Boarlander Bash Bear (Boarlander Bears Book 2) (2 page)

“Thank you,” he murmured, but he was pressing his hand on his chest now, right over his heart.

“Are you okay? Does your animal hurt you badly?”

“No,” he whispered with a slow smile. “Feel this.” He reached across the table and grabbed her hand, then pulled her too hard until her palm was pressed against his taut chest.

Oh, my damn, he had a rock-hard-body, and right about now this was like fondling a granite sculpture. But under that taut exterior, Bash’s heart was pounding really fast.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

Bash released her hand abruptly and went immediately to eating. “I think it means you should say fuck those boys on the computer and be my friend instead. I ain’t smart, but I’ll make sure nothin’ bad ever happens to you.”

What a beautiful promise. Emerson gave him a slow, stunned blink as she sank back into her chair. Years ago, she’d put off her plans for a family for a man who didn’t deserve her. For a man who had wasted her time, and she wouldn’t do that again. She would order a donor sample and go forward with the hopes that she would get pregnant this month. This was just fate teasing her again. She’d learned a hard lesson before, and she was smart enough not to make the same mistake twice.

Sebastian Kane was nothing more than a speedbump on her road to happiness.

Flowers were flowers to Bash, but Audrey had given him a very specific list of plants that would do well in his landscaping. Already, he’d built a big, pretty porch off the front of his trailer and scraped the top layer of weeds clean off his lawn with the bobcat. He’d replaced it with sod so fancy he could walk around barefoot without getting any sticker burs stuck in his feet. He was bound and determined to make his home more attractive to a mate looking to raise cubs with him, and the next step on his to-do list was to put in landscaping. “Curb appeal,” Audrey had called it.

She was at work, but she’d drawn him a sketch of how to do the flower beds, which basically looked like hieroglyphics to a man who didn’t have a creative bone in his body.

Bash wiped his forearm over his sweaty brow and stared into the back of his truck. The bed was layered in plants and flowers that apparently did well in direct sunlight and would survive the harsh winters. For Audrey’s help, he would fix up Harrison’s yard next as a present for her. Clinton could keep his weeds.

Bash had picked up two pink knock-out rose bushes just because they were the color of Emerson’s cheeks the other day. Would she like a place like this?

A strange ache unfurled in his chest, and he locked his arms against the lowered tailgate. He thought about her too much, but maybe that’s what friends did. Audrey was the only female friend he’d had, and he thought about making her happy a lot, too. Maybe not as much as he thought about Emerson, though.

Bash shook his head hard to dislodge his daydreams about Emerson. Two more days, and he would have some serious potential pairings come in for the Meet-A-Mate Bash. Emerson didn’t want a man. She’d said so herself, so maybe if he found a girl who was interested back, his brain wouldn’t be so filled up with Emerson.

But…another woman wouldn’t be as pretty as Emerson. It wasn’t possible. And she wouldn’t be as funny, or cute when she laughed. She wouldn’t have her pretty, shiny, spiraled black hair or her deep dimples. She wouldn’t have gold eyes that crinkled in the corners when he said something that made her laugh. If Emerson hadn’t smelled utterly and deliciously human, he would’ve thought she was a lion shifter with those pretty eyes. And her curves were perfect, like an hourglass or a number eight. He’d had a boner the entire time he’d talked to her at the diner. Usually he would’ve just announced that out loud and taken the awkwardness out, but she only wanted to be friends, and Audrey had told him last week he needed to stop telling her his dick was bigger than Harrison’s. It was true, by at least a centimeter, but maybe girls didn’t like knowing that stuff.

He spent three hours making the landscaping on either side of the new front porch look like the scribbles Audrey had drawn, and he was sure to put the pink rose bushes right next to the sides of the porch so he could see them first thing when he left for his shift in the mornings and right when he came home after work every day. Emerson roses.

“Looks good, man,” Kirk called. He was sitting in his yard in a dingy white plastic lawn chair with duct tape on the leg and drinking a beer while he faced the sun setting behind the mountains.

Bash stood back and dusted the mulch from his hands onto his work jeans. With a smile, he took eight giant steps back until he was on the edge of the gravel road. Hooking his hands on his hips, he nodded, impressed with himself. “It looks real good.”

“Yeah, you need to get that door fixed, though.”

