Bear Sin Page 9

  “Guide me in, sweetheart.” He kissed her. Just a soft brush of lips against hers and a little taste of tongue.

  She wasn’t sure exactly what to do. But she was never going to learn any younger. She grasped him firmly with one hand and aimed him at her throbbing, soaking passage. He wouldn’t fit.

  “You take it easy, darling,” he groaned. “That’s the only one I have handy.”

  She tried again. This time his big hand spread her folds and he slipped inside as if he belonged there. This was no furious pounding, just a gentle rocking that made her feel all quivery inside. She felt an electric current running from her clit right into her butt.

  Her thighs squeezed him as tightly as they could. But he didn’t pick up his pace. If anything, he pulled back so his thrusts were shallower. Every stroke pulled at her folds and tugged at her clit and made the sensitive entrance to her vag spasm with delight. Every stroke made her heart sing.

  Overcome by sensation, she let go of his shoulders and relaxed back into the mattress. He let her feel more of his weight and spread his arms so that his hands grasped her outstretched ones. His fingers entwined with hers. His kiss tasted of man. Of love. Like her fricking fated mate. He thrust more deeply. “Come for me, sweetheart,” he begged.

  And as her whole body splintered and flew off in a million directions, she felt his hot gush gluing her back together. Briefly, he collapsed on her before rolling off and tugging her on top of his damp and heaving chest. She was such a fool. He felt like home, but he was nothing but a holiday.

  * * *

  He was still sleeping when she woke up. She slipped out of bed and found her underwear and dragged it on. She didn’t know whether to be pleased that they were so well matched in bed, or mad at herself for leaping on him as if they really were married.

  Her stupid body – her stupid heart – kept acting like he was the one. Her fated mate. As if she didn’t know better. The only reason he hadn’t insulted her today was that they hadn’t done much talking.

  This time she took the blanket with her when she went to fetch her clothes. Even though the sun had moved away from the branch, her jeans were pretty much dry. Her shirt was crispy. Only her socks were damp. She left them hanging up.

  She took the rest back inside and dressed in the bedroom with the door closed. Which was shutting the barn door after the horses had bolted. Patrick slept on even though she made a racket heating up her soup. She should go and see if she had managed to capture supper. Otherwise she would be eating more canned stew. She had a feeling her husband had never eaten dinner from a can.

  She was glad she had brought both water buckets to the river. There were so many fish in her trap that she had to pick and choose. With no refrigeration, she could keep only two. She put them in one bucket and let the others go.

  The trap she left by the riverbank. Sadly, sooner or later, some of her cousins would come roaring up the hill, howling with laughter and slapping their knees, to collect the happy couple. She wouldn’t need any more fish.

  Going back to town was inevitable. But it wasn’t what she wanted. She plunked down on a rock and thought. They would disrupt her pleasant holiday. Now that the joke was over, they would expect her to go off with her new husband as if everything was all right and the shivaree had made the match. She didn’t want to go back to French Town. She sure didn’t want to go to Denver. What did she want?

  She picked up her buckets and headed back to the cabin and her sleeping husband. He was making little bubbling noises and his eyes moved under the lids. But not even the noise she made getting the big enamel tub out of the lean-to woke him. If she was going to stay up here, she would need twice as much water. The fish would have to swim in the tub on the porch, and she would have to go to back to the creek for a bath and more drinking water.

  Patrick was still asleep when she got back with the second bucket of water. She sat on the porch steps. Sunshine poured through a gap in the canopy and she turned her face up to it. It wouldn’t last long. The crows must have agreed with her. They lined up on a dead branch to enjoy a few rays too.

  When the company showed up, the only surprise was that it was Lenny Benoit’s pickup not Logan’s or Uncle Bobby’s. He pulled up and tapped once on his horn. That was an old country custom designed to prevent you from walking in on unprepared people. Patrick slept on obliviously. She stood up and waved. When Lenny got out of his pickup he had a big duffel in one hand and a bigger grin on his face.

