Chapter 28
Bear
I walk into my office the next morning nearly buzzing with happiness, the sensation so different for me that I almost can’t understand it. I feel completed, like I’ve been missing an arm my whole life and someone finally attached one to my body, and now I can do things I didn’t used to do.
Like hold something with both hands rather than just one.
The strange metaphor isn’t lost on me, and as I sit down at my desk, setting down the travel mug Sammy made for me this morning–the coffee just the way I like it–I push it a step further.
I don’t usually delve into my own feelings this way, but something about this feels.
.. right. Like that sort of pain that feels so good you can’t stop pressing on it.
Maybe it’s the fact that I’m thinking about Sammy rather than myself.
Because it’s Sammy, I’m newly able to hold onto, and it’s because of her that I can do it at all. Before I moved home, I didn’t realize I was missing that arm and the extra hand, and before last night, I didn’t realize she was the answer to finding the phantom limb.
And now that I’ve found it, the world feels more open than it’s ever been before. Like I was looking through a tunnel before, and now I’m finally able to see everything.
I huff and shake my head, amused at my own drama, and wonder where the hell all of this is coming from.
“I should start to write, with this imagine,” I mutter.
And I turn my mind over to more practical matters, like everything that’s going wrong in my life lately.
Because Sammy may be butterflies and daisies, soft, brushing kisses and the wind that tickles your nose on a beautiful mountain morning, but she can’t fix all the things that don’t make sense.
I’ve suddenly got Sammy and Cameron, and the idea of having a family feels like it should be good, but they’re also a complication.
I don’t know how to be a father–never have, to be honest–and they both desperately need the guidance of someone who knows what he’s doing.
Though I’m not sure I can call myself a father figure anymore.
Not after what we did last night.
My mind flashes back to the shop, a contrast of flame and shadow in the pitch black of the night, my chest against Sammy’s back as I worked my cock into her ass and felt her welcome me home, and my cock twitches in my pants, ready to be put to use again.
“Fuck,” I breathe, putting my palm to my shaft and rubbing it softly. “Down, boy, now’s not the time.”
Last night wasn’t the time, either, if I’m being a responsible adult, and yet...
And yet it was. Because we’d just saved Sammy from who knew what, and when I saw her in the shadows, impaled on Cameron’s cock and making herself vulnerable, all I could think was that I needed to own her.
Needed to protect her with every inch of my body, take her and make her safe.
Make sure she knew how much we needed her to stay.
I won’t apologize for my actions. Hell, I can’t wait to take her again.
But that won’t help me if anyone else starts questioning what we did. Yes, I’m just her stepfather, and Cameron is her stepbrother. There’s no blood relation here. There’s nothing technically wrong.
That won’t change what people think. Especially the people in this town, who think of Sammy as the community daughter/sister/cousin. If anyone finds out, I’m expecting them to come for me with pitchforks and tar.
I still wouldn’t take it back.
I’d risk all the pitchforks this town has to offer (probably not that many, honestly) if it meant getting to call Sammy mine, even for just a moment.
The phone rings so harshly then that I jump, my mind still on something dangerous, and for a full three seconds I’m positive that someone knows exactly what I did last night and is calling to have me arrested.
Which is stupid, obviously, as I’m the one who does the arresting in this town.
At least for right now.
I pick up the phone, heart still jumping in my chest, and listen as someone starts to bark at me.
“Hawke!” he says. “This is archie banker. I’ve just received word of another altercation in the parking lot of Penny Royal’s last night.”
Oh.
Terrific.
I’m not in trouble for what I did with Sammy. I’m in trouble for the fight that led up to taking her home and making sure she knew she was the most beloved thing in the world.
Wait a minute.
I was just doing my fucking job.
I was trying to stop a fight–and a kidnapping–and going about it in the best way possible. I stopped the gathering of those bikers and sent them packing with only minimal violence. And then I saved the girl. What the fuck am I in trouble for?
“There was, and I handled it,” I say, fighting to keep my voice even.
Archie chuckles. “You handled it? Is that what you call it? From what I hear, you knocked a number of men unconscious without cause and then pulled a gun on one. Threatened him with getting shot.”
“Because they’d trapped a girl in her car and were threatening her,” I say tightly. “I was doing my job, Archie. As I said.”
He grunts in response, so I know he heard me, but when he speaks again he acts like I didn’t even say anything.
“The council has received the report and we aren’t happy.
We told you we didn’t want any more violence in this town and yet here you are, starting another fight.
This doesn’t look good for you, Hawke. Looks bad, in fact. We’re going to escalate the matter.”
Escalate the matter?
Escalate it to what?
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“It means you’re one step closer to being fired. We’ll be in touch. Don’t do anything stupid.”
He hangs up and I’m left staring at the phone, my mind misfiring. They’ll be in touch? Don’t do anything stupid? He just called me to berate me for doing my job. What am I supposed to do, go home and sit on my couch, waiting for them to call me and tell me what else they don’t like about me?
I shove my way out of the chair, knocking it to the ground, and leave the office without thinking, the travel mug deserted on my desk.
I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t know where I’m going, but I need to get out of the office and away from the phone where people call to give me back news.
I stride through the lobby and out the door, where I run right into one of the bikers from last night.
He’s tall and stringy, like he doesn’t eat enough and still tries to work out, and the scruff on his chin is both unkempt and sparse.
He looks like he should star as the designated bad guy in some cheap film about biker gangs, and I immediately want to punch him.
He’s also standing there like he’s actually been waiting for me, and I don’t like that.
I don’t like that at all.
