Craved by the Bear (Trapped in Bear Canyon Book 2) Read online

  “I don’t know about that,” she said. “Don’t you think that will impact your focus?”

  “Hm,” Rock said.

  “On top of that…” She leaned in conspiratorially. “I think Connor and his friends are planning something. No, don’t look—”

  But it was too late, Rock had already looked over his shoulder with a smirk. “Not a problem.”

  “But there’s three of them.”

  Rock shrugged. “I’ve kept bigger groups in line. Besides, they wouldn’t dare.” He rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. “I could use the stress relief if they do.”

  “Don’t be so overconfident. At least see if you can leave with Francis.” She didn’t trust Connor’s group to fight fair, and she had a bad feeling about the whole thing.

  “Eh, they’re just jealous they’re not involved in the interview process,” Rock said. “They’ll get over it.”

  “Right,” she said, unconvinced. “And how is that going?”

  Rock’s brows lowered. “I don’t know. Bleak.”

  “Why?” she asked, surprised.

  “I don’t know,” Rock said. “I think I need that drink after all.”

  “But, Rock—”

  He shook his head. “Drink. Now. The usual.”

  She sighed and poured it for him. He downed it and asked for another, which he took back to his table, setting it down and fist-bumping Francis as they switched places and Francis took off.

  Francis gave her a polite nod, and she almost called him back to tell him to stay for Rock, but there was no point.

  She gave Francis a polite nod and got another drink ready for Rock, watering it down.

  She’d let him get buzzed, but there was no way she’d allow more than that. Not with Connor’s guys looking over at him with dark eyes.

  Rock waved for the last guy at the table to join him, a man named Matt Ringer who worked at the local drugstore. He was the most average of the three, with boy-next-door good looks, sandy-blond hair, only slightly more than average muscles, and height that signaled he was half bear shifter. The other two were full, as far as she knew.

  But what did she care?

  She left Rock’s drink behind the counter, ready for when he asked for it, and got back to serving her customers, wishing there was more she could do for the ridiculous bear shifter that held her heart.

  Rock felt pleasantly and slightly drunk by the time he finished the third interview, but it only vaguely disguised the foul mood he was in.

  There was nothing wrong with any of the men, but then again, that was the problem.

  Only Harvey had been offended to find out he was one of three being considered, but the other two, while slightly amused, had taken it in stride.

  They understood how rare a female bear shifter was and what a catch Ros was. They only seemed confused about why Rock was getting involved with it.

  But Rock was a Brolin, and they pretty much got to do what they wanted in this town.

  All he could do was make a recommendation to Rosalyn; he knew that. But he wanted to try and figure out the best one before he left. He didn’t have any jobs for at least a month, unless his agent called before then. But he’d made it clear he was going on break. He felt he should at least spend some time up here after promising Riker Bear Canyon would be taken care of.

  Francis was doing a good job of it though. Maybe, at the end, he would just recommend Francis for Ros. The thought made him want to crumble the table under his fingers, and he scowled.

  “So that’s it?” Matt asked, his voice low and civil. “What happens next?”

  Rock looked over at Connor’s table. They were getting rowdy, and he didn’t like the idea of leaving before knowing where they were headed. He intended to wait them out and then make sure they headed home and not in Ros’s direction.

  He eyed Ros. “Can you walk her home?” he asked Matt. After years working with hundreds of fighters, he trusted his instincts. Matt was a good guy. A little bit too polite and well-mannered and, hell, maybe soft. But he would make sure she got home so Rock could follow the troublemakers.

  “Sure,” Matt said, looking surprised. He ran a hand through his thick, soft blond hair and looked over at Ros, and a slight blush tinged his face.

  Rock curled his hands into fists. Easy boy. “Just a walk home, mind. Nothing after that.”

  Matt raised an eyebrow. “You know, just because we’re going along with this doesn’t mean you’re the boss of us.”

  “I’ll be swinging by after I take care of some things,” Rock said. “If you want to be there when I’ve expressly made it clear I don’t want you to, be my guest.”

  Matt paled slightly. “You’re bullies, aren’t you?” he asked. “All of you Brolins.”

  Rock shook his head. He hated the term. “Nah, man. You just don’t understand what she means to me.”

  Matt sighed. “Clearly not. Okay, I’ll walk her home. Nothing else.” He folded his arms and sat back at the table. Rock motioned for him to go back to his, and he did with an eye roll.

  He was muttering under his breath, but Rock didn’t care. He raised the last of his drink to his lips and watched Ros move behind the bar, confident and smiling, handling mountain men and tourists alike with ease, and felt a warmth settle in his heart.

  Maybe he couldn’t stay here with her, but he’d take care of her. He relaxed back on his chair and let the room and its people blur around him. He saw Matt take out a book and read it at the table, saw Ros come to talk to him, saw people come in and leave.

  The hands on the clock wound around and around, and Rock’s eyes stayed on Ros, devouring her even though he had no right. He was almost to the point of allowing himself to be maudlin and sink into memories of their past and everything they’d gone through together, when Ros announced final call and started closing up the bar.

