Bear In The Rough: Book 1: Treasure Hunt (BBW Bear Shifter Romance)

by Foster, L.

  She flipped the picture over and saw a grainy image of herself; She was sitting on a large log, squinting with the sun in her eyes, a homemade paper graduation cap with crayon doodles on it topping her long, untamed red hair. She was wearing a chiffon pink dress with a bow on the front, white tights and shiny black shoes. The green of the swaying pine trees behind her only served to highlight her red hair and porcelain skin, which was splattered with freckles that, in her adulthood, would only show up on her face when she spent a day at the beach.

  She tried to remember that day, but could only make out small parts; the songs she refused to sing, and how her mother had scolded her after the ceremony, her brother throwing a fit in the crowd as she took her diploma, and her father’s lemonade. She chuckled to herself, thinking about how pointless it was to have a graduation for such young children, but as she flipped the picture over and saw her father’s perfect penmanship, she knew it was not for the children that they did this; it was for the parents. Her father had taken the time to find a place on the playground, away from the other children and take a portrait of her on her special day, and she knew she must have made him proud.

  Maggie placed the photo back in its respective pile and pulled herself up from the floor. She walked into the bathroom and splashed some cold water on her face, trying to wake herself up. It had been six months since her father had died suddenly of a heart attack at the age of 75, and she had just started to do the task of going through his personal belongings, a chore Maggie had put off for months. She had hoped that her brother could have found it in his heart to do it. He had known how close Maggie and their father’s relationship had been, as opposed to his relationship with their father which was surrounded by turmoil since they were children. Maggie had talked with him at the funeral, and told him that she didn’t think she had it in her to go through all of those memories, to relive her life without her parents there. Her brother had held her in her arms and reassured her that he would take care of everything, that he had gotten his life back on track after a long rough patch of gambling and falling in with the wrong crowd. He reassured Maggie that he had found a good job and was finding help, Maggie cried into his arms, thanking him, and told him how proud she was of him, and to be his big sister.

  When she showed up to the house earlier that day, she had expected to see the house literally packed into boxes. Through conversation with her brother she had been under the impression that moving was going along smoothly. They had agreed not to sell the old place; it was a family heirloom meant for them to share collectively in their adulthoods as a space to spend Christmases, Birthdays, and Graduations, much the way their family had used it, a place for celebration and togetherness, a place to be kept in the family.

  Maggie had driven three hours down the coast that day, looking forward to seeing her brother, and the progress on the house. She had thought that it would be good for him to have a project to do, aside from his job. It would be something to keep him out of trouble while he got his life together. Yet, as Maggie drove the block in her little red sedan, she could even see from the street that something had gone completely awry. The front door was swinging open, and empty beer cans were scattered across the porch. She pulled into the driveway and dove out of her car, barely turning it off before she closed the door. She crept through the open doorway and looked around; empty food containers, full ashtrays, empty cups and bottles with cigarette butts floating in them were scattered across the house like a minefield on her parents’ fixtures.

  Maggie’s hands shook as she reached for her cellphone in her large, brown leather side bag. She rumbled around her purse, searching endlessly for it in the abyss of papers and pens for her phone. She finally clenched onto the device and brought it to her face, her hands trembling with anger as she looked at the destruction that laid around her. She punched in the numbers on the flat screen as if she was going to be able to psychically hurt her brother with her key stroke. Brining the phone to her ear she was just greeted with his voicemail.

  “Hey! This is Andrew, you know the deal.”

  “Andy,” Maggie spoke into the speaker, her voice shaking, “You need to call me back NOW, I’m not saying it was you, I love you and I know you’re doing well, maybe we had a break in. Either way you have to call me back as soon as you get this. I mean it Andy, no messing around.”

  She hung up the phone and threw it back in her bag. She took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes, Maggie had always been a punctual and self-resilient girl, even as a child, however this one incident, the sight of seeing her childhood home becoming some kind of party haven, and not what her father had wanted, weakened her almost to her knees.

  Maggie pulled back the tears and took deep breaths. She walked over to the pantry and drew out a box of plastic garbage bags and began filling them with the rubbish that was left behind. There were coaster stains left on the driftwood table her father and her had built in her late teens when they went on an excursion to the coast one weekend. The house seemed to breath with memory itself, every particle of it becoming alive with memory as she cleaned up the destruction around it. In the distance, she could hear the ebb and flow of the waves of the ocean that could be seen just beyond the back patio.

