Chapter 2
two
Bear’s hand engulfed hers, warm and callused, and she was abruptly airborne.
He hauled her up with the same care he might show a boulder—which was to say, not enough.
She landed flush against his chest, the hardwood press of his pecs catching her off-guard.
Six-foot-seven of solid muscle had no business smelling that good—like pine smoke and honest sweat—and she stumbled back, her hands flying to his chest for balance.
It was like touching a furnace through his t-shirt, the heat of him radiating through the thin cotton.
King plastered himself to the back of Bear’s leg, the big shaggy menace watching the exchange like he had skin in the game.
He stepped back quickly, as if she’d burned him, and nearly went over backward when his heel hit King. He swore under his breath, something low and guttural, and caught himself.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
She wasn’t sure if he was apologizing to her or the dog, so she brushed it off. “That’s some grip you’ve got there, Sasquatch.”
“Did I hurt you?”
He looked so genuinely worried that she almost laughed. Like she was some delicate flower instead of a woman who’d rappelled down cliffs and dragged bodies out of avalanche fields. “No. I’m tougher than I look.”
“I know that, but what about the kayak?” he asked. “It hit you pretty hard. Are you hurt anywhere?”
“Just my pride.” God, he really was worried. The big, grumbly bear was worried about her. She found it oddly touching. “Thanks for the rescue, though.”
Atlas chose that moment to defect, trotting over to sit at Bear’s boot and lean against his leg like the traitor he was. The Lab looked up at Bear with such adoration that she couldn’t help feeling personally offended.
“Seriously, dude? Some loyal companion you are.”
Bear reached down to scratch behind Atlas’s ears. The dog’s eyes slid shut in bliss.
“Traitor,” Greta muttered, watching her dog’s betrayal with narrowed eyes. “After all I’ve done for you.”
Bear’s lips twitched, and he opened his mouth to respond, but King wedged himself between Bear’s legs and Atlas, nearly knocking the smaller dog off his feet as he claimed his spot next to his person.
Atlas gave King a disgruntled look before slinking back over to stand by her, head hung low.
“Wow, really feeling the love here,” she told her dog.
Bear’s expression softened almost imperceptibly at her comment. “Atlas is just being practical. Dogs know who’s got the good scratches.”
“Or the good treats. I’m guessing you’re the type who carries jerky in your pockets.”
“Sometimes. For King,” he added too quickly after a beat.
“Uh huh. Sure. For King.” She brushed more dirt from her hair. Tiny rocks worked their way down her collar, and she tried to wiggle them out, but it didn’t work.
Then she looked back up at him and realized her mistake. That wiggle had been more suggestive than she’d intended.
Oh… shit.
Bear’s eyes darkened as his gaze dropped to her chest, where her jacket had fallen open, then snapped back to her face with a flash of raw hunger that made her stomach clench.
“Gravel,” she said, suddenly breathless. “In my shirt.”
Bear didn’t respond. His jaw worked once, like he was chewing on something he wasn’t going to say, and then he looked away — out toward the street, the Jeep, anywhere that wasn’t her.
She used the reprieve to retrieve her thermos from where it had rolled under the Jeep, grateful for the excuse to put her face anywhere that wasn’t level with his. When she straightened, he was watching her again. Same way he always did. Like she was a problem he hadn’t worked out yet.
She tucked her thermos under her arm. “So. You’re really living across the street now.”
“Looks that way.”
Silence stretched between them. For nearly two years, they’d been crossing each other’s paths. Two years of her pushing his buttons and him growling back. Two years of that electric tension that made her skin prickle whenever he was near.
She’d been blaming bourbon for eighteen months, because she was usually drinking it when he was around. The bourbon wasn’t here today, and still every nerve ending was lighting up like Christmas.
She needed to get a grip.
He was just a man.
A very large, very grumpy man with a criminal record and a tendency to stare at her like she was a puzzle he couldn’t solve.
“Need help with the kayak?” he asked, gesturing toward where it lay on her lawn.
“I’ve got it.”
“I can see that.” His tone was dry. “You’ve really mastered the art of getting crushed by it.”
“Funny.” She rolled her shoulders, wincing at the ache forming in the middle of her back. “I’m just having an off day.”
“Which is why you shouldn’t be lifting it alone.”
“Are you always this bossy, or is it just a special gift you save for me?”
The corner of his mouth quirked. “You bring it out in me.”
Something fluttered in her chest—annoyance, probably. Definitely annoyance. Not the warm, unwelcome heat that spread through her belly when he looked at her like that.