  His eyes tracked to Connor’s table. The men weren’t focused on him, but on Ros. Darkness coiled in his gut, sharpening his senses even through his pleasantly drunk buzz.

  The group stood, pushing their way to the exit, looking over with smugness at Ros and then walking into the night. Rock got up to follow them, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and resisting the urge to crack his knuckles.

  He poked his head out the door and saw them heading toward a side path in the woods, walking close together, muttering under their breath.

  If he left this second, they’d see him following, so he waited a couple minutes, trying to look casual by the door.

  At least they weren’t going in the direction of Ros’s house, but that could change, and they did have sketchy looks on their faces.

  The last customers left, and he saw Matt approaching Ros as she took off her apron. Rock swallowed his jealousy as she greeted Matt with a smile and nodded her head at what he was offering, which was hopefully just a walk home. Rock’s stomach felt like stone at the idea of it being anything more. And he really needed to get over that feeling because it was selfish and stupid, and he was going to do what was best for her if it killed him.

  He watched the two of them get ready to leave and then slipped out the door and into the dark.

  It was quiet except for the groups walking down the main road that led to most of the houses in town. Ros’s house was in a slightly different direction, but Rock was headed toward the small side path through the woods that Connor had taken.

  He stepped onto the path, which was about ten feet wide and flat, the dirt treaded down by many feet, as it was a popular walking place for tourists in the summer.

  He took a few steps forward, watching the grasses and trees sway in the moonlight. He listened closely, hearing nothing. Where was Connor’s group?

  He walked forward, trying to look casual in case he did come across them. He didn’t want to look like he was following them. He was a few dozen yards from the bar, out of sight of any buildings, when he heard rustling in the brush.

  And something… behind him?

  B
efore he could react, he felt blinding pain as someone caught hold of his hair in a meaty fist and yanked back on it.

  Old reflexes lit up in Rock as he was pulled off balance and two men, Connor and one of his friends, stepped onto the path in front of them.

  “Okay, pretty boy,” a hoarse voice whispered in his ear as he was again jerked back by his hair. “You’re gonna stop being trouble for us, or Connor here is going to teach you a lesson.”

  “Knew that hair would get you at some point.” Connor sneered, folding his arms. Then he lunged forward with a punch, and Rock ducked, pulling the man holding his hair with him.

  Connor’s punch missed, and he stumbled, trying to regain balance. The third man ran forward, aiming a kick at Rock’s gut, but Rock grabbed onto the man’s fist in his hair and twisted, pulling him around so he could absorb his friend’s kick with a grunt.

  Rock thought that would make the man let go, but he didn’t, and Rock’s eyes were beginning to water at the tension on his scalp.

  Connor was coming back toward him, and the guy who’d tried to kick him was recovering from hitting his friend, trying to find another angle.

  Rock slipped his hand in his pocket and pulled out a knife. Without really thinking about it, he reached back and grabbed his hair and sliced through it, cutting off the length and releasing himself from his assailant.

  He stood, watching hair flutter down around him with vague, detached confusion, and felt the men regrouping around him.

  One of them jumped on his back, wrapping their arms around his neck, holding him long enough for Connor to land a punch directly on Rock’s right eye, knocking him backward as pain lanced through him.

  That was it, the strike that unleashed the darkness. Rock wasn’t supposed to fight needlessly, and he’d been trying to be patient, but with his past, he was basically always a glass castle waiting for the first rock to be thrown.

  Rock let out a roar as he whirled on the man behind him, jerking out of his grip and punching him hard in the throat, making him immediately grab his neck and fall to the ground, choking.

  Rock then charged Connor, grabbing him around the waist and lifting him in the air before slamming him down on the ground and falling on top of him. They’d barely landed before Rock was swinging at Connor’s face, watching blood spray as his head knocked back and forth.

  He felt Connor’s third friend, the one who’d tried to kick him, attempting to pull him off. “Hey, come on, man. You’re gonna kill him.” Rock didn’t care. He was dead on the inside. Why shouldn’t this guy be dead on the outside?

  He’d been good at remaining in control at the Brawl, but this was different. It was three on one, and there was no one to watch them. Only darkness.

  The man put a hand on Rock’s shoulder. Poor choice. Rock turned lightning fast and caught the other man with a vicious head-butt, sending his head flying back with a gush of blood, his body following limply after.

  Then Rock turned back to Connor, studying his bloody face, wondering what to do to him next as his two friends cowered in the background.

  But as he stared at Connor, it slowly blurred to another face instead. His own, as a teen, broken and bloodied.

  The ground dropped out from beneath him as if someone had pulled it as a joke, and Rock lurched back from Connor, trying to block out the past swirling around him.

  Connor’s friends ran forward, gave Rock a look of fear and disgust, and helped their friend up, dragging him off into the night.

  Rock wanted to follow, but he couldn’t, so he dropped to a crouch, his head in his hands, trying to tell himself he wasn’t his father simply because he could do something like that.

  But he’d lost control.

  He usually worked hard to stay in control. He never lost it during the Brawl when keeping fighters in line, though he admitted to enjoying giving the beat downs when they were needed.

  But this was different. He’d lost it, felt like everything was absent inside him, and it had to be because he was here in this town, with the woman he couldn’t have, constantly reminded of what had happened.