  Her father had built the place itself in his thirties before her and her brother came along. The piece of California, beach-front, property had been a wedding gift to her mother from some strange wealthy aunt who seemed to come out of the woodwork at the most unexpected times. Her parents had been ecstatic with the gift, and had spent their honeymoon not in some tropical dream-land, but rather walking on the beach that Maggie would grow up knowing as her back yard. She remembered her father, and how he was always up to something with the house, making constant repair and upgrades, adding new fixtures where he could find there. It was by no means a palace, especially for California’s standards, but it was her palace. To see the place in such a state of disarray, knowing that someone had done this to a place she loved almost as much as she had loved any other human in her life, made Maggie almost want to collapse in upon herself like a dying star. She held back the tears as she dumped some horrible, pre-mixed cocktail in a red, solo-cup down the sink, letting the drain catch the half smoked cigarettes.

  “Just a couple of kids having their kicks,” she said to herself, “just a few kids having a party in a house they heard was abandoned, you were a rebel one day too weren’t you?”

  She laughed to herself, “No you weren’t.”

  She calmed her nerves by thinking about seeing her brother, she was looking forward to see him doing well. He had recently bought into a company, and according to his E-mails was doing quite well. He was doing contracting work outside of Las Vegas, which was a little discerning given his past love of liquor and cards, but he had sworn up and down that he didn’t go into the city, that he knew himself too well to put himself in that position. Maggie smiled as she grabbed for the broom and began sweeping up some shattered glass off of the Marble kitchen floor. She was so proud of Andy, how mature he had become, how strong he must be to know his demons and know how to avoid him. He was only 2 years younger than Maggie herself, but to her this spoke volume as to how mature he had become, he was almost acting like he was older than her.

  The sun had begun to set by the time Maggie had restored the house to its prior beauty; she mopped the floors and vacuumed the rugs, making seem like there had never even been any adolescent banger there in the first place. As she was cleaning she had noticed that more than a few things had gone missing; a few power tools from her father’s garage, some of her mother’s jewelry, a couple antique vases, just the random odds and ends that would be easy to sell at a pawn shop on the other side of town for a quick dime. She tried to not let any of this bother her; she had taken most of the precious items with her back to her apartment in northern California not shortly after the funeral. Yet, it was enough to set her teeth on edge, knowing that some people had come in and blatantly disrespected her home.

/>   “Kids these days,” Maggie whispered to the wall as she set her large, leather bag down in her parents’ bedroom, and began to sort through the boxes of photos.

  It was around midnight when she finished with the last box of pictures. She sat on the rug stretching her legs out and elongating her back making her joints pop. She yawned and tightened the large, red bun of hair that adorned the top of her head. She pulled her mother’s old, knitted shawl over her bare shoulders and got up to close the large windows that sat on either side of her parents bed. She collapsed onto the soft mattress and buried her face into the quilted comforter. She inhaled deeply through her nose, taking in the bouquet of her parents. She could still smell the saltwater and sand that always clung to her mother, her soft blond hair being riddled with the rough grains. She could smell her father; the scent of oil and freshly chopped wood had always followed him around no matter how many times he had swum in the ocean that day. She let her mind become full and heavy with the memories of her yester year. She listened to the waves of the ocean until sleep pulled her in with the rolling tide.

  Chapter Two

  Maggie sat upright at the kitchen counter as the golden, California, morning, sun poured in through the large bay windows. Streams of light danced off of the rich mahogany floor of the living room, giving it an almost red appearance. Stretching, she arched her back and cracked her finger while checking the clock. It read 9:45, her brother was due to be at the house by 11. It was slightly worrisome that he had not bothered to call her, and would only communicate through what seemed to be swiftly written E-Mails. He had explained that he really couldn’t find the time to talk to her over the phone, that he had a huge project he was working on and his hands were full.

  Don’t worry big sista! The last E-mail had read. I know you worry, but I’m fine! Just super busy, you go hunker down at mom and dads and I’ll be there 11 O’clock like we planned, try not to get into too much trouble…Not without me anyways. All of my Love-A.

  She had read this E-mail multiple times, as if she could spot a lie or falsity through electronics, as if he could have encrypted something. She just thought she would see for herself when she got a good look at him. She had not seen him since the funeral, and he was in pretty rough shape. She could tell he had not slept in days, and had been partying way too hard. He was scruffy and his tie had come undone, he kept a far off look in his eyes throughout the ceremony, as if he couldn’t focus them. She knew that he had every reason to be upset, he had loved their family just as much as she did. But, the way he had not come home for Christmas that year, and the tone of subtle sadness whenever she spoke about him.

  “You know Andy,” Her father had said, his voice shaking, “He figures it out, always has always will. He’s a smart boy, no reason for you to worry, love.”

  She could tell that her father was holding back near tears, and that he was just as worried as she had been. Yet, her father always wanted to be the strong one, and always had, so she granted him peace of not discussing her brother’s affairs.

