Chapter 29
twenty-nine
Three hours.
Bear McKenna drummed his fingers against the steering wheel and fought the urge to bang his head against it instead.
Three goddamn hours sitting in his truck outside Haven House while Maggie taught her carpentry class to the women inside.
King’s head dropped onto his shoulder, hot dog breath panting directly into his face.
Great. Even his dog was bored out of his mind.
“Get off me, you moose,” he muttered, shoving the Leonberger’s massive skull back toward the passenger side.
King huffed, offended, then promptly flopped his head back onto Bear’s shoulder.
Bear shifted in his seat, cramped even in the oversized cab of his truck.
That was the problem with being six-foot-seven and three hundred pounds— the world wasn’t made for him.
His ass had gone numb an hour ago. He rolled down the window a crack, letting in the crisp December air.
Montana winters didn’t fuck around, and this one was shaping up to be a ball-buster.
He wasn’t built for sitting still. Never had been. Even in prison, he’d worked in the laundry, the kitchen, anywhere they’d let him move his body. Sitting in a truck playing bodyguard made his skin crawl, and his muscles itched for action.
But he’d promised Anson. And a promise was a promise.
Truth was, he liked Maggie. She had a quiet strength about her. And the way she handled Anson—like a skittish horse that might bolt at any moment—showed a patience Bear himself didn’t possess.
If some asshole was stalking her, the least he could do was sit in his damn truck and make sure she stayed safe.
King whined and pawed at the dashboard.
He reached over and scratched the dog’s neck. “I know, buddy. This sucks for you, too.”
The shelter looked peaceful from the outside. Yellow Victorian with white trim, a wraparound porch lined with rocking chairs, colorful pinwheels stuck in the planters. Nobody would guess it housed women running for their lives. Women who needed protection.
Like Greta needed protection from asshole tourists who didn’t respect boundaries in the backcountry.
“Goddamnit,” he muttered, shaking his head as if he could physically dislodge thoughts of her.
This was getting ridiculous.
Greta Dougherty, with her smart mouth and her absolute refusal to be intimidated by him, occupied way too much real estate in his brain.
He’d first met her last year when her dog got injured on a search-and-rescue operation, and she’d brought it to Lila. He’d been helping out at the clinic that day, holding down a fractious cat while Lila cleaned a wound on its back leg.
Greta had taken one look at him and said, “Jesus Christ, they grow you boys big out here. What are they feeding you, Sasquatch?”
And that had been it. She’d gotten under his skin with two sentences.
He’d successfully managed to avoid her for over a year until Ghost and Naomi got together. But now, as Naomi’s best friend, Greta was always around the ranch. And she popped up in his thoughts at the most inconvenient times. Like when he was supposed to be focusing on keeping Maggie safe.
King suddenly sat up, ears perked, body tense.
Bear straightened, instantly alert. The Leonberger’s instincts were better than any security system he’d ever known. “What’s wrong?”
The answer came in the form of screeching tires.
A battered sedan came flying around the bend in the road, going way too fast. The driver overcorrected, sending the car fishtailing across the icy pavement.
For a heart-stopping moment, Bear thought it would flip, but then the vehicle skidded off the road and into Haven House’s front yard, the bumper stopping just short of the porch steps.
Bear was out of the truck before the car’s engine died, King right behind him.
The driver’s door swung open with a protesting creak, and a woman emerged, moving as if every inch of her body hurt.
She was small, maybe five-two, with light brown hair pulled back in a messy ponytail.
And she looked like she’d gone twelve rounds with a champion boxer and lost every one.
His combat medic training kicked in. Multiple contusions to the face.
Potential orbital fracture. Defensive wounds on the forearms. Possible fractured ribs, explaining the shallow breathing and hunched posture.
Dehydrated, based on the dry, cracked lips.
Exhausted, going by the dark circles under her eyes.
Someone had worked her over good.
She took a couple of halting steps away from the car, then her knees buckled.
Shit.