  “How are you doing?” He bent to give her cheek a kiss.

  “I’m doing fine. I don’t know why you didn’t stop that foolishness.”

  “Do you mean the wedding or the shivaree?” he asked.

  “The shivaree. I didn’t expect you to face down shotguns.”

  Lenny shook his head. “I had enough to do making sure they didn’t get Patrick so tangled up he never could find you.” He chuckled. “It took Joey and Gideon and Asher and Uncle Pierre, all four, to stop your Uncle Bobby from leading the whole shooting match up mountain to wake you up in the middle of the night. They had Kazoos, Aunt Sally’s washtub, whistles, and I don’t know what all else to make a real racket outside your windows. Drunker than skunks the whole boiling lot of them.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I know it’s traditional to root the happy couple out of bed while they’re trying to have a little peace and quiet on their wedding night, but Patrick didn’t arrive here till today.”

  Lenny’s grin got even wider. “I found the map your cousins drew for him. Might as well been drawn by my dog.” He produced a damp and crumpled piece of paper.

  Heather held it by one corner. “Is this supposed to be a map to tell you how to get here?” She began to laugh.

  “I reckon so. He didn’t do too bad for a greenhorn if he got here at all. Where is he?” He waved the duffel. “I brought you some clothes. Him too. Maddie packed yours. He will have to make do with mine. I didn’t like to ask Zeke, because I had all I could do last night to keep him from following Patrick and showing him the way. And I didn’t think you wanted two city boys.”

  Heather greeted this with another eye roll. “It’s not like Patrick would give a dang if my cousins thought he was a sorry, useless son-of-a-bear.”

  “I’d care. Can’t have my cousin married up to someone too boneheaded to work out how to find his own bride.” Lenny looked around as if he expected to see Patrick strolling out. “So, what have you done with him?”

  “He’s still sleeping.”

  “Well, wake him up. Tell him to put some clothes on. I’ll take you back to the Inn – or to my mom’s if you prefer.”

  Heather folded her arms across her chest and shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere. I like it here. I want to stay. You can come back in a day or two.”

  For the first time, Lenny looked uncertain. “I’ve got strict orders from Jenna. She wants to see you. She was worried when I told her how pale and faint you were yesterday.”

  She patted his arm briskly. “You tell Jenna, she was right all along. All that was wrong with me was a lack of fresh air. Ever since I came up here I’ve felt wonderful. No morning sickness. No lightheadedness. No contractions. No symptoms at all. I don’t intend to leave just yet.”

  “What about Patrick?”

  “What about him?”

  “Important fella like that – is he going to want to hang out here where there’s no running water and no food?” Lenny looked sly.

  She shrugged. “It’s up to him. I like it here. There’s water. There’s fish. I don’t say I’d enjoy it as much if it was the winter time and I had to break ice to fetch water. But it’s high summer. The blackberries are ripe. The sun is shining. I like it here just fine.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Lenny laughed so loud and so hard she was sure Patrick would wake up. But he didn’t. “Begin as you mean to go on.” Lenny slapped his thigh and started laughing again.

  She had no idea what the joke was. “You can wake him up a
nd take him with you if you want.” She wasn’t sure if she wanted Patrick to stay or not. Maybe it was better if she let him choose.

  “Nuh huh. If you stay, he stays too. I won’t leave you here by yourself. Not in your condition. Even if you say you feel better. Jenna would have my head on a plate. And I’d deserve it.”

  Lenny shuffled his feet for all the world like those young brother-in-laws of his. And then he reached into his hip pocket and brought out a small phone. “Just in case you have an emergency while you’re up here. This is my satellite phone. The one they call me on if there’s a fire.” Lenny was captain of the volunteer fire department.

  She put her hands behind her back. “We don’t need that. We’ll be fine. And if there’s a fire, folks will need to get a hold of you.”