  It was the week before her father had passed when she finally heard from Andy. His voice sounded rough and he talked at a mile a minute, asking questions before she even had the time to answer them. When he finally got to the bottom of what his phone call was about, it was exactly what she had expected; Money. He had blown a big bet and lost all of the inheritance their mother had left behind. Said he saw guys lurking outside of his apartment every night, someone had slashed his tires, and he knew he was being followed. Resentfully, Maggie Western Union-ed her brother nearly all of her savings, about $50,000 her mother had left her, and begged that her brother use it wisely. She explained that this sounded not just like a stroke of bad luck, but this could be a matter of real life or death.

  “These aren’t just some petty games you play for peanuts, Andy!” She scolded him, she could hear the sound of traffic and loud voices on his end of the phone, and it sounded like he was not in the best neighborhood. “I want you to come straight home after this Andy, you pay these people and you go to dads, Deal?”

  Andy had agreed and hurried off the phone to collect his great bounty. She had wondered if she had made the right decision; But what else was she to do? She couldn’t not send him the money, if her brother wound up in a river she would never have been able to forgive herself. If he was lying and was just looking for more money to gamble and do dope, how would she know? And she couldn’t say no, he knew she had the money and an OK desk job at a production office. There was no way out, so she did what she though was best and then cut loose.

  “Please make better choices, Andy,” Had been the last word she had said to her brother in person as they embraced in front of the house the night of the funeral. He was on his way to Vegas for the job he had been talking about, and explained to her that as soon as he was on his feet again, he was going to pay her back.

  “It’s not the money I worry about, Andy, it’s you, your life and your choices.”

  He brushed her off and tried to smile as she held back the tears. She never could have foreseen him becoming what he was when they were children, he was always so bright. But, aren’t we all?

  She plugged away at her computer and poured over the coffee-stained stack of papers that sat to her left, their edges rolled and crumbled. She thought that while she was here she might as well make another copy of her script. Who knows who you will meet on the streets of California, she thought to herself. You don’t want to be seen with this rag, no one in their right minds would ever take you seriously.

  She had been working on a movie script for the past two years. It was no longer a just a pet project anymore, it had become a part of who she was, a way she identified herself as a human being. She had fantasized about meeting some big-shot producer when she laid her head down to sleep at night. She dreamed that he or she would stumble across her, and instantly notice a spark.

  “This girl,” They would say, shaking their heads as she got up to get her Oscar at the Academy Awards, “I don’t know what it was,” The producer would tell reporters at the after party when they asked him about her success,” but I could just tell as soon as I met her, that Maggie Anderson just had it.”

  She had, in complete, rewritten the movie a total of twenty times. She felt bad about her perfectionism, and the amount of wasted paper, but she knew she wasn’t going to destroy the rainforest perusing a dream.

  The movie she was working on was an Indie-romance-dark comedy about the end of the world. It was gritty and true to life, according to her standards, and she gave a unique quality to each character, so much so that it had begun to feel like she was closer to the people she had made up in her head than the people in real life.

  Maggie hit the “Print” button on her computer screen and she heard the machine whir to life.

  “Well, that’s a first,” She mumbled to herself as she lifted her coffee to her lips and sipped, amazed that the clunky, old, machine still worked, none the less on the first try.

  She glanced over at the small, flat screen, television that sat on the counter next to the coffee maker. She had CNN on all morning as background noise, it was the same new as always; fire here, war there, these people are mad and tired, these other people are angry because the other people are mad and tired, same old, same old. She picked up the remote and turned on the weather channel, they were calling for clear skies all day with a high in the mid-eighties, perfect beach weather. She checked the time as she heard the last of her script fall out of the machine; 11:15, the microwave read. She picked up her script and shuffled the papers, trying to aligned the edges as she walked over to the stove, hoping the time on the microwave was wrong. 11:18 the neon green numbers yelled. She pounded the thick stack of paper on the counter, and rolled her eyes.

  “Andy...” She grumbled.

  She walked into the office off the side of the kitchen and grabbed a large envelope, slipping her script inside, still hot from it printing. She sat back at her chair and slipped t
he envelope back in her leather bag beside another worn copy. She picked up her phone and checked to see if she had any missed calls or messages, anything to tell her what her brother was up to. Nothing, no e-mails, texts, messages or calls. She sighed as she scrolled through her phone, she had Andy listed in her phone as “The Candy Man,” an old childhood nick-name she had given him on account of him getting caught selling his Halloween candy on the playground in third grade. Something that had appalled the teacher, and sent her family onto the brink of hysteria with laughter when they could talk about it privately.

  “You, Andy,” Her father had said laughing as he slapped the steering wheel and drove away from the parent-teacher conference, “you do know how to take care of yourself, that’s my boy.”

  She pulled the phone to her ear; straight to voicemail.

  “Andy, I know it’s only 15 minutes, but you’re still late and it worries me when you don’t pick up my calls. I hate to be a nag, but I’m going to keep on calling you until I get an answer. I love you jerk-face, please pick up or call me back, I’ll be next to my phone.”