When he speaks, I like him even less.
“Sounds like you’re getting in trouble in there, Hawke. What’s wrong, having trouble taking orders from your superiors? Because rumor is, you get in trouble for things like that. Tend to get kicked out of the service.” He pauses and lets a smirk pass over his face. “I mean the town.”
My steps jerk to a halt and I can’t do any more than stare as he walks away, that smirk still on his face and a swagger in his step.
Having trouble taking orders from your superiors.
Kicked out of the service.
They could be lines that don’t mean anything, if you count the council as my superiors and the role of sheriff as a service. They could just be lucky guesses; everyone knows I was in the Marines and left before my term was up.
But the ugly smirk on his face tells me they weren’t just guesses, and they weren’t referrals to my current position.
No one should know about what happened in the Middle East. That was a top-secret mission, the information highly classified–particularly because it went so wrong.
And my discharge information isn’t available unless you do a background check on me–for which you need special permission, as I was in the Marines.
That man shouldn’t have access to any of that.
So why do I have the creeping suspicion that he knows exactly what my background holds, and why I don’t want it getting out?
I turn to see Cameron striding through the parking lot, all long-legged jeans and tight-fitting tee, and to my surprise, I’m happy to see him.
Two days ago, I didn’t know what to do with the boy and now I’m suddenly connected to him in ways I still don’t quite understand.
He’s gone from being a stranger to being my partner.
My ally in the fight to save Sammy.
His eyes are on the departing biker, though, and his face is serious. “What’s the guy’s problem?”
I follow his gaze and watch the biker ambling away, his step still too cocksure for my liking. I can’t tell Cameron what the problem was, or the information the biker had. No one knows about that episode of my life, and I’m not going to make my nearly estranged son the first I tell.
“Just being an asshole,” I hedge.
Cameron shoots me a look that tells me he knows I’m lying–fair–and then shrugs. “Speaking of assholes, I think we have a problem.”
Perfect. Another problem. Just what I wanted to deal with.
“What now?”
Cameron turns and looks across the street to the market, which sits in its own lot, all white siding and navy-blue shutters.
The place looks like a house that’s been turned into a grocery store, with its front door open and a line of baskets out front.
I smile at that, because those baskets have been there since I was a kid and I don’t think anyone has ever used a single one.
The people here go shopping with their own baskets and bags and have a tradition of filling whatever they have with the things they need, then taking them to the front for one of the two elderly owners to ring up.
I’ve never been able to figure out where that tradition started, but it was probably like so much else in this town: One person did it at some point, then another followed suit, and pretty soon it was a fact of life here.
The people in Wood like to build habits into the fabric of society and then act like things have always been the way they are.
It makes the town feel dependable and solid, everyone doing things a specific way and acting like that’s the only way to do them.
Some people might call it boring.
To me, it’s always felt safe.
“What, you just discovered the market?” I ask. “And have decide it’s a problem?”
“No,” he says, ever the straight man. “I’ve discovered people over there asking about Sammy.”
I want to make a joke about how he didn’t even respond to my joke, and then another about how his straight man act is the perfect foil to Sammy’s whirlwind, but I don’t say either of those things.
Because he’s caught my attention with the fact that people over there were asking about Sammy.
“What were they asking?”
“What she does when we’re not working. Where she hangs out.” He pauses, the silence heavy with meaning. “Where she lives now that we’re not at Aunt Sue’s anymore.”
My jaw clamps shut and I can feel it jutting out with the need to hit someone.
“They asked you?” I ask, surprised. Surely anyone who knows anything about the town would realize that Cameron was Sammy’s keeper, in charge of making sure she was safe and secure and eating regularly.
Asking him about her habits would be the easiest way to making sure she stopped following those habits immediately.
“No,” he says, and now he chuckles darkly. “They asked Miller, and he came right to me. That’s them right there.” ‘
He gestures with his chin and I follow the movement to see two men lounging in front of the market, their clothes sloppy and their hair long.
They’re not locals, that much is clear, but they’re dressed to blend in.
Nothing about them stands out, nothing is memorable.
The minute you stopped looking at them you’d forget about them, and that’s the whole point.
They’re dressed to be so nondescript that you wouldn’t be able to describe them to anyone.
My training kicks in and I start clocking every aspect of their dress and their faces, putting my memory skills to work in an attempt to describe their faces to myself. Because they don’t look like the other tourists I’ve seen, who are at least in family groups who could conceivably be on vacation.
These guys are too intentional about hiding in plain sight. Too professional to be amateurs.
The moment they see me looking, my badge glinting at my chest and my hat pulled down low over my eyes, they start moving, like they’ve suddenly remembered they have a coffee date at the diner. Maybe they decided they need to wash that greasy hair or something.
It doesn’t matter.
I’m immediately suspicious, and when I see Sammy herself walking out of the market, her arms full of bags and Taryn slipping along beside her, I’m even more concerned.
Sammy looks up, sees us, and shouts that they’re going to the bookshop to see if they have the new book by some woman with three names, and I watch them closely, then turn to Cameron.
“Stay with them and start thinking about how to protect her better. We need to come up with a better plan. Something’s going on here, and I don’t like it.”
He doesn’t answer, just nods, and I think for a moment about how valuable he actually is–someone who hears an idea and puts it into action without asking questions. Just makes it his own and gets it done.
He’s my polar opposite in that way. More like Gunner than I bet he’d like to admit.
I like it, though, and I mean to use it. Because we’re going to have to do something soon, or those men are going to try to take away our girl again.
And I’ll be damned if I let them.