  “I’ll just have to stay within range of the cell towers so they can get me on my mobile. But there’s no cell service up here. It’ll be safer if you can call for help or a drive down mountain when you want one. Go on, take it. In case there’s an emergency.”

  Heather watched Lenny drive slowly off. His satellite phone was in her back pocket. She took the duffel into the house and opened it. It contained clean, dry clothes. Her own jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt and underwear were in a shopping sack. The rest of the things didn’t look like the fancy duds Patrick usually wore. They looked like Lenny’s second-best working clothes.

  But Patrick’s watch was underneath inside one of a pair of soggy loafers. She took the shoes outside and stuffed them with leaves to hold their shape and set them on a stump to dry. When she went back into the house she tucked the satellite phone in the back of Aunt Marlene’s junk drawer.

  * * *

  He woke up from a dream in which he was snuggled up with his new wife. But Heather was missing from their cozy nest, and he was tangled up not with her plump and vigorous legs, but with the sheets. When he sat up she wasn’t far away. She looked up from her book but she didn’t smile.

  “Bathroom?”

  She pointed to a door beside the kitchen. “You’re in luck, there’s a commode in the lean-to.”

  There was. The chemical toilet shared the space with a humming generator. Someone had put a shallow, enamel basin of water beside the toilet. There was a ragged towel hanging on the back of the door. Despite its holes and frayed hems, it smelled clean. He washed up and rearranged his toga before he went back out.

  “Supper’s almost ready,” she said. She pointed to a black duffel bag. “Lenny brought you some clothes.”

  “I can be ready to go in a moment,” he responded.

  “He’s already gone home.”

  “You should’ve woken me.” He tried to keep from snapping. “When is he coming back?”

  She shrugged and went back to her book.

  “Didn’t you ask?”

  “I’m not in any hurry. If you want to fight about it – and it sure sounds like you do – put your clothes on first.”

  He took his dismissal as graciously as he could. He would’ve slammed the door to the lean-to, but the humid forest air had made it swell, and while it would shut, slamming it was out of the question. The clothes in the duffel weren’t his. They weren’t Zeke’s either.

  The big plaid shirt was too long in the sleeves, and the tail hung way past his ass. But at least it fit across the shoulders. He had a feeling he had done some growing after his jaunt through the woods in bear. His chest which had only needed a touchup at the salon was now covered in thick black hair.

  He scratched himself. He had never spent more than a few minutes in bear in his life. Apparently nearly twenty-four hours of bear shifting had changed him physically. It seemed to have done something to his mind as well. He just had to figure out what.

  He had to roll up Lenny’s jeans. They were old and soft and stained. His nose had told him that they belonged to Lenny Benoit. Same for the heavy socks. Dressed like a shoeless mountain man he went back out to have that fight with Heather.

  She was busy at the stove. Two big trout sizzled in a huge frying pan. She didn’t turn her head to look at him. “Are you thirsty?”

  He was. “I am.”

  “There’s water, pop, or beer. None of it’s cold.” There was no apology in her voice.

  “Where’d you get the water from?”

  “Creek.”

  “Did you boil it?” Because although he had drunk his fill of river water while he was in bear, he wasn’t so sure his human stomach could handle it.

  This time she didn’t turn around to look at him. “I’m not half as stupid as you think I am. Not even a quarter. Of course, it’s boiled.” She used her spatula to point at a plastic jug.

  “Thank you.”

  “Glasses are in that cupboard.”

  “Thank you.” He poured water. Drank it. “You want to tell me what’s got your dander up? And why you stranded us up here in the backwoods?”

  “In a minute. You go make the bed. These fish are nearly done. We can talk while we are eating supper.” She turned her back on him again.

  It didn’t take long to make up the bed. Two sheets and a blanket were all there was. The fish smelled wonderful. His stomach growled. “Mind if I look around?”

  “Not much to look at. But you go right ahead.”

  Besides the lean-to there was a single small bedroom. Two bare three-tier bunks with their skinny mattresses rolled up, a bookshelf with the ancient rejects of several generations of readers, and a rickety dresser were all there was in that room. The dresser drawers were empty.

