by Anya Nowlan
Big Bear Father
Sweetwater Father Bears
Anya Nowlan
Contents
A Little Taste…
Copyright
1. Deirdre
2. Oliver
3. Deirdre
4. Oliver
5. Deirdre
6. Oliver
7. Deirdre
8. Oliver
9. Deirdre
10. Oliver
11. Deirdre
12. Oliver
13. Deirdre
14. Oliver
15. Deirdre
16. Oliver
17. Deirdre
Epilogue
Big Bear Papa Excerpt
Want More?
About the Author
Thank you for reading!
A Little Taste…
“It would be if someone would just take my goddamn order,” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair.
The bell above the diner’s door rung out and Maisy flitted past him with a worried look, but he couldn’t really take in any of it. Not when all he could think of was how angry he felt. Jenny was still staring at him like a deer in the headlights, and more and more patrons were turning their attention his way.
They all glared or looked disapprovingly at him in one way or another.
Yeah, I know. The fuckup that no one wanted, the self-destructive thoughts rolled around in his head, uninhibited.
“What?” he called out, looking around and spreading his arms. “Can’t you people mind your own business?”
“I’ll be by to take your order in a minute,” Jenny squeaked.
She slid a menu his way before scurrying off, and now in addition to being annoyed as hell, he also felt bad for scaring her.
What a great day this is turning out to be.
Just as abruptly as he had spiraled out of control, he was yanked out of contemplating his shitty mood when the sweetest scent he had ever smelled suddenly hit his nose. Snapping his mouth shut, he swirled around to see a gorgeous woman take the seat next to him.
All flawless mocha skin and luscious curves, whoever she was, she certainly got Oliver’s attention. And his bear’s attention, as well. Sitting up straighter, all thoughts of violence left his head as he studied the beauty next to him, feeling like he must have dreamt her up.
Copyright © 2016 Anya Nowlan
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Big Bear Father
Sweetwater Father Bears
All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be used, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means by anyone but the purchaser for their own personal use. This book may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of Anya Nowlan. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.
Cover © Jack of Covers
One
Deirdre
Oh dear God, let this be over soon.
Deirdre Williams walked down a long hallway adorned with glamor shots of the striking woman walking in front of her. Ashlyn Philips was the wife of a very successful local businessman, and had already redecorated her house three times since moving in just over a year ago.
Deirdre got the sinking feeling that they were heading for a fourth round at the rodeo and this would neither be the last nor the best incarnation of this particular obsession.
“I thought about, like, maybe more of a Southern feel? Florals and old paintings and that sort of thing, you know?” Ashlyn chirped, twirling a strand of red hair as she glanced back at Deirdre.
Just a moment ago, Ashlyn had been raving about the Scandinavian style and how she loved the simplicity of a monochrome look. A client with too many ideas was always a headache, and Mrs. Philips didn’t seem to know what she actually wanted. Her preferences changed from room to room and Deirdre was starting to have trouble keeping up.
It wasn’t a surprise, really. If all you had to do all day was look pretty and spend your husband’s money, a woman had a lot of time for a lot of ideas. Unfortunately, Deirdre wasn’t quite as… ‘lucky’?
“Oh yeah, of course,” Deirdre nodded, averting her gaze as one of the photos on the wall left little to the imagination. “We can make it happen, Ashlyn.”
Definitely didn’t need to know what my client’s boobs look like.
This time around, Ashlyn had thought it best to turn to a professional with her plans, hence Deirdre getting a tour of the giant house. She had been referred to Ashley by one of her long-time clients, which is why Deirdre was even being considered for the job. Her interior design company was definitely not the biggest or most well-known in Atlanta, but she did have a lot of satisfied customers.
Looking around at the mismatch of modern and antique, and how the home was cluttered with useless knick-knacks, Deirdre began to doubt if Ashlyn would be one of them.
Impossibly high heels clicking on the floor, the woman led Deirdre into yet another ‘relaxation room’, with a flat-screen TV above the brick fireplace and bright red light-up marquee letters on the wall that spelled LOVE. Add to that some lime green accent walls, chairs and table set that looked like they belonged in a modern art museum rather than a home, and it was safe to say Deirdre wasn’t a fan.
Yikes. More money than taste, unfortunately.
Usually she liked collaborating with her clients, but it seemed Ashlyn already had a pretty set vision in mind, despite that vision changing every five minutes. Why she even bothered hiring a decorator, Deirdre could only guess at.
I’ll get paid either way, she thought with an internal shrug, sitting down on a couch Ashlyn was gesturing towards and trying desperately to bring herself in tune with Ashlyn’s creative focus.
So far, she was failing spectacularly.
“Now, Justin is getting pretty tired of me turning this place upside down, so I really want to get it right this time,” Ashlyn said, folding herself into an armchair opposite Deirdre.
