A Taste of Honeybear Wine (BBW Bear Shifter Standalone Romance Novel) (Bearfield Book 2)

by Jacqueline Sweet

  “Thank you,” Michael said, but what he meant was, I love you. I just met you and don’t know you, but I love you and want to fuck you right now, even if that means doing it here on the ground with everyone watching.

  “I didn’t do anything yet,” Alison said, her wide mouth curling up into a smile. “I’ll drop the charges on three conditions.”

  “Name them,” Michael said. Every time she spoke it was like soft fingers running down the small of his back. It made him impatient to be naked, to be with her, and above all to be naked with her.

  “You have to get the lockbox back.”

  “Of course.”

  “You have to fix the broken window and help me clean up the house.”

  “A big job, but sure.”

  “And you have to take me with you when you look for the box.”

  Chapter 4

  Bearly Begun

  “Absolutely not. I won’t hear of it. My precious daughter. Alone! With that sex criminal.”

  “He hasn’t been convicted, Mother.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. The wrongest thing in wrong town. But Alison couldn’t help herself. For as much as she was worried about losing the house, about her mother flipping out completely and disowning her on the spot, she had to admit that she was having fun. Being near Michael made her feel safe. She couldn’t explain it at all. He’d broken into her house butt-ass naked and maybe kinda sorta knew the creep who stole her mother’s lockbox. She should have been furious or terrified. But she wasn’t. She felt confident and in control. And she felt a delicious itch deep in her belly that somehow she just knew Michael was dying to help her scratch. Men like him didn’t go for women like her. But if she had the chance, she’d take it.

  But first she had to get past her mother.

  They were in front of what everyone claimed was the local police station, but which really looked more like some old house that someone had nailed a sign to proclaiming its official capacity. It gave the town a certain temporary feeling, like it was all an elaborate prop in some weird movie. Inside the house she saw desks and piles of official-looking paperwork. There was a woman who had the flinty stare of a lifelong bureaucrat, who no doubt ran the station herself, and the old sheriff seemed sincere enough, even if Alison suspected his dopey mannerisms were mostly an act. The old sheriff now leaned against a wall, trying to look anywhere but at Michael, who was in the back of the station getting a talking-to from his mountainous brothers. One of them, Matt, was dressed in a brown suit and kept clapping Michael on the shoulder like he was giving him a pep talk. The other, Marcus, glowered like he thought he could punch his brother with his eyeballs.

  Marcus terrified Alison in a way that no man had ever scared her before. Looking into his eyes was like meeting the eyes of a predator. His glance said, “I’m not killing you right now only because I choose not to. But if you bother me at all I will disappear you and no one will ever find you.” Michael’s eyes were downcast. The man seemed to shrink under the glare of his older brothers. What would it be like to grow up with men like that? Michael was taller than most anyone, but next to his family he looked almost dainty. And as curvy as Alison was, just one of Marcus’ legs was almost larger than her. The man was like a moose or maybe a bear.

  “Are you even listening to me?” Her mother’s voice cut in on Alison’s thoughts. She just wanted to stare at that pretty man, even if he was getting read the riot act.

  “Not really, Mother. No.”

  Her mother made a gasping sound and clutched at the pearls around her neck. Chloe, standing behind her mother, tapping away at her phone, flinched in shock. None of the sisters ever spoke to their mother that way. Ever.

  “Keep it up, missy, and see if I let you keep the house. Just see.”

  “You signed a contract, Mother. If I provide you with the contents of that lockbox, the house is mine. If I fail to, it’s sold off.” Her mother had been forcing contracts on them from a young age. Stipulating their duties and chores and expectations and what they could expect in return from her by way of financial support. Alison hadn’t even realized it was weird until she got to college and mentioned it in passing one gin-fueled night in the dorms.

  Her mother narrowed her eyes. “Where is this attitude coming from?”

  Where indeed? Alison was surprised how much she felt at home in Bearfield, after just one day. The mountain air was crisp and cool. Wisps of fog hung amongst the trees refusing to burn off completely.

  “I guess this place just suits me. Look, Mother, I’ll be careful. It won’t be the first time I’ve hiked through the woods searching for some hidden treasure. I can take care of myself.”