“Yeah, well.” She looked away from him, her gaze drifting across the street. A kid stood on the porch—tall, hoodie up, earbuds in—watching them with undisguised curiosity. “We’ve got an audience.”
Bear’s expression shuttered. “That’s my son. Logan.” He raised his voice. “Logan! Come meet my friend from the ranch.”
The boy stiffened, then slowly descended the porch steps.
He crossed the street at a shuffle, hands shoved deep in his pockets.
He had Bear’s height and build, but none of the confidence.
Up close, Greta could see the dark circles under his eyes, the hollow cheeks of a kid who hadn’t been eating enough.
“Logan, this is Greta Dougherty. She hangs out at the ranch sometimes and runs the local K9 search and rescue team.”
“Hey.” The boy’s voice was already low. In a few more years, he’d sound just like his dad with that deep rumble. “Nice to meet you.” The words were polite, but his eyes remained fixed on the ground, and he radiated teenage misery.
“You too, Logan. Welcome to Solace.”
“Logan will be starting at the high school in a few days,” Bear added, his voice too loud, too forced.
Greta nodded, unsure what to say. She’d never been good with kids—especially teenagers. They reminded her too much of herself at that age, all jagged edges and sharp words.
“Cool,” she managed. “That’s where I went. It’s a decent school. Small, but the teachers are pretty good.”
Logan’s eyes flicked up to hers for a second. “Yeah. Great.”
Bear shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable with the silence that followed. “You should finish unpacking, buddy. Maybe start with your bedroom.”
Logan’s face hardened. “I’m not your ‘buddy, and I’m not five. You don’t need to send me to my room so you can eye-fuck your neighbor.”
“Jesus, Logan—”
“I’m going inside.” The kid’s voice cracked with fury as he turned and stalked back across the street. The door slammed with enough force to rattle the windows in their frames.
Greta winced. “Well, that went well.”
Bear stared at the closed door, his broad shoulders hunching as he deflated. The giant looked suddenly smaller, diminished by a few sharp words from a fifteen-year-old kid.
Dammit, she wasn’t good at this, either.
Comforting people. Being soft. She’d spent too many years building walls around herself to know how to dismantle them for others.
She should walk away. This wasn’t her problem.
She had her own disasters to manage—a sister who’d been missing for fifteen years, a business to run, a life that was already too complicated to add a grouchy ex-con and his angry teenager.
But she stepped closer anyway and rested a hand on his hard arm.
Jesus, the man really was built like a mountain.
“Hey, I would have said worse at his age,” she offered, keeping her voice dry. “Probably with more profanity.”
Bear didn’t look at her. “He hates me.”
“Of course he does. You’re his dad, and he’s a teenager. Give him time.”
He nodded, still without looking at her. “I should go.”
“Oh.” She dropped her hand and stepped back. “I’ll see you around, I guess.”
“Yeah.” He snapped his fingers for King, who reluctantly abandoned his belly-up position on her driveway. “See you.”
She watched him cross the street, King at his heels, and disappear into the house. Only then did she allow herself a long, shaky breath.
“Holy shit,” she muttered to Atlas. “This is not good.”
She picked up the scattered groceries, hauled the kayak to the side of the house, and headed inside. But instead of unpacking the groceries, she paced the length of her living room, gravel still embedded in her hair, the phantom press of Bear’s chest still warm against her palms.
She grabbed her phone and dialed Naomi, her best friend and the only person who’d understand the magnitude of this disaster.
“You knew,” she accused without preamble when Naomi answered. “You knew the giant was moving in across the street.”
A pause. “Which giant?”
“Sasquatch. Bear. Dane McKenna. The walking, talking redwood with the arms and the shoulders and the—” She stopped herself. “He’s across the street, Nomi. Right across the fucking street.”
“Oh.” A snort came through the line. “That. Yeah, Walker mentioned something about a rental on Maple. Must have slipped my mind.”
“He’s six-foot-fucking-seven. Nothing about him slips anywhere.”
“Mm-hmm. And you noticed his shoulders.”
“Shut up.”
“And his arms, apparently.”
“Naomi.”
“I’m just saying. That’s a lot of detail for a man you don’t care about.”
Greta dropped onto her couch and stared at the ceiling. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You should’ve warned me.”
“About what? A neighbor?” Naomi was openly laughing now. “G, you’ve handled grizzlies. You’ll survive Bear McKenna.”
“It’s not that simple,” Greta said, dragging a hand through her hair and dislodging more gravel. “He’s got a kid. A teenage son who looks at him like he’s the devil incarnate.”
“Ah.” Naomi’s voice shifted, the teasing gone. “Logan.”