Justin Philips was one of the more well-known figures in town, and his marriage to Ashlyn had been such an extravagant affair, anyone cool and wealthy enough to get invited would still bring up how crazy it was. Deirdre Williams was not on that list of people.
It wasn’t a big loss, in her mind.
There had been talk of thousands of rare white roses being flown in from Oregon, and a performance by Andrea Bocelli. An entrance in a carriage drawn by white stallions and burgundy carpets wherever the bride stepped. But those had to be exaggerations, people making up stories for their own amusement.
Right?
Anyway, that didn’t really matter right now. It wasn’t her business how people spent their money or celebrated their love. All she had to focus on was finding common ground with Mrs. Philips. The goal was to make her happy, after all.
“I’m sure we can come up with something you’ll love for many years to come,” Deirdre said with a polite smile.
“That’s what I like to hear! Yay, I’m so excited,” Ashlyn cheered, clapping her hands together.
Oh boy.
Two hours later, Deirdre finally stumbled out of the Philips mansion, head spinning and a notebook full of ideas and plans. Ashlyn waived to her from the stoop before pulling the heavy front door shut, the excitement clear on her face.
> Hiking down the seemingly unending driveway, Deirdre finally made it to her car, a white Volkswagen Beetle that was her pride and joy. She pulled the door open and sank into the driver’s seat, letting out a long sigh.
What was supposed to be a quick thirty-minute appointment had dragged out into a three-hour ordeal, and all she wanted to do was get home and watch some bad reality TV. She’d need at least a couple of hours of downtime to even begin to try and digest all the things Ashlyn wanted.
Leaving the gated community the Philips’ lived in, Deirdre drove down familiar streets, seeing the sun starting to dim all around her. The drive flew by as her thoughts focused on work and how to best please Ashlyn, as she was already drawing up plans in her head. She’d have to have her assistant get a hold of the full floor plans before she could really dive into it, though.
Another day, another potential dollar.
Before she knew it, she was outside her little house, a suburban dream that she had bought into when things had been different in her life. She didn’t think she’d be living in it alone, but then again, best laid plans and all that. Life didn’t exactly ask her when it decided to upend everything, usually.
Grabbing her briefcase, Deirdre made her way inside, locking the door after her before stepping out of her Valentino pumps. Being on her feet a lot, she liked to invest in quality footwear, and it had definitely come in handy today. Any other shoe, and her feet would be burning by now.
The fact that they’re super cute is just a bonus, really.
Deirdre grinned to herself, knowing full well that clients like Ashlyn took strict notice of her appearance. If she could have, she would have gone to every meeting in a pair of Converse sneakers and torn jeans, but that would lead to not being able to afford a cup of coffee, let alone the cream that goes on top of it.
Toes sinking into the plush ivory carpet, Deirdre walked to her bedroom, giving herself an assessing look in front of the full-length mirror outside of her walk-in closet. Her lipstick wasn’t as fresh as it had been when she reapplied it after lunch, but she still looked every bit the polished professional she strived to be.
Dark, tight curls framed a full face with a straight nose and pouty lips. Bright hazel eyes stared back at her, almond shaped with a thick band of black lashes. She had always thought her forehead was too big and her hair too wild, but she had learned to love those things about her.
They were what made her her, after all.
Her white slacks and blouse perfectly off-set the deep, chocolate tone of her skin, which is why she wore the outfit in the first place, despite it being a pain the ass to keep clean.
Peeling off her clothes, she spared a glance at her soft curves. Once upon a time, she had been determined to diet and exercise her way to a size six, but she had abandoned that goal once she realized she was happier as she was. It had been a difficult path, but all in all Deirdre thought that she’d reached the doorway of what could be considered contentment.
That was what she had been focusing on lately – her happiness and making sure it wasn’t dependent on something or someone else.
I’m not making that mistake again, she thought, absentmindedly rubbing the tan line on her ring finger.
After getting into a pair of yoga pants and a loose fitting tee, Deirdre reached into her purse and pulled out her phone, checking to see if she had any new messages.
There was a text from Amy, one of her girlfriends, reminding her they had a date with a bottle of wine this weekend. Deirdre typed up quick response confirming they were still on, before slipping on a pair of fuzzy socks and strolling to the kitchen, feeling immensely more relaxed.
Just as she was about to open the fridge and get out last night’s leftovers, the doorbell rang.
I’m not expecting anyone, she thought, throwing a look at the clock on the wall.
Shuffling to the front door, she got on her tiptoes to look out of the peephole, brow furrowing when she saw a young woman holding something in her arms on the other side.
What the…
Opening the door, she was about to ask what the woman wanted, before recognition hit her. The woman’s eyes and cheeks were sunken in, with her skin ashen and her hair a lot shorter than Deirdre remembered, but there was still something immediately familiar about her.