  “Creeping around looking for nuts and berries by yourself in well-mapped woods is very different than hunting for a thief with that scoundrel,” her mother said through pressed lips, like she was practicing to be a ventriloquist. “Have you seen the way he looks at you? Like you were a turkey dinner with all the trimmings.”

  “He doesn’t,” Alison said.

  “Oh yeah he does,” Chloe added with a wry tone, still focused on her phone.

  “Shut up. He does not.” Alison’s face grew red and she wished she could shrink away from her mother’s terrible glare. “And anyway I’m sure he has a girlfriend, a guy like that.”

  “That’s it!” her mother snapped. “You are taking Chloe along with you.”

  “I don’t need a chaperone,” Alison said.

  “I am not going into those woods. I had a dream about them. I can’t go in.” Chloe pitched her voice spooky and resonant but her mother just snorted past it.

  “Last week you had a dream that if you did the dishes great disaster would befall you,” Mrs. Meadows crossed her arms in defiance. “You aren’t psychic, Chloe.”

  “Yeah, but what if I am?”

  So busy were the Meadows women with their family dynamics, falling into the well-worn grooves of arguments, referencing past incidents and grudges by code name or vague gesture, that they failed to notice Matt and Michael emerging from the police station until the two large, handsome, stupidly charming men were in their midst.

  “We’re ready to go if you are,” Matt Morrissey said, tipping an imaginary hat to Alison and then bowing slightly to her mother. “I’ll drive you as close to Rook’s Roost as I can, and then you’ll have to go on foot. But don’t worry,” he winked. “My little brother knows these woods like a bear.” Michael stood behind Matt, his eyes downcast. He was like a student who had been reprimanded by his teacher and was now making an extra special show of being the model of good behavior, but on him it just looked sarcastic.

  Mrs. Meadows poked Matt in the chest. “I don’t like this, but I don’t think I have any choice in this matter. My daughter has outmaneuvered me. But if anything happens to her I will find you and destroy you. I will pull down every stone of this podunk small town with my bare hands and salt the earth. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Michael said from behind his brother, his voice a quiet rumble.

  “And for godsakes boy, keep your pants on.”

  Alison couldn’t bear it. She was going to melt into a puddle of embarrassment right there. They’d have a funeral for her and her sisters would talk about her passing in hushed tones. Oh, Ali? You didn’t hear? She died because Mom told the hottest man in the world to keep his hands to himself and his pants on.

  “Yes, well, daylight is burning!” Matt said brightly. He opened the doors to his Jeep and ushered Alison into the passenger seat. Michael climbed into the rear and Matt swung himself up behind the wheel. “Bye,” he waved to Mrs. Meadows. “Oh and don’t bother calling, all of the far valley is a cell phone blindspot. See you later!” His fiancée, Mina, ran over and gave him a steamy kiss and whispered something in his ear. Matt blushed a deep red and smiled sheepishly. “Okay, love, well I I will definitely hurry back for that.” And then they drove out of the parking lot and into the sunny, cold Bearfield morning.

  “When was the
last time you were in the Roost?” Matt asked his brother.

  “It’s been awhile,” Michael said from the back seat. “I don’t know how long. Years? Probably years.”

  “Just remember, don’t make any deals. Don’t agree to anything, and whatever you do, don’t swear any oaths or shake hands on anything. The ravens take that stuff super seriously.”

  “Ravens?” Alison asked.

  “The people in Rook’s Roost, some of them are raven-blooded shifters.”

  “Matt!” Michael said in the same tone he would have used if his brother had shown her embarrassing baby pictures.

  “I’m sorry, what?” Alison found herself hypnotized by the view. The expanse of the woods was breathtaking. It was too easy to think of a forest as one thing, like a giant blob of green on a map. She knew better. As a botanist it was like a never-ending treasure chest, like a dragon’s hoard of riches. “Shifters?”

  “Oh yeah,” Matt said amiably, “Rook’s Roost is the next town over, basically. Though legally it’s in Bearfield proper, we generally leave them alone. They’re on the slightly skinnier, slightly pointier mountain behind ours.”

