Lumberjack Werebear (Saw Bears Book 1) (6 page)

Brighton was already lounging in the hillbilly hot tub, and Bruiser was leaning against the back of the truck, talking animatedly with a beer in his hand. “You want one?” he asked as she approached.

“Brooke’s a lady,” Kellen said as he came around the other side. “She doesn’t want a beer.” He hauled a giant box of wine on top of the truck and poured her a glass of sweet red into a Dixie cup.

She would’ve rather had the beer, but she smiled her thanks and took the wine. And after the first few sips, it wasn’t that bad. God, they were so cute. It was funny seeing what these gruff men thought ladies wanted and needed. These big burly guys were killing her with how sweet they could be.

“Here, let me,” Tagan said from behind her, so close, she could feel his breath on her ear. She jumped, but relaxed as he pulled the robe from her shoulders, then offered his hand to help her into the back of the truck.

His hungry eyes ravished her slowly, and an approving smile ghosted his lips. “Damn, girl.”

It shouldn’t have sounded like a compliment, but the way he said it, her confidence surged. Kicking off her flip flops, she lowered into the make-shift hot tub with Brighton. Dear goodness, it felt so good on her stiff muscles. Her body hadn’t been acclimatized to hiking through the woods like she had last night, but this made up for it.

She almost spit out a gulp of boxed wine when she saw what Kellen was propping up on the side of Brighton’s mobile home. One of her paintings had been stapled to an old board of plywood.

“What are you doing?” Her voice was pitched high. “That’s my painting.”

“And it’s a really good painting,” Tagan said. “I mean, it’s amazing.”

The men around her agreed, mumbling and nodding their heads.

“The man in the painting is a dick face, though. Here.” Tagan handed her a set of warn darts.

She stared in horror at the sharp metal glistening in the setting sun and the fragile red and blue flights attached to the ends, shaking in the breeze. “What do you want me to do with these?”

Tagan jerked his head toward the oversize painting. It was one she’d done in black and white with a red slash mark across the middle of her attacker’s face. “There’s your board, Brooke. Dart the shit out of that douche-wagon so we can have a turn.”

Connor came sailing over the edge of the bed, splashing them all, and Haydan, Denison, and Bruiser followed. The tub was getting ridiculously crowded, but they didn’t seem to care. They splashed and laughed, all shirtless and layered with muscle. She heaved a sigh, disturbed that apparently the whole damned trailer park knew about Markus Sanger, the evil man who ruined her life. The moment should’ve felt serious and suffocating, but instead, the rough-housing and chaos around her took the sting off her painting on display.

“Like this,” Denison said, pulling a dart from her outstretched palm.

He chucked it at the board and hit Markus right in the emotionless eye. She had to admit, it did feel nice seeing it there, hanging out of his pupil.

“I’ve never thrown a dart before,” she admitted.

“Stand up,” Tagan said without hesitation.

Unsteadily, she did as she asked, the waves from the others lapping against her calves. Tagan pulled his shirt over his head, exposing the tattoo that had peeked out from under his sleeve earlier. It was an intricate tribal rendition of some sort of large animal. A bear, perhaps.

He was all cut biceps and rippling abs, and perfect strips of muscle arced over his hip bones. Curious scars covered his defined pecs, and Brooke had to make an effort to clack her mouth closed. Holy hell balls, Tagan was ripped.

Kellen was passing out beers to the boys, so thankfully they didn’t seem to notice her body was practically begging her to tackle the man. He pulled himself up on the oversized wheel and waded through the water until he stood just behind her, jeans still on and clinging just right to his lean legs.

“Like this,” he said, wrapping her fingers around the dart. “Bring it back here, then let it go here.”

She did and the dart arced through the air and bounced off the board.

“Good. Harder, and you would’ve been right where you want to be.” Tagan leaned over her shoulder, and his eyes became hard, fierce. “Let that fucker have it, Brooke.”

Wide-eyed, she swiveled her head back to the painting. Clenching her teeth in determination, she drew back and threw it as hard as she could. The dart landed on Markus’s nose.

“Ha!” she crowed, then covered her mouth.

“Yes!” Kellen said approvingly.

“Good, woman,” Tagan said, his voice low and gravelly.