He closed the distance in three strides and caught her before she hit the ground. She weighed nothing in his arms, and he was a little afraid he’d break her.
“I got you,” he said, pitching his voice low and soft, the way he would with a spooked horse. “You’re safe now.”
She flinched at his touch, tried to push away, but she had no strength left. Her good eye darted around wildly, unfocused with fear or pain or both.
“Haven House,” she whispered. “I need... Haven...”
“You’re here,” he assured her. “This is it.”
King whined and circled them.
“Ma’am, I’m going to lay you down to check your injuries.” Bear lowered her gently to the ground, supporting her head. “I’ve got medical training.”
Her pulse raced beneath his fingertips, thready and too fast. Shock, most likely. Her skin was cold and clammy. But her face…
He frowned, studying the pattern of bruising.
Something didn’t track right. The injuries were severe, but almost evenly distributed.
In his experience, when someone was beating the hell out of another person, the damage concentrated where the attacker’s dominant hand landed—usually one side of the face taking the worst of it.
Hers looked bilateral, like she’d been worked over from both sides equally.
Like she’d faced two attackers.
Jesus.
She needed a hospital, but he’d worked with enough abuse victims to know she might bolt at the suggestion. Haven House first, then they could talk options.
The front door of the shelter banged open. Hollis Hartley flew down the steps, her usual calm composure fractured by the scene before her.
“What happened?” She dropped to her knees in the snow beside them.
“She just arrived. Car’s hers, I think.” Bear kept his assessment clinical and focused. “Multiple contusions, possible fractures. She’s in shock. Asked for Haven House specifically.”
Hollis nodded, her mouth set in a grim line. “Sarah?” she asked the woman softly. “Is that your name? You called earlier today, right?”
The woman—Sarah—gave a tiny nod, then winced at the movement. “He—he found out I was leaving.”
More footsteps crunched in the snow behind them. Maggie appeared at Hollis’s shoulder, her face pale with shock. Behind her, other women gathered on the porch, their expressions a mixture of horror and grim recognition.
“I’m going to lift her,” Bear said, already shifting to get his arms under Sarah’s knees and shoulders. “She needs to be inside, warmed up. Then we can better assess—”
“Bear.” Hollis’s voice was gentle. “I’m sorry, but you can’t come inside.”
He blinked at her, not processing. “She needs medical attention.”
“I know.” Hollis placed a hand on his forearm. “And we’ll get her that. But Haven House has rules. No men in the living spaces, except for Knox.”
His hands curled into fists before he caught himself and forced them open. “I can help her.”
“I know you can, but this isn’t about your skills. It’s about the women inside. Some of them... they’re not ready to have any man around, even one trying to help.”
The flicker of frustration died as quickly as it had ignited. Of course. These women had suffered at the hands of men who claimed to love them. The last thing they needed was a wall of muscle invading their safe space, no matter his intentions.
He nodded and held up his hands in surrender.
Knox Haven jogged up from his truck parked further down the drive. Bear had barely registered its arrival in the commotion. He’d worked with the hotshot firefighter before on a few projects around the ranch during fire season. The man was a shameless flirt, but otherwise solid.
“Got your text,” Knox said. “What’s the situation?”
Hollis filled him in quickly while Bear continued monitoring Sarah’s pulse and breathing. Her eyelids fluttered, consciousness fading in and out.
“We need to move her now,” Bear said. “She’s going into shock. Get her inside, get her warm.”
Knox nodded. “I’ll take her legs if you want to—”
“No.” Sarah’s voice cracked like a whip, suddenly stronger. Her good eye fixed on Bear. “Not... you…” Her gaze shifted over his shoulder to Maggie, then Hollis. “Please… not him.”
The way she looked at him—like he was the monster who’d done this to her—turned his stomach.
Because she was right to be scared of him.
He was a monster.
He’d killed with his fists and the rage that lived under his skin. That he’d been sober for years didn’t change what he was capable of.
“Okay,” he said, easing back. “The women will take care of you.”
