Eventide of the Bear by Cherise Sinclair
“Emma, you’ve met my littermate, Ryder, aye?” When she nodded, Ben started to put his hand on the girl’s shoulder and stopped. “This is Minette.”
The cub was shy. Very, very shy. Oh, Emma knew the feeling. Rather than forcing the cubling to engage in conversation, Emma simply smiled.
After an uncertain look, first at Ben, then Emma, the girl returned her attention to the pile of freshly picked peas in front of her. With remarkable concentration, she pried open a pod and picked out the peas one by one.
Emma smothered a laugh. She’d done the same as a child during her frequent escapes to the gardens. No food tasted as fine as garden peas. In the same way, the time spent with the elderly, wizened gardener had nourished her soul.
“We’re having chicken, mashed potatoes, and salad for supper,” Ben said. “Sound all right?”
Her mouth was watering from the smells emitting from the oven. Aside from what she’d scavenged, she hadn’t enjoyed cooked food in three years. No matches, no pots, no salt. “Wonderful. What can I do to help?”
“Nothing.” When she narrowed her eyes at him, he held up a hand. “Sorry, should have known. How about you cut up the vegetables for the salad?”
“I’d love to.” Her whole day brightened. Her mother had never let her in the kitchen.
The cook can handle it. A Cavanaugh doesn’t do menial labor.
This Cavanaugh was happy to do anything she could to help. “Just give me a knife and whatever you need chopped.”
The other male eyed her with an awfully cynical gaze. What was he thinking—that she’d sneak extra bites when no one was looking? Or maybe he didn’t trust her with his cubling.
Despite being the most stunning male she’d ever seen, he apparently had the sociability of a wolverine.
Ben placed a knife, cutting board, and a mass of cleaned carrots in front of her and returned to preparing the rest of the salad at the counter.
After emptying the last pea pod, Minette started watching Emma, obviously wanting a carrot. As soon as Ryder looked away, Emma rolled over a cut-up piece.
The girl popped the carrot in her mouth.
At the crunching sound, Ryder turned. By the Mother, what a worried stare. He really didn’t trust Emma, did he?
She glanced at his brother.
Ben winked.
Bouncing slightly, Minette inched her fingers forward on the table, seemingly unwilling to ask for more.
Emma waited until Ryder returned to his potatoes. She teasingly waggled a carrot piece over the tiny fingers before setting it in the child’s hand.
Minette’s mouth opened, but no laugh emerged. No sound at all. In fact, had Emma ever heard her speak?
“Um.” Emma frowned at Ben. “She doesn’t…”
The other male answered. “Hasn’t for about a year, apparently.”
“Oh.” Although Minette was obviously related to the brothers, the apparently implied she was a recent addition to the household. “She hasn’t lived with you long? Where is her mother—your mate?”
“Minette has been with me about a week.” Ryder’s mouth compressed into a straight line. “Her mother isn’t here.”
Emma couldn’t read him. Was that grief? Had the mother died?
When he gave his daughter a worried look, Emma saw the child was sucking her thumb, her gaze down. Yes, the mother must have died, or Minette would be with her. Males didn’t raise cubs otherwise.
No wonder the two males appeared at a loss with the cub.
“Hey, Minette,” Emma whispered.
After a second, the cubling lifted her head.
“I’ll give you a carrot for how many years old you are.” Thank the Goddess that children diverted easily.
Interest dawned in the big hazel eyes.
“Are you two years old?” Emma held up two fingers and got a headshake no. “Or three years old?” Three fingers.
No.
Emma added another finger.
A flicker of a smile appeared. A tiny nod. Using her other hand, Minette arranged four small fingers in return.
“Very good, sweetie. You’re a big girl, aren’t you?” Emma grinned when the thin shoulders straightened proudly. “Four years old means four carrot pieces.” Counting one by one, she set each slice in front of the girl.
Ryder made a grumbling noise deep in his throat—no, he didn’t trust Emma at all—but his expression also revealed pride and worry. Maybe her opinion of him had been hasty. What would she have given as a child to have a father so involved in her care?