Confidence filled her chest, and she downed the Dixie cup then handed the empty to Kellen. He grinned and refilled it as she blasted another one at the board. Then another. Bruiser brought them back to her when she was out, and by the third round she felt awesome. She felt empowered. She felt relieved that all of these men here knew this man had done something awful to her, and she wasn’t harboring this dirty secret anymore.

She felt free.

Her eyes filled with stinging tears as the boys cheered after every good hit she made, and when her arms sagged with the relief of it all, Tagan spun her and yanked the bandage from her neck.

“This,” he said, holding up what had been hiding her scar, “is gone now. You earned that scar—survived it. Own what you lived through, Brooke.”

She raked her gaze down the curious scars that crisscrossed the taut skin over his chest.

Tagan’s eyes were hard and serious as he allowed her to look at him. “We all have them. Ain’t no shame, woman.” He nodded his chin and held out his hand. “My turn.”

She gave him a grateful smile and handed him the darts. Then she sat down and accepted the newly filled Dixie cup Kellen handed her. She cheered and drank with the rest of them as these crazy, wild men blasted darts at her attacker’s image.

A week ago, if someone had told her she’d be sitting in a hillbilly hot tub with a bunch of sexy, shirtless lumberjacks, chucking darts at one of her paintings and smiling harder than she had in months, she would’ve told them they were crazy.

And as Tagan settled in beside her and squeezed her hand, the warm water lapping at their knees as they made room for Kellen, she looked around at all the smiling faces. At the beer bottles that tinked together when someone told a funny joke and the soaked work jeans with holes in the knees when someone stood up to take a turn at the dart board.

Brooke smiled at the importance of this moment.

Meredith had known exactly what she was doing when she sent her here.

“You look happy,” Tagan said. He sipped his beer and watched her.

Connor watched her, too, from across the fire, but his attention seemed more possessive. She’d caught Tagan staring at her often tonight, but in his eyes, adoration pooled in the deep blue color. The man could warm her with just a look. He’d been doing it all night.

The boys were currently comparing the long arm of a machine called a processor to their dicks. The night was full of dirty jokes and laughter, but she couldn’t seem to stay in the conversation anymore. Her attention kept drifting to Tagan. He’d cooked for them, then gone out of his way to make sure she had everything she needed. He didn’t know it, but she’d seen him shake his head at Kellen as he prepared to offer her more boxed wine.

He wasn’t controlling about it, or abrasive, and she knew if she wanted, she could have more wine. But she’d had a dizzy spell earlier, and Tagan had steadied her, looking worried, then made sure Kellen didn’t pressure her to finish the box on her own. She’d sobered up over the past couple of hours, but she still wasn’t ready for bed. It was late, ten o’clock at least, but it was so nice to just sit here, listening to potty talk, with the laughter of her new friends as medicine for her soul. It helped that Tagan had taken an old lawn chair right beside hers.

Brighton sat down across the fire with a beat up old guitar and started strumming a song she recognized from the radio. If she had any kind of voice, she’d hum along, but as it stood, she couldn’t hold a tune. Denison, however, could.

He sang a strong, clear baritone with that thick, country accent of his, and Brooke propped her feet up on an overturned log in front of her and relaxed into her plastic chair. The boys grew quiet, settling in as Denison hit the chorus. Conversation faded to an occasional murmur as the boys nursed their beers and stared at the fire in the middle of them all. Brooke looked up to the sky, suddenly yearning to see the stars she’d seen last night. The ones that looked radiant in the mountain sky.

“You want to go up there?” Tagan asked.

Brooke rolled her head toward him and smiled. “How’d you know?”

“That place calls to me, too. You can’t see it as well from here. The firelight and smoke pollute the view of the sky.”

Shyness crept over her, dragging heat into her cheeks. Leaning over, she whispered into his ear. “Will you come with me?”

Tagan’s breath hitched, and he hesitated before he answered. She thought he would say no, but instead, he grabbed her hand and helped her up, then led her around the outskirts of the circle.

Connor’s cold eyes followed them. Brooke couldn’t look away from him as the firelight reflected strangely across his face. They looked like the eyes of an animal illuminated by high beams at night on the side of the road. A chill rippled across her skin, causing a wave of gooseflesh over her arms.

“Don’t mind him,” Tagan said.

“You know the rules, Second,” Connor said. “I challenged. You can’t touch her until Jed gets back.”

Tagan pressed his hand against the small of her back and guided her away from the campfire.

“Why does he call you Second? And what did he mean about he challenged you?”

