Chapter 14
Grace
I’m pressed against a tree with Dean blocking me from whatever is in the woods with us. Oscar quietly prowls closer on my left. Her head’s down, full attention directed at the same thing Dean’s got his eyes on and she freezes, her teeth bared as she growls.
I grip the back of his shirt like he’s my personal shield to wield. I probably should let go of him, but I can’t. I’m fucking petrified. What the hell is out in the woods with us?
A Skinwalker?
The Christmas Tree Killer?
Blood swishes in my ears and my palms get clammy.
“Grace,” Dean’s voice is barely a whisper. “Do not move until I say so.”
He shifts a little to the left, tracking the threat, and I finally see what he’s protecting me from.
A black bear.
Aww, he’s so fluffy! I keep that remark on my inside though because Dean definitely won’t share that sentiment. Heat rolls off his body as he watches the bear move through the forest. The animal acts like he’s on a stroll, just meandering around with nothing else better to do. Or is it a girl bear? Either way, it’s got teeth and claws and as much as my inner child wants to pet the floof, I’m not moving from this spot until Dean says I can.
It sniffs the air and makes a noise that shoots ice through my veins. Is it calling out to friends? Sending us a warning? I don’t speak bear! If it comes too close, what do we do? I can’t outrun that thing. And they can climb trees, so shimmying up this pine tree isn’t smart either.
Does Dean still have his pocketknife? Can we scare it off with that?
What do we do?
Terror has me trembling. Dean slowly spins around to face me, his boots not making a sound as he moves. His gaze locks with mine. “I’ve got you,” he whispers.
My attention swings between him and the bear that’s a little further away from us now. Still taking in the sites, the animal is clearly unbothered by us. Its long tongue rolls out and big teeth glint in the sun as it yawns.
It disappears out of my sight, but Dean’s facing me now, which means he’s tracking it behind me. I’m in awe of this man. He’s so brave. So protective. He doesn’t look flustered at all—just a predator watching another predator.
The bear must be out of sight now because Dean relaxes a fraction. His gaze hits different when he looks at me and asks, “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Are you?”
Without saying another word, he cups my chin, his eyes roaming all over my face and then he presses a fierce kiss to my forehead. “I don’t know what I would have done if that bear…” He lets out a shaky exhale.
Oscar makes her way to us, her tail not wagging like normal. Dean gets down on his knees and rubs her ears. “You did so good, girl.” She wags her tail as he kisses the top of her head, too.
The reality of being in bear territory truly, finally hits me. I can’t tell if it’s fear or excitement thrumming through my system. I… love it here.
Quietly, in case the bear makes a U-turn, Dean laces his hand in mine and escorts both me and Oscar back to the truck by way of a different path. My heart does jumping jacks the whole time, and when we make it back to the truck and are safe inside, Dean lets out another long exhale and leans against his steering wheel like he wants to collapse.
“We just saw a bear.” My smile is a mile wide. “Not in a cage at the zoo. But in the wild .” I’m not scared anymore. I’m fucking ecstatic. “That was amazing! I can’t believe I saw a real bear. He was so fluffy too! And did you see how sweet his face was? Aww, floofy boy.”
Dean slowly turns to gawk at me. “That floofy boy could have attacked you.”
He’s right. And the fact that Dean put his body between me and the bear, fully prepared to get mauled to save me, is not lost on me either. I can’t believe he did that. Instead of acknowledging how bad it could have gone, I take another approach. “Yeah, but did we die?”
“Grace, I’m being serious. That bear could have eaten you.”
Me. Not him. He’s only thinking about me and my safety. Again, I have no clue what to say so I go with, “Not likely. I read about them the other night after you told me there were black bear here. They’re rarely aggressive towards people and are pretty shy. We just can’t be close to their den or babies or food.”
Dean cocks his brow. “And do you know where the den is?”
“No.”
“Exactly.” He closes his eyes and sighs again. “Jesus, I feel sick.”
“You’ve lived here your whole life. This can’t be the first time you saw a bear.”
“I see them all the time.” He looks pale. His hands shake when he scrubs his face. “I can’t believe this shook me up so much. I hunt these damn animals. I live with them in my backyard. I should have known better than to traipse around when they’re still getting ready for hibernation, I just…”
“Wanted to share a piece of yourself with me.”
