Chapter 11
eleven
The phone rang.
She flinched so hard the photo slipped from her fingers and skated across the table, and for one irrational second, she thought it was the woman on the bench calling her. Ashley. Alice. Whatever her name was now.
She set the photo facedown and got up to grab her phone from the counter.
The screen glowed with the absolute last name she wanted to see: Daniel Goodwin.
She should let it go to voicemail.
She didn’t.
“Greta.” Daniel’s voice was full of the warm confidence of a man who had spent years being the most likable person in whatever room he walked into.
So why did it always give her a chill down the back of her neck?
“I heard about the break-in at Summit,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”
“I’m fine. Thank you for calling.”
“If you need anything—equipment or storage space while you sort the office—my Hamilton shop has duplicates of most standard outfitter gear. Just say the word.”
“That’s—thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I hope you’re not alone,” he added. “After something like that. It can shake you up more than you think.”
She stood at the counter, phone pressed to her ear, and her gaze drifted to the window. Bear’s truck sat in his driveway across the street. He was home. She hadn’t noticed when he’d pulled in.
“I’m good,” she said. “I’m never alone. I have Atlas.”
“Alright. You know where to find me if that changes.”
She ended the call and set the phone on the counter, screen down.
Daniel Goodwin. Hank’s younger brother. The one who’d inherited the family charm without the cruelty, or at least the cruelty that showed.
If that changes…
She looked down at her dog. “What the hell did he mean by that?”
And why couldn’t she shake that chill?
She looked out the window again and saw Bear unloading two heavy Adirondack chairs from the back of his truck. He was shirtless despite the chill in the air, all that tattooed muscle on full display.
She’d seen him without a shirt before—working in the summer heat at Valor Ridge—but this was different. This was across the street from her kitchen window, with no one else around. Her mouth went dry, and the phone call with Daniel evaporated from her mind.
Bear bent to lift the first chair, his back muscles flexing as he hoisted it onto one shoulder. The chair was heavy—she could tell by the way his feet sank into the gravel—but he carried it like it weighed nothing, his biceps bunching, the dark ink of his tattoos standing out against his skin.
He set the chair on his front porch, then turned and went back for the second. He lifted it just as easily, and a glittering drop of sweat tracked down the center of his spine, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans as he carried it to the porch.
She suddenly, desperately wanted to touch her tongue to the dip of his spine and taste the saltiness of his sweat.
“Jesus,” she muttered. “Down, girl.”
He set the second chair beside the first, then stood back to survey his work. He wiped his forearm across his forehead, pushing back his dark hair, which was longer than she’d ever seen it. He usually kept it buzzed short.
He turned suddenly, his gaze sweeping across the street. He went still when he spotted her.
She thought about ducking, but that was dumb.
He’d already seen her. She raised a hand, her heart hammering against her ribs.
After a beat of hesitation, he lifted his hand in return, a slow, uncertain gesture.
She couldn’t read his expression from this distance, but his posture had changed—the casual confidence of a moment ago replaced by a tension that radiated across the street.
She should turn around. Make breakfast. Get on with her day.
Instead, she let her gaze travel down the hard planes of his chest, the dark trail of hair that disappeared into his jeans, the way his shoulders tapered to his waist. Her skin flushed hot despite the cool air in her kitchen.
Bear stood motionless for another moment, then turned abruptly and disappeared into his house. The door closed behind him with a solid thud that she felt more than heard.
She stayed at the window, her breath fogging the glass, until the ache between her legs became impossible to ignore. Atlas whined softly at her feet.
“Sorry, buddy,” she said, reaching down to scratch his ears. “I’m being ridiculous.”
But she wasn’t. This wasn’t just physical attraction—though there was plenty of that.
This was Bear. The man who’d held her while she cried.
The man who’d looked at her both like she was something precious and like she was a burr under his saddle.
The man who’d kissed her like she’d never been kissed before.
She moved away from the window and picked up her phone again, scrolling through her contacts until she found Bear’s number. Her thumb hovered over the call button.