Angling his head, Bash stared thoughtfully at the stack of tires in his doorway. A lady probably wouldn’t appreciate having to stack those all the time. “I ordered materials from Kong’s sawmill when I was down in Saratoga, but it won’t be delivered up here for a few days.”

“Thank God,” Kirk muttered. “I’m kind of surprised a woman like Audrey moved up to this craphole.”

“Me, too,” Bash murmured. “Audrey is special, though, and didn’t have no expectations. What if I don’t find a girl like that?”

“Well, you might not find her right away, but be patient enough, and you’ll find the right mate.”

“You really believe that?”

Kirk took another swig of his beer and nodded, squinting at the sunset. “I do. You’re a good man, Bash. A thoughtful one. I don’t necessarily think there will be a mate for all of us at the trailer park, but there will be a good woman for you.”

“How do you know that? Do you have dreams like Beaston?”

“Nope. I just have an instinct that tells me you will find someone. Look what you did,” Kirk said, pointing the neck of his glass bottle at the landscaping. “You made a right pretty set-up for a woman you don’t even know yet. You’ll find her, and she’ll be lucky to have you.”

“Like Kong found Layla?”

Kirk’s smile fell from his face, and he stared at the sunset for a long time before he said, “Yeah. Layla is his family group, and you’ll find that, too.”

“But you’re a silverback. He always had you in his family group. He was okay until he found Layla.”

“No, Bash, I don’t belong in Kong’s family group. Two mature silverbacks in one crew? I’m registered to Kong’s Lowlanders, but we butt heads too damned much. It was an easy decision to come help the Boarlanders for this logging season. I don’t belong anywhere.”

“But someday you can find your Layla, and your chest won’t hurt anymore. Not like mine does.”

Kirk’s lips curved up in a smile, just at the very corners, but his eyes still looked sad and empty. “I hope so.”

“Well, I have an instinct, too, and it says you will. And I don’t want to hear that bullshit about you not belonging anywhere. You belong here well enough.”

Silence stretched between them as Kirk stared at him with a frown. Bash couldn’t tell what was going on in that head of his, but that was normal. Kirk was smart, and his brain worked faster. He could’ve been solving some long-ass math problem for all he knew, but then Kirk said, “Maybe I’ll put my picture up on bangaboarlander.com.”

Bash thought he was serious, but he winked and downed his beer. Funny monkey. But what Kirk said scratched at a memory. Emerson had said she’d sent a message to Bash on bangaboarlander, right before Dana-the-waitress had distracted him away from the conversation with cheese fries.

“Hey, Kirk?”

“Yeah, man?”

“Can I invite whoever I want to my party?”

“It’s your bash, Bash. Do what makes you happy.”

Emerson made him happy. With a grin, he bolted up the stairs and gladiator-kicked his tires out of the way, then stumbled over them and into the living room. He was a man on a mission now because Emerson had messaged him on bangaboarlander. Him. The prettiest girl he ever saw had found him online. He hadn’t looked at the hits on his profile because Willa from the Gray Backs had set up the site as a way to prank Clinton, but now he had a reason to check it out.

His shoes were muddy, but he would clean up the boot prints on his dark laminate wood flooring later. His heartbeat was racing again, just like it had been at the diner. He might not be able to talk about science shit with people, but he understood computers. They made sense, along with numbers, where people confused the toots out of him. It had always been that way. He could focus if he thought about numbers, and he could hack just about anything, which was how he’d taken the bangaboarlander site back from Willa. She still bitched about him stealing her fun, but Harrison had asked him to do it, and Bash would do just about anything for his alpha. Harrison never steered them wrong.

His office took up an entire third of his trailer, but that was necessary since he was in charge of all the Boarlanders’ finances. From 401ks to investments, he was proud that he was the go-to guy when it came to money questions. Or he had been until Clinton had chased off most of the damned Boarlanders. Still, as much as Clinton hated him, someday, he would thank Bash because, even though he didn’t know it yet, Bash was setting him up for life and an early retirement with the money he took from Clinton’s paycheck and invested it each month. He was taking care of Harrison and himself, too, and hopefully someday, Mason and Kirk would trust him enough with their money so he could make sure they were set up.

He bolted past the wall of filing cabinets to the computer desk. The trailer park had gone to shit in the time Clinton had been here, but Bash’s office was pristine. It had to be for him to be able to work undistracted in here.