“And almost ended up sharing a piece of you with a bear.”
“He wasn’t interested in us.”
“But if he had been?”
“You put yourself between me and him. You protected me.”
Dean swallows hard. When he looks at me again, his eyes are dark with aggression. “I will always put myself between you and danger, Grace.” He shudders again and closes his eyes. “I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you.”
It seems that me getting hurt, threatened, or married are all on Dean’s list of big no, no’s. To see him this shaken up worries me. I don’t want him to think I can’t be on my own here. And he can’t guard me twenty-four-seven. “I’ll take bear spray whenever I leave the cabin.”
His jaw ticks .
“And I’ll bring Oscar with me when I go on walks, if you want.”
He swallows hard.
“I’ll get a whistle and strap jingle bells to my hips, so I spook everything around me.”
He finally cracks and a laugh blows out of him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m the best I’ve ever been.”
That seems to be enough reassurance because he starts the engine and drives us back to the cabins. My smile is still so big, it hurts my cheeks. And my heart rate won’t slow down. This was the scariest, coolest experience ever.
Once we’re back at the cabins, he parks in front of mine. “Hang tight.”
He hops out and disappears in my cabin. I have no idea what he’s doing, nor do I care. I’m still reeling about being saved by a hot lumberjack from a vicious bear attack in the middle of the woods.
Which is exactly the story I’m going to tell everyone.
My cell rings, snapping me out of heroic story creativity-mode. Ugh. It’s my brother. “What do you want?”
“Hi to you, too.” Jackson says, making me roll my eyes. “Want to come over for family dinner tomorrow night?”
“No.”
“Gracie.”
“Jackson,” I shoot back, matching his tone.
Our mother already disowned Mason, and I’ll be next once she sees I’m following in his footsteps.
You’d think being forced to marry a woman he won’t love would be enough to make Jackson walk away from our mother too. But his love of money must outshine his desire for anything else because he’s basically the last Finch kid standing. Mason has a much softer spot for him than I do. Maybe it’s because Jackson tortured me growing up, never letting me do anything I wanted and always tattling on me.
He's no better now. The fucker keeps tabs on me all the time like I’m still sixteen trying to sneak out of the house in the middle of the night.
“Grace, come on. Don’t be like this.”
“Bye, Jackson.” I hang up. Nothing I say makes a difference to him, anyway. Our mother has him wrapped around her diamond-clad finger. Pretending I’m okay with how she treats us has to stop, and sitting across from her at family dinner isn’t going to send that message. Jackson and I have been arguing a lot lately because I want him to break away too, and he won’t. The Finch family is known for having big bank accounts and even bigger stubborn streaks.
My phone dings with a text.
Mason : Where are you?
It’s not a coincidence that he’s contacting me right after Jackson’s call. Jeez, can’t a girl be left alone? Guess not with two over-bearing, over-protective brothers who have more money than God.
Grace : Out and about.
Mason : Leah and I are in town. Why aren’t you coming to dinner at Jackson’s with us?
Oh. Shit. I thought Jackson meant dinner with our parents when he said family dinner. Now I feel terrible. He should have said it was a sibling only affair, damnit. I would have refused in a nicer way and not hung up on him.
Grace : I’m not in Manhattan .
Mason : Where are you then?
Grace : In the mountains.
The little bubbles pop up as he types again. I quickly shoot Jackson an I’m sorry text.
Mason : With who?
Ugh, he’s so nosy.
Grace : No one you know.
Mason : I know everyone.
I’m not replying to that with anything other than an eye roll emoji.
Mason : Have a bourbon maple for me. We’ll catch you next time we’re in town. Be safe and have fun, Gracie.
I heart his text just as Jackson responds to my apology with a middle finger and heart emojis.
I shoot him back a funny gif.
I think we communicate better in symbols than words. What’s that say about us?
Loud thumps bring my attention to the back of the truck where Dean is loading my bags. He still looks a little shaken.
My brothers would love him.
My mother would fucking hate him.
I have no clue what my dad would think.
“It doesn’t matter anyway, Grace,” I say to myself. It’s not like there’s a chance of Dean meeting my family.
Oscar rests her head on my shoulder, and I lean into her.