What would she say?
I can’t stop thinking about you.
I want to finish what we started in the Jeep?
No. She put the phone down and went to the door. This was a conversation better had face-to-face.
She went up his steps and knocked.
He opened the door immediately, like he’d been expecting her. He’d pulled on a T-shirt, covering up all that beautiful muscle.
Too bad.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” She shoved her hands in her pockets to keep from trailing her palms down his chest. “Have you been avoiding me all week because of the kiss in the Jeep, or because of what I said about Luke?”
He exhaled through his nose. “Greta—”
“It’s a straightforward question, Teddy Bear.”
“It’s not a conversation I want to have on the porch.”
“Then invite me in so we can have it inside.” She waited. He didn’t move. “Okay, so we’re having it on the porch.”
“I’ve been busy,” he said, and even he didn’t seem convinced by it.
She tilted her head. “Doing what?”
“Things.” He crossed his arms. “Life. Logan. Work. You want a list?”
“You know what? I do want a list.” She stepped closer, into his space. “Because I’ve been across the street all week, watching your truck come and go, watching you avoid looking at my house like it’s got the plague. All after you kissed me like you meant it. So yeah, I want a fucking list.”
Bear’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say a damn thing.
She pulled one hand out of her pocket and poked him in the chest. “Oh, you big, grumpy, silent mountain of a man. You don’t get to just shut down when things get hard. You don’t get to—”
“Don’t,” he growled.
“Don’t what? Don’t call you out? Don’t ask you to be honest with me for five minutes?”
He unfolded.
One second, he was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and his gaze set somewhere past her ear, and the next, he was two steps forward with his hand at her jaw and his other hand at her hip, and she was walking backward until the porch rail caught her.
His mouth came down on hers and the world went white at the edges.
She made a sound against him—half gasp, half something she’d be embarrassed about later—and her hands were in his shirt before she’d consciously decided to put them there, fisting the fabric on either side of his ribs. He was warm. He was everywhere. His beard scraped her chin and she didn’t care.
She wanted more of it.
Wanted him rougher.
Wanted him to stop being so goddamn careful for once in his life.
His hand slid from her jaw to the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair, holding her exactly where he wanted her.
The other hand stayed at her hip, then dropped lower to her ass.
He lifted her one-handed, holding her up like she weighed nothing while he continued to kiss her senseless.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, anchoring herself against him as he pressed her back against the porch rail.
The wood creaked but held. His mouth was hot and demanding, his tongue sliding against hers in a way that made her whole body flush with heat.
Oh… God. She was going to burst into flames. She was going to die of spontaneous combustion right here on his porch, and it would be worth it.
She slid her hands up his chest, under his shirt, desperate to feel skin.
The muscles of his abdomen contracted under her touch, and he groaned into her mouth, the sound vibrating through her chest. She wanted to tear his shirt off, wanted to feel all that ink and muscle against her bare skin, wanted—
“Inside,” she managed. “We should—”
He pulled back just enough to look at her. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and his breath came in ragged bursts against her lips. For a moment, she thought he might actually carry her through the door and up the stairs.
Then something shifted behind his eyes. He went still—completely, utterly still—and his gaze moved past her shoulder.
She turned.
Joy Roberts’ silhouette was visible behind the glass of her kitchen window. The nosy bitch wasn’t even pretending not to watch.
She turned back.
Bear’s face had closed down, the heat in his eyes cooling to ice. He carefully set her back on her feet and took a step back, leaving her cold and off-balance.
She wanted to throw something at Joy’s window just for the satisfaction of watching the woman flinch. “Fuck that woman.”
A faint smile touched his lips. “She’s not the one I want to fuck.”
“Then why are you stopping?”
“Logan will be home soon.”
Reality crashed back in. The kiss. The porch. Joy Roberts watching from across the street. His fifteen-year-old son who’d lost his mother, who didn’t need to come home and find his dad making out with the neighbor.
“Shit,” she whispered.