  He shouldn’t have thought he could just come back to Bear Canyon.

  He curled in on himself, flopping to the ground in a ball as memories of a hundred beatings fell in on him. Helpless, horrible pain and the feeling that nothing would ever end. He slowly felt his body transform from the sheer stress of it, fur growing out of his skin, claws forming out of his nails.

  As a bear, he lurched to his feet, slightly more able to fight off the memories with his animal in control.

  Ros’s face came to his mind, and even though he knew he didn’t deserve to see her, he felt his body lurch forward and he couldn’t stop his bear from lumbering off in the direction of her home.

  4

  Ros was getting impatient with Matt as she tried to get him to leave so she could go check on Rock.

  Matt had been insistent on walking her home, but she’d thought it would be quick and throw Rock off her trail so she could then go follow him and make sure he didn’t get into trouble.

  But Matt was now pontificating on the finer details of running a drugstore, and she was not only bored, but beginning to be annoyed as hell.

  “I’m sorry, but I think my father needs me,” she said, knowing it was a lie and feeling a little bad as Matt’s face fell. Her father had heavily sedating night meds, and after he took them, he was out like, well, a bear. Nothing could wake him.

  “Oh, sorry,” Matt said, rubbing the back of his neck and stepping back. “I guess I’ll be getting home then. See you soon?”

  She nodded, trying to look gracious, though worry was beginning to strain her features. “I guess so.”

  She stared impatiently as Matt walked down her path and turned onto the main road. She was about to take off in the direction of the bar when she scented something familiar and smoky.

  Rock’s bear.

  She whirled to look at the trees behind the house. She ran behind the house just in time to see a large bear emerge from the darkness and collapse at her back door, morphing back to his human form. She could smell blood.

  Oh no, was he hurt? She should have shaken Matt off sooner. She should just make it clear now that she wasn’t interested in any of Rock’s list of prospects.

  He was pushing himself up on bloodied hands, and as the moonlight hit his sleek, naked body, she let herself admire the hard muscles, deep lines, and then she gasped as she saw his scars, fully revealed for the first time.

  They were everywhere, from his shoulders to his ankles. Sparse but deep, as if he’d been in bear fights his entire life, which she supposed he had.

  He looked at her and his hair fell one way, and she realized it had been cut. Her heart cracked in half as she ran forward, grabbing his arm and putting it around her shoulder, though he was too heavy for her really to help. He stood on his own and stumbled toward the door with her.

  She rummaged in her pocket for her keys and unlocked the door with shaking hands. She got him inside and dropped him on the couch, averting her eyes as she grabbed a blanket and threw it to him. He drew it over his waist and lay back, eyes closed.

  She knelt in front of the couch and looked over him, relieved not to see many injuries. The blood on his hands wasn’t his. Aside from a black eye, he didn’t look like he’d taken much damage. She should have known Connor and his friends would be no match for him.

  But what had happened with his hair?

  He let out a groan. “I’m never going to escape him, Ros.”

  “Who, Connor?” she asked, bringing over a warm, wet washcloth and dabbing at his eye.

  Rock took the cloth from her and chucked it away. “No, not Connor. My father. I beat the shit out of Connor and his friends. I shouldn’t have. They’re just losers. I should have held back. When I saw what I did, all I could think of was my father. What he did.” Rock covered his face with his hands as if he could hide from the memories.

  She pulled his hands away
and ran a hand through his hair. His face stilled as he stared at her. “What happened to your hair?” she asked gently.

  He grinned at that. “Decided it was time for a cut.”

  She patiently grabbed the washcloth again, put it in the sink, and got a new one. She brought it back, and even though he tried to dodge away, she sat on his lap, keeping him in place.

  He stirred slightly beneath her. “Not fair.”

  She dabbed at his face. “Let me take care of you. I always did before.”

  “I’m a grown man now,” he said.

  “You were then, too,” she said. “Come on. It’s the least I can do for your help in finding me a, um… suitor.”

  His eyes rose to hers with dry humor. “Happy about that, are you?”

  She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

  He caught her hand in his, and his gray eyes were as serious as a head injury. “I’d do anything for you.”

  Her eyes fell. “Except stay here.”

  She handed him the cloth to clean off his hands, but he shook his head, gently putting her aside so he could walk to the bathroom and wash off. She heard the water run and tried to calm her hammering heart as she waited for him to return.

  He sat beside her on the couch, moonlight streaming through the back window with its parted drapes, and gave her a smile. “So want to help me with a haircut?”

  “You could wait for the salon to open.”

  “And go in like this?” he said, aghast, though his eyes were twinkling. “Nah, it’s already half gone. Why wait?”

  “You still haven’t told me what happened.”

  “Is Mort in bed?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Yes,” she said. “He goes to bed early. I set out his meds with a timer before I go to work. Rest is important. Plus, it gives him more time pain free.”

  Rock handed her scissors he’d brought from the bathroom and sat on the floor in front of her while she stayed on the couch. She moved so her legs were on either side of him and felt the awkward intimacy of having his head almost in her lap as she leaned forward to make the first cut.