  He found a narrow closet in the hall. A broom, a mop and another pail like the two by the kitchen counters. A plastic tub on the single shelf contained the kind of raggedy towels that in his family were reserved to wipe your dog’s feet. He put the lid back on.

  The living room he had already seen. There was nothing wrong with the construction of the cabin. Compared to those rotting raccoon hutches he had checked out, this was high living Yakima Ridge style. “Can I do anything?” he asked, not really expecting to be given a chore.

  “You can lay the table. Use your same glass. That’s mine over there. Cutlery is in this drawer.” Heather pointed with her spatula to the drawer by her hip.

  “Smells good.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice was stiff. And she smelled not ripe and welcoming as she had when they had made love, but scared and unhappy.

  Shift on a stick. His little wife was afraid of him. Not so scared that she was backing down from a fight. But scared enough that she didn’t want to have one. And if that wasn’t a working definition of courage, he didn’t know what was. “Do we get napkins?”

  “Nope. Not unless you want to go find some leaves.”

  “And we can’t even wipe our hands on our clothes – these are the only ones I’ve got.”

  As he had intended, that made her laugh. “This will be ready in a moment. In the meantime, your watch is over by the bed on that little shelf. Your shoes are out on the stump drying.”

  His handmade Italian loafers would never be the same again. Their thin soles were coming unstitched from the uppers. The right one was missing its tassel. They had never been intended for a walk anywhere but city sidewalks, let alone on the kinds of trails he had subjected them to. But he supposed they were better than no shoes at all.

  They had dried into a funny shape. But not as funny as they would have if someone had not stuffed the toes with leaves. Lenny’s socks were great, heavy working-men’s socks. The loafers wouldn’t go on over them. He carried the shoes into the house and looked around for someplace to put them where they wouldn’t trip over them.

  “Put them in the duffel and put the duffel in the bedroom.” As an afterthought she added, “Please.”

  * * *

  The fish was good. Flaky and delicate. The purslane she had found by the river had delicately flavored the trout. Of course the reason the fish was so delicious was because they had been alive moments before they were put in the pan.

  Patrick
was hungry. He was trying to be dainty. But it was obvious that he was hungry. She reminded herself that he had slept through lunch and might not have eaten since the day before. It would be better if they had their quarrel after his belly was full. He would be less irritable. And what she had to say was bound to irritate him.

  He had laid the table so they were facing one another from opposite ends. It was a long harvest table, out of some old Dupré farmhouse, intended for a group of large muscular bears to sit around. There was a six-foot span between them. It seemed like a safe distance. But she would still wait until he slowed down. She looked up from her own plate to see his eyes were on her.

  “I’m glad to see you have an appetite,” he said.

  “It’s the fresh air. I feel much better up here. Like I can breathe again.” She knew she wasn’t doing a good job of explaining. She went back to eating her canned peas and pan-fried fish.

  “You have better color too.”

  More personal remarks. “So do you.”

  He chuckled. “It must be Lenny’s clothes.”

  “It was kind of him to bring you some.”

  “Yes, it was.” He took the entire backbone out of the trout and laid it on the edge of his plate. He fished a few tiny bones out of the flesh and looked up at her again. “You finish your supper. I’m not going to ruin your appetite by squabbling at the dinner table.”

  Was he trying to get the upper hand by being the magnanimous grown-up, or was he just trying to be polite? She nodded at him. She didn’t think she was going to be able to finish her plate, but she had managed to eat much more than she had in a long time. When she set her knife and fork down on one side of her plate, he still hadn’t spoken.

  “There’s dessert,” she said. “And I can make coffee.”

  “I didn’t see a fridge.” It was a question.

  “Nope. No fridge. Uncle Bobby and Aunt Marlene usually bring up a couple of coolers of frozen things. But Logan and Elijah didn’t bless us with one.”