Laughing, Ben tugged on her braid. “I’d better remove those carrots before you give them all away.” He swiped the pieces into the salad bowl, leaving a couple behind.
Emma immediately shared them…with her new cubling friend.
Chapter Nine
‡
THAT WEEKEND, BEN walked into his office in the octagonal tower. His feet dragged as if his father—Arnold—had sent him to cut a switch to be punished. Damned if he wouldn’t rather be whipped than have to fill out invoices.
Ignoring the piles of paperwork, he stood in the center of the octagonal room and took in the view. The tall windows on the four front-facing sides looked out toward the white-topped western mountains. The descending sun had silhouetted the peaks in gold.
By the God, what he’d give to be roaming the forest now. The cool evening wind would sweep off the glaciers and carry a brisk hint of snow. Birds would be chirping sleepily, and pixies would retire to their hollows…before the owls came out to hunt. Before bedding down for the night, deer and elk would visit their favorite watering holes.
Ben agreed. An hour sipping an icy brew and shooting the bull with friends at the tavern made the day’s labors worthwhile.
Eventide was a special time.
Unfortunately, rather than a wilderness run or a trip to the tavern, he’d be doing paperwork. Fuck.
He heard the thud of Ryder’s boots in the great room and heading closer. The thumps stopped, and from the doorway, his brother regarded the room silently.
Paperwork buried the heavy walnut desk, drafting table, and bookshelves. Piles of bills were mixed with invoices, forms, requisitions, and payroll statements. “There’s a mess.”
“You got a talent for stating the obvious,” Ben countered sourly. He leafed through the papers on the desk, hoping to find the school addition specs.
“You used to have a talent for staying on top of things.”
Yeah, well, back then, Ryder’d been around to help out.
But blaming his brother for the mess wasn’t…completely…fair. “The business doubled over the past couple of years. You know those customizations I’d started putting into shifters’ houses?”
Ryder nodded.
“Got real popular. The local shifters alone keep me swamped with jobs.” Ben found a bill he’d forgotten to send out and set it on another pile. “The number of hellhounds has increased in the territory, which means more patrolling for cahirs. In addition, out-of-territory cahirs are coming here to learn from Shay and Zeb how to kill hellhounds. I help with the training.”
“And now the Cosantir’s dumped an injured female in your house.”
“Yep. I don’t have enough hours in the day. Paperwork is low priority.”
“Got it.” Ryder leaned against the doorframe. “Want help?”
“From you?” The memory of long-held pain edged Ben’s voice. “Seriously? Haven’t we wandered this trail before?” The rancor in his kneejerk response was a surprise.
Ryder stiffened as if he’d been knifed, then his expression changed to resignation. And guilt.
Ben opened and closed his hands as if the gesture would release the bitterness accrued over the years. Dammit, he’d missed his brother. What was he doing?
It’d been bad when they were separated at five. Reuniting at twenty, they’d traveled the country, brawling, mating the females, and learning about each other.
In Siskiyou Territory, Ben turned cont
Ryder preferred smaller projects—the woodworking inside a home, building furniture, fireplace mantels, railings. He’d apprenticed with a master craftsman—and added on accounting classes for fun. By the God, fun?
But they’d both been happy…or so Ben had thought.
However, the discovery he’d killed his mother in childbirth knocked him sideways. And then Ryder’d abandoned everything and left with Genevieve. Hurting and alone, Ben’d torn up roots and wandered north to start over in Cold Creek.
He’d been more resentful than he’d realized.
Ben shook his head. By Herne’s hide and hooves, he was an idiot, clinging to old pain like a child. “Sorry, bro.” He scratched his shoulders on the rough doormat he’d nailed to one wall. “I’ll take you up on your offer. Thank you.”
Ryder closed his eyes for a second, pulling in a breath. His cave-deep voice emerged uneven. “I’m sorry, too. When you said you wouldn’t lifemate, I couldn’t see how a male could live without a female. But leaving—I hurt you in a way I never intended.”
