start pulling off her hat and coat and little boots, then picked up
her phone to call a bunch of people.
SJ sat back on the couch as Dakota babbled and tugged at the neck of her sweater, and she started to relax as Rosie chatted to someone about borrowing diapers and bottles and a bit of formula and cereal. SJ tried to stay awake, even though it felt like weights dragged her eyelids down, but gave up as the quiet comfort of the apartment washed over her. Even the memory of the scary dude in the bar downstairs wasn't enough to keep her awake and vigilant. Rosie was there, and she could more than handle anyone who might try to get through that door. SJ tried to sit as Rosie tucked a blanket around her and picked up Dakota, but Rosie patted her head and told her to sleep. SJ, for once, did exactly as she was told.
Chapter 3
Tate
He didn't sleep well. Normally half a bottle of whiskey did the trick, but for some reason, the mystery girl's eyes haunted him. Kept him awake. So did the bruising on her face, and a deep anger at whoever might have taken a swing at her. The lion didn't like it one bit.
Tate groaned and got up at dawn, from habit more than necessity, and wandered around his spartan apartment until he could stomach making coffee. He stood at the window that overlooked the main — well, the only — street in Bear Creek. Rosie's bar was only a few doors down, which was by design so Tate didn't have far to stagger after a night of drinking, and he didn't have to walk far for food. The grocery store was all the way at the other end of the street, so Rosie's was just more convenient.
Tate held the coffee cup, trying to leech some of the warmth through the ceramic, as he studied the line of cars buried under the snow. The storm had dropped at least four feet on them through the night, so he'd have an hour digging out the Range Rover to get the latest batch of tourists up to the Lodge. They'd arrived early the day before and settled in to the only motel in town, so he had no excuses for leaving them behind or staying in bed all day.