Hollis nodded her thanks, then turned to the porch. “Claire, Tariah, can you help?”
Two women came forward. The older one, Claire, moved like someone who’d done this before. Tariah, barely more than a teenager, followed her lead.
“Spinal concerns?” Claire asked. Former nurse, if he had to guess.
He shook his head. “Injuries appear concentrated on the face, ribs, and arms. No indications of neck or back trauma.”
Claire nodded, then she and Tariah carefully positioned themselves on either side of Sarah. With Hollis supporting her head, they gently lifted her.
“I’ve got medical supplies in my office,” Hollis said as they started toward the house. “Maggie, can you grab blankets from the linen closet? And Jen, put the kettle on. We need to warm her up.”
Maggie touched his arm as she passed. “I’ll find out what’s happening and let you know.”
He sat there, snow soaking through the knees of his jeans, watching as they carried Sarah. His hands felt strangely empty.
Useless.
He hated feeling useless.
King pressed against his side, a warm, solid presence.
He climbed to his feet and followed Knox as far as the porch, stopping at the threshold. The women disappeared inside with Sarah, voices murmuring reassurances too low to make out.
“She say anything about who did this to her?” Knox asked.
“A husband or boyfriend.”
“Based on?”
“She kept saying, ‘he found out.’” He flexed his fingers, fighting the familiar rage that always bubbled just beneath the surface.
He really fucking hated when innocents were hurt.
Even worse when they were women or children.
“But whoever ‘he’ is, I think he employed a friend to help work her over.”
Knox frowned. “What makes you say that?”
“Bruising pattern.” Bear’s jaw tightened. “Too symmetrical. One person tends to favor a side when they’re beating someone. This looks like she got hit from both directions.”
“Jesus Christ. Some people don’t deserve to breathe the same air as the rest of us.”
Bear grunted in agreement. That was the truth.
Knox turned to look at the battered sedan. “I’ll move her car around back. Don’t want this asshole driving by and spotting it.”
The front door opened briefly. Maggie slipped out, hugging herself against the cold. “She’s settling in. Hollis is getting her stabilized before deciding if she needs the hospital.”
“She does,” Bear said flatly.
“I know. But she’s terrified. Says if we call an ambulance, she’s leaving.” She sighed and pushed her hair out of her face. “Hollis is trying to earn her trust first. I’m going to stay and help. Can you make sure Anson knows I’ll be late getting back? I can’t just leave her like this.”
Bear nodded. “I’ll wait. Drive you back when you’re done.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I do.” His tone left no room for argument. “Anson would skin me alive if I left you here alone, especially now.”
Maggie studied him for a moment, one skeptical eyebrow raised. “I highly doubt Anson could do anything to you. He’s big, but you’re like a mountain. But… thank you.” She glanced back at the door. “I should get back inside.”
As she disappeared into the house, Bear settled onto one of the porch rockers. King collapsed at his feet with a heavy sigh. Snow had started falling again, light flakes that swirled with each gust of wind.
Knox returned after moving the car, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The one that says you’re calculating how much force it would take to break someone’s jaw.”
Bear didn’t bother denying it. “Old habits.”
“Yeah.” Knox nodded toward King. “That’s why you’ve got him? To keep the old habits in check?”
The question caught him off guard. Most people assumed King was just a pet, not a lifeline.
“Something like that. He knows when I’m... not right. Grounds me.”
Knox nodded. “I’ll head inside, see if they need anything. I can bring you out some coffee if you want some.”
“I’m good.”
The door clicked shut, leaving him alone with his dog and his thoughts.
He settled deeper into the chair, resigned to more waiting, more sitting still.
Inside that house, women who knew exactly what kind of monster men could be were helping one of their own.
Out here, he was just another man, regardless of his intentions.
King rested his head on Bear’s boot, eyes fixed on the closed door. Snow gathered on the Leonberger’s fur, tiny white stars against the brown and black.
“Yeah,” Bear murmured, reaching down to brush the flakes away. “I feel pretty damn useless, too.”