  “No, I get that,” Alison said. “But shifters?”

  “You saw it,” Michael said, leaning forward between the seats to speak to her. “That man who stole your lockbox. He changed into a raven.”

  “That’s impossible,” she said. But was it? Her memories were vague, like they had been smudged on the canvas of her mind before they had a chance to dry. “I remember that skinny man with the black hair and the nose. He had the box. He was in the window. And then all I recall is a raven flying off with the box.”

  “The magic can be hard on your mind,” Michael said, his voice hushed with concern. “You’ll get used to it.”

  “I will?” She should have found the idea alarming, but instead it thrilled her. Magic was real. She’d seen it and it’d left a hole in her brain. It didn’t scare her, it fascinated her. She probed the hole in her recollection like a tongue feeling a loose tooth. In her heart, she was a scientist. An experimenter. It’s what attracted her to brewing in the first place. She was a terrible cook, a horrible cook. She made the kind of food that chefs spoke to each other about in hushed tones over campfires. But brewing? Brewing was science. Science you could drink. She was all about that.

  But wait. “Why will I get used to it?”

  Matt and Michael exchanged a look—a heavy portentous look—in the rearview mirror.

  “Bearfield’s a magical place, is why,” Matt said.

  “Stuff happens here,” Michael agreed.

  “So are there more shifters?” Alison asked.

  “We really can’t say,” Matt said, biting his lip.

  “But yes. Totally.” Michael said, an excitement bubbling in his voice. “What do you think of that?”

  “It doesn’t feel real. I mean, I know I saw something, but even telling me that the thief guy changed into a raven doesn’t process right. It’s as if you just said the moon’s real first name is Jonathan. I can nod and agree but I have no idea what to do with that information. There are men who change into ravens or ravens who change into men. And also some dogs are secretly cats wearing little suits. It all sounds ridiculous.”

  Michael sighed heavily. “Yeah, that’s what I thought too.”

  They drove in silence for a while. The winding roads were empty and quiet, and then occasionally tourist cars or trucks came screaming past. But then silence again. The passenger window fronted on the raw face of the mountain, which displayed gray and red stripes to Alison, as if the stone was some old animal asleep for millennia. On the other side was a steep drop leading to the sea of forest that blanketed this region of Northern California, broken only by telephone poles, the occasional rooftop, and a few stray lakes. As they curved around the face of the mountain, the sun fell behind them, and in the distant misty shadows Alison saw what had to be Rook’s Roost.

  Calling it a mountain hardly seemed fair, especially compared to the great lumbering beast they were driving on. Calling the Roost a mountain was like calling a child “mister” or “sir,” perfectly acceptable but also rather patronizing.

  A blade of dark basalt stood alone on the horizon, taller than Bear Mountain but grotesquely thin. If Bear Mountain was a humped slumbering beast, comforting and strong, then Rook’s Roost was a raised sword poised near that beast’s head. Trees erupted from every nook and cranny, spindly branches reaching out over the expanse like they were begging for help. At the very peak stood a massive oak tree, most of it lost in fog, but Alison recognized the profile. And unless her eyes were playing tricks on her, it was larger than it should be. Impossibly large.

  “Do you have binoculars?” she asked, breaking the silence with a distracted tone. She reached out to accept them without tearing her attention from the oak. She could swear she saw movement in the branches. But when no binoculars were pressed into her grip she turned and remembered where she was. Her eyes fell on Michael and her breath fled her body. He was watching her intently with his golden-brown eyes. No, watching was the wrong word. He was undressing her with his eyes. Undressing her, lifting her up onto his lap, and taking her right here in his brother’s Jeep—with his eyes. No man had looked at Alison that way in such a long time. It did things to her—wicked, delicious, wet things.

  Matt sniffed and then shot a glance at Alison and Michael. “Okay, we’re here. Try to keep it together until you get the box back, yeah?” He sniffed again and frowned. “Michael?” he said. But his brother didn’t answer. The younger man was nearly panting, his eyes heavy with lust. “Michael,” Matt said again, but this time a growl reverberated in his voice, so deep and strong that the whole Jeep shook, the mirrors vibrated, and loose change in a cupholder buzzed in sympathy.