Bear stepped back another foot, putting distance between them that felt like a physical wall. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t.” She held up a hand. “Don’t you dare apologize for that.”
His jaw worked, but he stayed silent.
She straightened her shirt, aware of how flushed her face must be, how swollen her lips. “I live across the street, Bear. I’m going to keep living across the street.”
“I know.”
“And I’m not going to pretend that—” She stopped.
Breathed. Started again at a different angle.
“I know what you’re doing. I know why. I’m not saying you’re wrong.
” She looked at him until he met her eyes, which took a second.
“I’m saying you’re allowed to want something.
Even right now. Even with everything else going on. ”
He didn’t answer.
“Okay,” she said when it was clear he wasn’t going to give her anything else. She stepped back, one hand finding the porch rail for balance. Her legs were still shaky, and the porch boards were cool under her boots. “I’m going home now.”
She didn’t wait for his response. He probably wouldn’t give her one, anyway. She walked down the steps with her head high, feeling Joy’s eyes on her back like physical pressure between her shoulder blades.
Atlas was waiting at the door when she let herself in, his tail wagging slowly, his amber eyes studying her face with canine concern. She dropped to her knees and buried her face in his fur, breathing in the familiar scent of him.
“I’m okay,” she told him, though her voice sounded strange to her own ears. “I’m fine.”
She wasn’t fine. She was the opposite of fine.
Her whole body was still humming from Bear’s touch, from the way he’d lifted her like she weighed nothing, from the rough demand of his mouth on hers.
She could still feel the heat of him against her, the solid wall of his chest, the way his heart had hammered against hers.
She pushed herself up from the floor and went to the kitchen window. Bear was still on his porch, but he’d turned away, one hand braced against the railing, his shoulders hunched. Even from this distance, she could read the tension in his body.
Her phone buzzed on the counter. She picked it up without looking.
“Hello?”
“Greta.” Daniel Goodwin’s voice came through the line, smooth as butter. “I was thinking about you.”
She closed her eyes. “Daniel.”
“I know you said you were fine, but I wanted to double-check.” A pause. “You don’t sound fine.”
“I’m busy, actually.” She watched as Bear straightened and went inside his house, the door closing behind him with finality. “Can I call you back?”
“Of course.” His voice softened. “Just remember what I said. If you need anything...”
“I’ll call.”
She ended the connection and set the phone down. She stared at her phone, then at Bear’s closed door across the street. Her lips still tingled, her body still hummed with the memory of his hands on her. And now Daniel’s voice was in her head, smooth and concerned in a way that made her skin crawl.
She crossed to the sink and filled a glass with cold water. Drank it down in three long gulps. The water did nothing to cool the heat still radiating through her body.
Daniel had called twice in one morning. That wasn’t normal.
Not even for him, with his persistent interest that bordered on obsession.
She thought about what he’d said—that he’d heard about the break-in.
But the break-in hadn’t been reported in the paper.
The sheriff’s office had taken her statement, but Hank had made it clear they weren’t treating it as anything more than vandalism.
As far as she knew, the news hadn’t made it through the Solace rumor mill yet.
So how had Daniel known?
Either his brother Hank had told him, or…
Her brain stalled out on a sudden thought, and she set the glass down hard.
Daniel had been asking her out for months, and she’d turned him down every time. He’d taken the rejections with that charming smile, but there had always been something in his eyes that made her uneasy. Something that said he wasn’t used to hearing no.
And then there was the timing. He was right there after her tires were slashed. If Bear hadn’t been at Summit with her when they found it destroyed, would he have shown up there, too?
She had a sinking feeling the answer to that was a solid yes.
She picked up her phone and scrolled to her call log. Daniel’s number stared back at her. She should call him back, feel him out, see what he knew. But her hands were shaking.
What if… it was all him?
Nobody would believe her. The Goodwins had run this town for generations. The entire family had their fingers in every pie, their hands on every lever of power.
What if he was watching now?
She looked at the phone. Then at the front door. Then at the curtains, pushed open to let in the light.
She crossed the kitchen and pulled them shut.