“Nothing you have to worry about,” Tagan said, his voice hardening.

“Okay, but you know my entire ordeal, and no one will answer my questions here. You all speak in some secret code, and I get the distinct feeling I’m the only one here who is left out of the loop.”

Tagan dropped his hand from her back, and she knew she’d pushed him too far. The rest of the trip to his favorite place on the mountain was quiet. Uncomfortable quiet—the kind that pressed weight onto her shoulders and made it hard to breathe.

She came through the tree line into the mountainside clearing first. The stars were just as stunning tonight as they were last night. The wind was harsher here, and she rubbed the sleeves of her jacket to conjure warmth back into her arms.

“You’re right,” he said. “You told me everything, and I haven’t shared much with you. It’s not fair. Ask me something.”

She wasn’t brave enough to turn around. Not yet. Instead, she gave her question to the wind. “What does Meredith mean to you guys? Every time I’ve mentioned her, there is a reaction, but for the life of me, I can’t tell if it’s good or bad. I want to know why she sent me here. The real reason, not just the bull caka excuse she gave me over the phone.”

His hands slid up her arms and rested on her shoulders where he gently squeezed. “Meredith is my mother.”

“What?” she said, spinning. “Your mom? Meredith James is your mother?” She couldn’t help the disbelief in her voice. She tried to find any similarity between the tall, stoic, gray-haired beauty and Tagan. “But you don’t look anything like her.”

He laughed a surprised sound, and it echoed off the mountains. “I took after my father.” He shrugged his shoulders, as if his jacket had grown too tight. “My mom says I’m the spitting image of him.”

“Where is your father? I’ve never seen Meredith…I mean, your mom with anyone.”

“He died when I was a kid. I don’t remember him.”

“Oh.”

Hurt slashed through his eyes in the moonlight before he composed his face again.

“Listen,” she said, feeling like grit. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t know. I don’t remember much about my dad, either.” God, she was rambling, and she definitely hadn’t meant to let that little jewel slip out. “I mean, he isn’t dead or anything. He’s just a prick.” She scrunched her nose up. “But at least I got to know him well enough when I was younger to know he’s a prick. What I’m trying to say is I was raised by my step-dad. My mom married a nice man, who took me in when my mom decided to make like my real dad and bail on parenting. I’m going to stop talking now.”

“I think it’s cute when you get all chatty like this. I learn a lot about you. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry your real parents were pricks. Where does your step-dad live?”

“In Denver where I grew up, but sometimes when I have a show, he drives to boulder to see it.”

“He sounds like a good man. A good dad.”

“He’s the best.” Just thinking about him spiked Brooke’s emotions. If he hadn’t taken her in, she didn’t know where she would’ve ended up. Probably nowhere good. “Dad was working full-time, trying to make a life for us, and he still found time to take me to art classes after school. It’s all I wanted to do was paint. He even paid my tuition to get a fine arts degree in college, even though he didn’t have two pennies to rub together. And never once did he tell me I should be a doctor or lawyer or anything. He always told me I was good enough to make a career in painting if I put my heart into it. Why did Connor call you Second?” She sat on a giant, gnarled pine tree root and waited.

“Because that’s what I am to our crew. Second in command.”

“Who’s first?”

“Jedediah Mosley. You’ll meet him. We all call him Jed.”

“And Connor wants to challenge you for second in the crew. What do you have to do to win?”

“Beat the shit out of him. Sorry, Brooke, but you don’t want to hear about that part. Best you stay far away from that chaos when it goes down.”

“What did he mean, you can’t touch me?”

Tagan sat down and leaned up against the towering pine beside her. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“I’ve been saving them up.”

“Neither Connor nor I can touch you until the challenge is through. And that challenge can’t happen without Jed present.”

“And what if I touched you?” Her mouth had gone off on its own and gotten entirely too bold. The lingering buzz from the boxed wine was probably to blame, but tonight, she wanted to be reckless and break stupid rules made up by silly boys.

He drew his gaze slowly to her. He looked troubled and inhaled a long breath. “If you touch me, the rules go out the window for me. Know that before you start teasing, woman.” His voice had gone gruff and gravelly, and she closed her eyes to fully enjoy the sound of him.

She scooted closer and poked his leg with an extended finger. “Touch.” Sliding a little closer, she bumped the side of his arm with hers and said again, “Touch.”