  “Sorry,” Michael grinned. “My mind was elsewhere.”

  Alison knew where his mind had been, and she wanted to go to that place.

  Matt left them at the edge of the road, on a bluff overlooking the forest, with Rook’s Roost just a valley away. Only a thousand feet down, then a half mile hike through untamed wilderness, and then up the weirdest, most unwelcoming rock Alison had ever seen. No sweat. The old thrill she used to get from exploring the woods was there again, like that wild college friend who always talked you into closing out the bar even though you had an early class the next day. There was fear, too. Alison never especially liked heights, but it was worth it to push through. Not just for the lockbox and for the house, though that prize would have been enough. And not just because if she didn’t get her mother’s property back her mother would find a way to get Michael incarcerated, though that was reason enough as well. But the best reason was that for the first time in years, she didn’t hear Drew’s voice in the back of her head telling her she needed to lose weight, that she wasn’t good enough, that she was boring. She’d lived with the echo of his disdain rattling around in her head for so long and now that it was gone she felt like winter had finally been driven away by spring. Snow was melting. Flowers were blossoming. The land was hungry for seeds.

  She was happy and she didn’t know what to do with it.

  “How do we get there?” Alison asked Michael. She stood at the edge of the road, a metal guard rail separating her from a nasty fall. “Do you have a jetpack? A flying horse?”

  “Sadly, no. But I do have an old hiking trail. Well, maybe an old native trail. It’s hard to tell the difference these days.” He pointed down and Alison saw it, just barely. It was so narrow that it looked like a trick of the light. The path couldn’t have been more than three feet wide, with no handrails. It was a scratch in the face of the cliff, not a path.

  “We can’t walk that. It’s impossible.”

  “I’ve done it before.”

  “You said it’d been years since you were here last.”

  “It has.”

  “Were you as big back then as you are now ?”

  “Probably not, but it’s easier than it l
ooks. Watch.” Michael stepped over the guardrail, took five steps and vanished from sight in a puff of dust and crumbling rock. Alison’s heart leapt. She took one halting step forward and looked down, only to see Michael standing and smiling up at her from the safety of the ledge.

  “It’s narrow, but strong.”

  “You scared me,” she said, easing herself down onto the path next to him.

  “I’m not going to die today, Alison.” He offered a hand to steady her, pulling her close to him once she gained her feet. Looking up into his eyes, she lost her breath again. He was just too pretty, too sexy. Every time their eyes met it was like being punched with his handsomeness.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I haven’t kissed you yet.”

  Alison glanced around. They were in the chilly shadow of the mountain, on the far western side. A thousand-foot drop greeted her on one side and a rock wall slick with foggy condensation on the other. It was so not the place for kissing.

  “Maybe once we get down from here. Maybe.” She couldn’t keep the excitement from her voice.

  Michael walked the cliff face with a jaunty step, whistling some song that Alison could only guess the tune of. He was a truly awful whistler. Occasionally he would stop and smile and wave at the promontory of Rook’s Roost, like it was an old friend he’d seen across a party. After the third such stoppage, Alison had to ask what he was doing.

  “Are you practicing saying hello to someone? You look mental.”

  “We’re being watched. I’m trying to be friendly. I really don’t want these dudes to get the wrong idea about us.”

  “What are they, like some backwoods hillbilly clan?”

  “Nah,” Michael said. “They’re just old-school shifters. They believe in keeping away from normal people, doing their own thing. Just because they live out here on their own, don’t assume they’re uncultured. These ravens are more like some, what do you call it, survivalist group? Preppers? They have all these ideas about the end of the world and they have enough supplies cached away to live on their own for centuries. They’re a bit like a cult and a bit like some old royal family in a forgotten country.” He shrugged and Alison noted—not for the first time—that his wide, strong shoulders were wider and probably stronger than the path under their feet. “It’s hard to explain. They have their own thing going on and we leave them in peace, but occasionally the younger ones come into town and cause trouble. So most of our town’s impressions of these guys are pretty heavily colored by the teenagers just acting like teenagers.”