Yeah, he had. But the lines on Ryder’s face exposed an equal amount of pain. And Ben’s decision about never lifemating affected them both. Should have been discussed. “We both fucked up.”
A corner of Ryder’s mouth tipped up. “I missed working with you.”
“Me, too.” Ben asked the question they’d been dancing around. “Is this temporary or are you going to stay?”
Ryder met his eyes. “I want to stay. I want Minette to have a family.”
Well. Family was a good word. A fine word. “I want that, too.” He paused. “And Genevieve?”
Ryder hesitated. “She obviously didn’t care for the cub. But…she kept Minette. I don’t know why or what she’ll do now.”
Ben wasn’t surprised Genevieve was a crappy mother. Caring for a cub would take time from herself. Hopefully, she’d count Minette’s loss as a win, because he found the thought of losing the cub intolerable. “With the Mother’s grace, she’ll stay away.”
“Aye.” Ryder rubbed his jaw with his knuckles—a typical feline quirk. Did all cats groom themselves when discomfited?
Ben smothered a smile. Felt like old times.
After studying the room, Ryder straightened. “There’s not enough space for both of us in here. Got anywhere else? You also need a hell of a lot bigger filing cabinet.” His gaze lingered on the ancient computer, the very one he’d bought for Ben six years before. He gave a snort of disbelief. “And equipment upgrades.”
“I can see you’re going to be a pain in the tail.” Ben didn’t even try to conceal his grin.
Chapter Ten
‡
EMMA HAD REACHED the great room all by herself. Success. Unfortunately, she hurt so badly now she might throw up. Pain and nausea certainly shattered a sense of victory into splinters. What a way to enjoy a Sunday.
As she sat unmoving on the couch, the throbbing in her leg started to subside. Finally.
After the males spent the day setting up Ryder’s equipment in a shop out back, Ben had taken Minette to the town park, and Ryder’d left to visit the tavern.
How could she resist the opportunity to see how mobile she could be? It was time. She’d been in Ben’s house a week now, doing nothing productive and taking up his time, although he’d never indicated he resented her presence.
Ryder, however… Although he was polite, she sure didn’t get the impression he liked her. Or trusted her.
She couldn’t stay helpless.
As the aching in her leg decreased, she started to settle into the peace of the house.
The werebear had created a wonder of a “cave” for himself. The great room’s oak flooring was covered with a mahogany rug. A painting of a mountain sunset hung over the creamy marble fireplace. Tall umbrella plants in hip-high, bronze planters stood next to filled, built-in bookshelves.
Bracketed by two armchairs, a dark leather, L-shaped sectional with a leather ottoman dominated the room’s center. On each side of the room, small forests of plants basked in the sunlight from tall, leaded glass windows.
Truly, he had made himself a wilderness den.
Rattling at the front door made her jump—and hiss with renewed pain. Ben’s rumbling laugh announced his arrival. A minute later, he entered, bending over to hold hands with Minette. Looked like he’d finally succeeded in winning her trust.
Emma smiled. Watching the two big males courting the cub was heartwarming.
Ben started across the room, saw Emma, and his brows drew together.
She stiffened, feeling a chill run through her veins. Maybe she shouldn’t have come downstairs. What if he didn’t want her in his living space when he wasn’t home?
“The healer told you to stay off your leg,” he growled.
Her leg? He was upset because…he cared enough to worry about her? As the realization melted something hard inside her, she smiled at him.
His frown disappeared. As his eyes warmed, she couldn’t help seeing him as…male. So very, very male.
“I-I’m fine,” she said hastily. “I used the railing on the stairs.” Nevertheless, each hop to a lower step had jarred painfully. She nodded at the nearby wooden chair. “Down here, I used the chair as a crutch. I didn’t put any weight on my leg.”
His thickly muscled arms folded over his brawny chest. “Hopping on one leg isn’t exactly safe, li’l bear.”
Oh, he was a stubborn bear. “Maybe. But, I—” She broke off when Minette approached the sectional. “Hi, sweetheart.”