It can’t be…
“Jamie?” she asked, squinting, not sure if she should believe her eyes. “Is that you?”
“It’s me, D,” Jamie said with a weak smile, swaying the bundle in her hands. “I need your help.”
It was then that Deirdre realized the cousin she hadn’t seen in almost twenty years was holding a child in her arms. While Deirdre’s mind seemed to skip a beat, her body was throwing itself into action immediately, clearing the doorway and motioning for Jamie to come in. If Jamie had showed up on her doorstep of all places, something must be wrong.
They had been very close as children, but that was a long time ago. The women had barely spoken after Jamie’s family moved her across the country when they’d both been kids.
Nevertheless, it wasn’t like Deirdre was going to turn away family. Jamie had been like a sister to her once, and whatever she was going through, they’d figure out together.
“Come on in,” Deirdre said, her mind finally catching up to what the rest of her was already doing – welcoming home someone she hadn’t expected to see again
Something tells me I’m about to get pulled into something far more complicated than Ashlyn’s library decor.
Two
Oliver
Dragging himself out of bed, Oliver Atwater cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders before moving on to make himself a cup of coffee, yawning blithely. His black eye had already healed, but his wrist still ached a little.
That’s what I get for trying to take out three guys at once, he mused with a casual grin, leaning on the counter as he waited for the water to boil.
It was a mistake he had made before, and would most likely make again. He was stubborn like that. Or maybe his fuse was too short for his own good. Whatever the reason, Oliver just couldn’t help but find trouble everywhere he went. Though if you were to ask him, more often than not the trouble found him, not the other way around.
He was hoping to change that, in sweet little Sweetwater, Wyoming. It was a real sense-of-community kind of place, with a thriving shifter population. The mountain air alone made his bear let out a satisfied rumble whenever he walked the streets, not to mention being among his own kind should work to settle him a little.
Taking on three chumps, even if they were werewolves, was easy enough. Three bears though? Not even Oliver was that hotheaded.
He hoped.
The local werebear clan was still wary of him, though, and he couldn’t exactly blame them. If he was in their shoes, he’d probably feel the same way. And to be completely honest, it was probably only a matter of time until he did something stupid and got his ass thrown out of town or into jail.
The sheriff, Colt Hennessy, was already keeping an eye on him, a massive bear who’d probably love to try and put a nuisance like Oliver in his place.
To be fair, he had already gotten into two fights since getting here, so Colt’s attention wasn’t exactly undeserved. The fact that he was on a first name basis with the sheriff wasn’t exactly a good thing, either.
You have to have something to remind you that you’re alive, he told himself, fishing out a cup from the cupboard and setting it down next to the kettle.
Pouring some instant coffee into his mug, he topped it off with hot water and sat down at the kitchen table. It wasn’t exactly French roast, but it got the job of waking him up done. He had been thrashing around all night, and only fallen asleep some time before noon.
Sleep had been troubled, to put it lightly, ever since…
Ever since I got my best friend killed, he thought bitterly, hands curling around the cup tightly.
He had to relax his grip, feeling the telltale warnings of po
rcelain beginning to crumble.
Dray’s death had done nothing but flare Oliver’s already volatile temper. He knew it, everyone around him could see he was a ticking time bomb, but he still couldn’t do anything about it.
Guilt continued to eat up his insides and soon enough, there would be nothing left but anger and self-loathing. So far, channeling it had been something he hadn’t been exactly succeeding at. Though, all things considered, the fact that he’d come to Sweetwater instead of staying where he’d been had been a step in the right direction. At least he was admitting to himself that there might be a problem that needed dealing with.
Swallowing the growl in his throat, he took a sip of the concoction that could barely be called coffee and stared out the window of his cabin, hoping the view would take his mind off things. Sweetwater was a beautiful town, no doubt, but it wasn’t exactly as therapeutic as he’d hoped.
He’d gotten a good deal on rent from the Clearponds, the local wolf pack. Though considering that he’d picked a fight with a couple of them the previous night, he couldn’t bank on that deal remaining in place for too long. The cabin was nestled in the mountains and surrounded by forest, he could unleash his bear whenever he wanted and go for a run, an opportunity he often used.
Nothing did the trick of quieting his mind quite as well as tearing through the trees, heavy paws sinking into the soil, drawing in the smells of untouched nature. That’s why shifters preferred living in places like Sweetwater in the first place – the opportunity to roam around freely – and Oliver was no exception.
Forcing down the last gulp, he could feel the caffeine starting to pump through his veins, waking up his nightmare-riddled brain. He knew there was nothing in the fridge except for a couple of beers and an ancient bottle of ketchup, so he pulled on his leather jacket and got in his beat-up Chevy pickup to head into town for some breakfast.