Dean hops back in the truck and silently takes us up another dirt road, over the bridge he showed me earlier, and when we finally pull up to his house, I’m awestruck. It’s much bigger than it looks from my porch .
Without speaking, he hops out and grabs my bags while Oscar sticks close to me. I swear these two work in some kind of weird unison as I’m ushered inside the house.
Warm scents of cinnamon and leather hit my nose first, followed by smoldering embers. It smells like Dean in here. Huge wood beams line the cathedral ceiling. The stone fireplace stretches up two stories. The sliding glass doors in the back of the living room opens up to a sizeable deck. The kitchen isn’t anything to sneeze at either. There’s a big bay window that shows off the beauty of the mountain Dean holds so dear. His home is gorgeous. Spacious yet cozy.
It's a home .
Oscar dashes past me and rummages through a basket sitting next to a leather sofa. This place isn’t tidy at all. Paperwork and tools are piled up on the counter. Shoes lay scattered on the floor. Crumpled receipts litter the table along with a saltshaker. Socks are inside out like a trail of breadcrumbs on the floor along with a few shirts and a beanie. It’s like he dumps things randomly, in a hurry to start a new project or to go to bed.
Oscar brings a tattered towel over to me, wagging her tail.
“She doesn’t want your blanky, girl.” Dean rubs her ears. “Go lay down.”
Her blanky? Oh my heart.
Dean tips his head towards the stairs. “I’ll show you your room.”
That’s my cue to follow him. The banister is a solid tree trunk that’s been stripped of bark and varnished. A rug that’s seen better days stretches down the hall of the second floor, running along the balcony that looks over the living room.
“My bedroom’s downstairs,” he says. “This one’s yours.”
My room has a full-sized bed and a large picture window. None of the furniture matches. It’s not dark in here, but it’s not cheerful either. He places my luggage on the floor and my bags on the bed. “You have your own bathroom.”
I peek inside. It’s got a stand-up shower and sink. Nothing fancy but the tile work is pretty. It’s river stones designed in a sunburst pattern.
“I love it. Thank you.”
The way he’s so stiff leads me to believe he doesn’t think it’s true. “I know you’re probably used to a lot more luxury than this, Grace. I’m sorry I can’t give you that.”
“I’m not asking for luxury, am I?”
His brow furrows.
“Then don’t apologize, Dean. This is perfect.”
The last thing I want is for him to feel inferior or not good enough. His home is stunning. Could it use a little feminine touch here and there? Maybe. But this is a reflection of him, his childhood, his joy and his pain. I wouldn’t change a thing.
“Show me your room.” We stare at each other for a long moment and then I step forward, urging him to move along.
He takes me back downstairs, through the living room that boasts a leather couch with a blanket draped over the back and opens the door to a big bedroom that has a bed built for a giant. If I thought it smelled like Dean when I first stepped inside this house, I’m drowning in his scent now. It’s like pine, cloves, cinnamon, and leather all mix in the air, along with a pleasant, light musk. My pussy clenches and I grow hot.
Aren’t I too young for hot flashes?
“I used to get this customized perfume in France,” I blurt out, walking around his personal space, drinking it in. “The fragrance was unique. Made just for me and my body chemistry.” I trail my fingers along the dresser, which has a watch, belt, wallet, and a picture of a younger Dean and older man framed. “It smelled nothing like this.”
“Guess not,” he says, as if offended.
I realize what I’m trying to say has come out all wrong. “If I could bottle up the way it smells in here… I’d drench myself in it every fucking day.”
“You’re telling me sweat and dirt smells good to you?”
“I’m saying you smell good to me.” If it’s dirt and sweat, I don’t care. I just know I love it. There’s nothing about Dean I don’t love. His smell. His voice. His touch. His dog. His dirt and tools and grout and…
Wow. I’ve got it bad, don’t I?
Slowly walking around his room, I take in as much detail as possible without looking like a creep. He’s made a home here. My penthouse doesn’t have the same vibe as his place does. You can’t walk through my front door and feel instantly at home there.
There’s dust on his end table by the bed. I run my finger through it and lift my gaze to his. Dean’s standing on the other side of the room, uneasy. I think he might be embarrassed.
Crawling across his mattress, I cock my brow at him. “Bet this bed doesn’t break so easy.”