The cubling sucked her thumb and watched Emma with her big, wary eyes.
Emma dared to reach out and touch her cheek. Children. Their joy and laughter, and even squabbles, were a delight to the heart.
Minette edged forward far enough to touch Emma’s braid, stroking it with her little fingers. After a minute, she rubbed it against her cheek and leaned against Emma’s uninjured leg, still sucking her thumb.
Emma’s lips twitched. As a cub, she’d hidden her security blankie in her bed so her mother wouldn’t destroy it. How wonderful that Minette considered anything of Emma’s to be comforting.
Looking up, Emma saw Ben’s tanned face had softened with a smile.
After taking a minute to savor the simple pleasure of companions, Emma asked, “What’s in your bag, Minette?”
The child crossed the room to get her green bag from the bookcase.
“She trusted you faster than she did me,” Ben grumbled before grinning. “Good job.”
“Children like me.” Her teacher had said a bard usually possessed a charisma that drew people in. Emma rather thought her “charisma” only worked on children. The master had said he’d never met a shy bard before, either. Then again, perhaps no bards had ever had mothers as cruel as Emma’s.
Returning, Minette opened her bag to show off the brightly colored Legos and small plastic animals.
As the cubling leaned against her again, Emma pulled in a contented breath. Daonain weren’t meant to live alone, and she had been so very lonely. “Can you make something for me?”
Minette plopped down on the thick rug and dumped the contents of the bag.
“She’s an amazing builder.” Ben sat down right beside Emma. To her consternation, his weight sagged the cushions and tilted her against his rock-hard chest. Rather than moving away, he extended his arm along the back of the sectional.
She frowned up at him.
He only smiled. “I take it you got tired of being in bed?”
Every breath brought her the scents of masculine sweat and musk, faint traces of sap from the wood he’d been cutting, the clean smell of laundry soap…and a whiff of his interest.
Under his appreciative gaze, she felt small and feminine. Deep inside her, the female stirrings flickered to life.
No. No, no, no. She’d given herself a lecture after the last time this happened. No interest. T
She shoved herself up off the sectional. Too fast, she realized, as her weight came down on her injured leg. A burning pain knifed through her leg, and she whimpered.
“Dammit, female.”
Mother’s blessing, but it hurt. Like someone was stabbing the mended bones over and over with a long sword. Tears filling her eyes, she sank down, steadied by strong hands. “How stupid.” Her voice came out humiliatingly shaky.
“Shhh.” He pulled her against his big chest and held her quietly as the searing agony lessened.
With a low sigh, she sagged against him.
“It’s all right, Minette,” he said quietly. “Emma hurt her leg. When she moves fast, it hurts.”
Oh, no. She’d scared the cub. She blinked away the tears and saw the cubling studying her, little brow furrowed. When Emma managed a smile, Minette moved her toys closer and settled on the rug next to the couch.
“There, now, you worried us both.” Cupping her cheek with one hand, Ben used his thumb to stroke the wetness from her skin. “You don’t need to run from me, Emma. Am I that unlikable? Frightening?”
She’d hurt his feelings. Oh, my Goddess, she’d never meant to make him feel bad. “No. No. But I’m not… I don’t do male-female stuff. Ever.” If the Daonain had nuns, she’d enter a convent. But shifters didn’t practice celibacy—quite the reverse. Female shifters went into heat once a month, and with every full moon, the Daonain gathered and mated, and ensured their survival.
“A tad difficult to avoid male-female stuff, isn’t it?” The amusement had returned to his captivating voice. He not only had the rough, deep bass common to male werebears, but the bright descant of laughter in it was like moonlight on a dark lake.
“Well…” What could she say?
Not waiting for her answer, he stroked his knuckles along her cheek, and this time, his touch wasn’t for comfort.
The long, slow caress set desire simmering in her veins and shook her with the long-forgotten feel of a male’s hands on her body. But more than this would not—could not—be. Her mouth firmed. “Avoidance is difficult, but not impossible. Hibernation helps.”