He rolled his chair under the desk, and his fingers flew over the keyboard as he linked up to the bangaboarlander site and logged in, password: badwillawonka.

He groaned as the number of messages his page had received popped up. There were hundreds, and all under fake names.

Wetkitty

Bignips

Lickme

Geez. He squinted as he scrolled down the list. Emerson was a classy lady. She wouldn’t be one of the dirty names.

Lookingforlove

There. He poked the message and scrolled real quick to the bottom where she’d signed her name. Sure enough, it was Emerson Elliot.

Dear Sebastian,

Oh, goodness, that sounded formal. Uuuum, I don’t think I’m using this website right, and you’ll probably never respond with all the pretty women you probably get messages from, but I know you in real life. Or, not know you in an official sense, but I’ve seen you around town. I live in Saratoga. The first time I saw you was in the library. You were in line in front of me, right after you’d registered with the Boarlanders. You turned around and told me I smelled good and you had a really nice smile, like you meant it. I liked that you gave such a nice compliment so freely. I like to tell people the nice things I think too. You were checking out a book on what women are looking for in a man, and I liked that too. It made me think that you are possibly looking for the same thing that I am. Companionship. So, full disclosure, my cheeks are burning as I write this. I’ve never done a matchmaking site before. A part of me hopes you see it and respond, but another part of me hopes you’ll overlook me and forget the silly girl from Saratoga.

A little bit about me, in case you are interested in getting to know me. I’m twenty-eight years old and edit for the local newspaper, as well as a few others. I’m pro-shifter, but I’ve never been to a Shifter Night at Sammy’s. The bar isn’t really my scene, although sometimes I wish I was brave enough to go and just try to talk to you. I went to high school in Saratoga, but went to college out of state. I work from home and have only recently moved back here to be closer to my sister and her family, so I don’t know a lot of people yet. Anything else, just ask. I’m an oversharer, probably from hours of talking to my favorite pet plant, Spartacus. Anyway, if you read my message this far, thanks for taking the time to consider me as a match. I would love to do coffee or something, but be warned, I will be really nervous to meet you. You and the crews are celebrities around here, and I’ve never met anyone famous.

p.s. it took me three days to build up the courage to send this message.

Sincerely,

Emerson Elliot

Below that she’d listed her personal email address and phone number.

Bash read it three times because she wrote real formal, and he was flattered a smart girl like her wanted to have coffee with someone like him. But she’d also sent this before she met him, and Emerson had told him flat out she was looking for a smart man. That’s why she wanted to be friends.

As he punched her number into his cell phone, his chest started doing that achy thing again where it was hard to breathe. Reception was patchy in the park, but he had two bars if he didn’t roll his computer chair to the right. The phone rang and rang, and then his heart banged against his chest as her recorded voice came on, telling him to leave a message. She had such a pretty tone. Clear and sweet. His dick thumped against the seam of his pants, and he frowned down at his crotch. They were just friends. Friends, friends, friends.

Beeeeep
.

“I remember you,” Bash rushed out. “You smelled like tulips and vanilla at the library. I don’t have a good memory. I should’ve recognized your scent when I ate fries with you, but I didn’t and I’m sorry. I read your message. Ummm. Call me back if you want to.” He almost hung up but stopped himself. “Oh, this is Bash. From the Boarlanders. We ate lunch together the other day. I like your hair and the color of your eyes and the way your dimples get really deep when you smile. Okay, bye.”

Bash hung up and dropped the phone onto the desk. He should’ve thought it out more before he left a message. Emerson was a smart girl. He should’ve put more big words in there. Maybe he should leave her another one. No. Girls didn’t like that. The book had told him that much in chapter one before he got bored to shit reading it and returned it to the library. There hadn’t been a single picture in it.

He didn’t know how long he sat there debating whether he’d done the right thing, but when his cell phone rang, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Fumbling with the phone, he accepted the call and said, “Hello?”

No answer.

“Hello?” he asked again. His chest hurt so damned bad, he doubled over the pain.

“Hi, Bash,” Emerson said, so softly he thought he’d imagined it. But then she said, “I got your message.”

“I got your message, too. I like what you named your pet plant.” Bash frowned and shook his head. “I mean, I have a question. Well, I have lots of questions because I want to know everything about you, but I have a big question I want to ask you. Right now.”