A deep chuckle rattled from his throat as he leaned his head back against the tree and stared at the starry sky above them. “Come here.” He lifted his arm over his head and drew her against his side.

Brooke hadn’t realized how cold she was until his warmth blanketed her. Reveling in the feeling of utter safety, she snuggled in close.

“Touch,” he whispered, looking down at her. His smile faded from his face as he watched her.

A low, vibrating sound rattled from his chest as she wrapped her arms around his taut waist. She pressed the palm of her hand against his breastbone. The sound stopped, and she frowned. “Why do you do that?”

He looked at her for a long time, as if he was debating telling her everything he’d ever known. He was right there, on the edge of admitting something important—she could feel it.

When he drew away from her touch, it cut straight to her middle. A flare of anger expanded in her chest, and she threw a leg over him and straddled him, insuring he couldn’t escape.

“Brooke,” Tagan said, his voice deep with warning.

“Tell me why? What does that noise mean?” She grabbed his hands and pulled them against her hips under the waist of her jacket.

The sound rattled for a moment before he jerked his head to the side and cut it off.

She rocked closer to his hips, closer to his warmth. “Tell me what it means, and I’ll let you run away from me again.”

“That’s not what I want.” Tagan’s voice sounded uncertain and lost. “I don’t want to run away.”

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

The cords of muscle in his throat were straining with his attempt to look away from her. “Because this is a bad idea.” His lips said the words, but his hands drew her waist closer, right over his rigid erection under his jeans.

“Fine,” she whispered, pulling him close so that her chin rested on his shoulders. “Don’t look at me, but tell me what the noise you make means when we touch.”

His hands went around her, and he hugged her tightly. With a trembling sigh, he said, “The sound means I like you. It means something inside of me approves of whatever you’re doing when I make it. It means I’m content and happy…with you.”

“I like you,” she murmured, squeezing her eyes tightly closed. If he could be brave enough to tell her such things, she could share her honest feelings as a reward for him.

Tagan eased back and held the sides of her face, then leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. His breathing was ragged, unsteady. Leaning forward, he brushed his lips against hers, once, twice. Two little plucks on her lips that said he was still trying to talk himself out of going any deeper with her.

He was scared. The realization rocked her. He was just as scared of her as she was of him—of how deeply she felt for him. This was big. Important. Meredith had always said the things that scared her the most were always worth the risk.

God, she hoped she was right.

Angling her chin, she kissed him just as gently as he’d done to her. Lips moving slowly against his, she rolled her hips until she sat right in the apex he’d created by drawing his knees up behind her back.

The sound came back, throaty, content, practically a purr against the palms of her hands as she slid them down to feel. “I like that sound,” she whispered, pulling away slightly. “Don’t hide it from me anymore.”

The noise, a low growl now that grew louder as he gripped her hips and rocked her against his erection. He opened her mouth and brushed his tongue against hers. One of his hands rubbed up her back and entwined in her hair as he pulled her closer and thrust his tongue deeper into her mouth.

Holy hell balls. She’d thought Tagan was sexy before, but this? Her insides were on fire.

He adjusted the angle of her hips, and the man hit right where her oversensitive clit was pressed against her pants. Her college boyfriend hadn’t managed to find that spot in the two years they’d dated, but Tagan pressed his hand against it, as if he knew exactly what would make her come.

Tagan trailed kisses from her mouth, down her jaw, to her collarbone he exposed as he pressed her jacket and sweater to the side. “I’ll keep you warm,” he promised as he pushed her coat from her shoulders.

The butterflies in her stomach turned to dragons as he ran his fingertips under the hem of her shirt and up her ribcage. Up and down and back up again until a shiver of pleasure trembled up her spine.

And for some strange reason, despite the stiff wind, she was warm. Tagan was growing hotter by the minute, and now, when she pulled his sweater off and pressed her hands over his rigid pecs, he felt like a furnace.

“Told you,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting in a teasing smile.

Feeling braver than she had in months, she pulled her own sweater off and unhooked her bra. She wanted nothing more than to touch his skin with hers. She wanted to feel that burning warmth against her sensitive nipples. She wanted to burrow against him until she was part of him.

She wanted to feel safe.

Tagan’s eyes went wide as she shrugged out of her bra. When he slowly lifted his hands and cupped the fullness of her breasts, she rolled her eyes back at how good his touch felt. His hands were calloused from the hard labor he did to earn his living, and it contrasted against the smoothness of her skin.