Chapter Thirteen
Tanner
“Why do you call me Sweet Bee?” We’re sitting on the picnic table on the playground at school eating lunch.
It’s the middle of September so it’s still nice outside.
It’s just a peanut butter and jelly sandwich Mrs. Brigham made for me, but I’m so hungry I devour it in three bites.
Last night, Mom forgot to make dinner and I was locked in my room for asking about it.
I thought about kicking the door down but I did my homework instead.
“Your name starts with a B and you’re sweet.” Berkleigh loves to ask questions, and sometimes they’re kinda dumb. Why else would I call her that?
“Thank you. But is it the letter B or the buzzing bee?” I’ve got an apple at my lips, about to chomp down on it, when the question throws me off. Why would I call her a bee?
“It’s the letter.” This time, I do sink my teeth in the delicious red apple and moan at how sweet it is.
“Oh.”
I frown, then turn to look at Berkleigh, who is sitting right beside me. She gets picked on a lot by Taylor so she’s always close to me. Timmy learned his lesson, though.
“Why are you making that face?” Is she going to cry?
“I was hoping it was a bee. I like the idea of going from flower to flower and making honey.”
I shrug as I take another bite of the apple.
“Then it’ll be Sweet Bee, like the buzzing bee.” Problem solved.
I freeze when she leans in and kisses my cheek. “Thank you, Tanner. You’re the best.”
She’s being a brat. All day I’ve had to rein myself in because I’m not sure whether I want to spank the respect back into her or fuck it right out. Maybe I’ll do both.
Tilting up my wrist, I look at my watch and decide we’ve got a little less than an hour before the chill falls over us.
Even in the summer months, the evening shade brings with it a reminder that the cold temperatures from the Breakneck Ridge mixed with the water from the Hudson River creates a cover of humidity that seeps into the bones.
“One more set then we’re leaving.” I narrow my eyes at her as I speak, hoping she’ll check herself and not clap back.
“Why are you so bossy?” Like my drill sergeant used to always say, hope murders reality.
“If you think I’m being bossy now, then you don’t know the meaning of the word.” Making my way back to the tree trunk, I take down the used targets and freeze when I hear the crunching sound of leaves on the forest floor.
With the attitude Berkleigh’s been giving, I’m half expecting to see her walking on her bum ankle, ignoring my instructions, but my gut tells me something different. Crouching to the ground, I turn to Berkleigh, whose brows are like twin peaks of confusion, and bring my index finger to my lips.
When she puts her hand to her mouth and widens her eyes, I make a mental note to reward her for finally doing what I tell her without questioning me.
The crunch happens again, helping me discern a direction, and it’s south of her toward the river bank on the other side of our town. It’s the season where all kinds of wild animals come around looking for food or travelling back from a fresh drink or upstream fishing. We’re prepared for that.
What I’m not prepared for is any kind of law enforcement showing up.
My military ID says I’m retired, and some of the grade A shit I’ve got out here isn’t exactly legal in the middle of the fucking woods.
It could also be a couple of high school kids coming out to smoke weed or get laid.
Same shit, though. My weapons can’t be seen.
I mean, best case scenario, it’s some psycho and I can take him out.
May not go over very well with Berkleigh, no doubt.
Carefully and with the stealth of an F-22, I make my way back to Berkleigh.
She hasn’t moved, her eyes following my every movement.
There’s no reason for her to be afraid, at least not statistically.
The odds of her finding herself in another dangerous situation is next to null.
Still, I’m not taking any fucking chances.
“Is it a bear?” she barely whispers, and I’m pretty sure I hear excitement in her voice. Christ, this woman would drive me crazy if I weren’t already.
“Don’t know. I’m going to put you in the truck first, then my gear. Stay quiet.” She nods, and as I rise to my feet, I bring her with me. I bench press more than her, it barely registers for me to carry her like she’s my precious rucksack.
“I hope it’s a bobcat. I hear they’re beautiful.”
I shake my head at her admission.
“You’ve lived here your whole damn life and haven't seen a bobcat? What the hell have you been doing these past twelve years?” I smirk at my own question because I know exactly what she’s been doing, but she doesn’t know that.
“Studying and working.” There’s that attitude.
“Put me down. I can get inside your truck by myself.” It’s so damn easy to rile her up, I think I may do it on purpose.
I do as she asks—more like demands, which will need to stop because she won’t like the consequences—enjoying how difficult it is for her to move around.
Life would be so much easier if she just did as she was told.
“Better hurry or that bobcat will rip your calf right off.” Lowering my head to hide my grin, I must fail on all counts because her huff is clear.
“You’re so full of shit. I know for a fact that bobcats don’t attack humans.”
“For a fact, huh? Did you watch a documentary between study sessions?” I can’t stop and she’s hopping on one foot as I watch her. Meanwhile, my gaze is scouring the forest to make sure I’m not taken by surprise by any of the possible causes for the noise.
There it is again, and it’s even closer.
My hand flies to her mouth and without giving her a choice, I lift and sit her down on my passenger seat, clicking the door closed.
Once I know for a fact that it’s an animal, I’ll make all the noise necessary to convince it to leave, but if it’s a cop, well, I’d rather put my shit away first.
It takes me two minutes to grab the knives and the holsters, putting them away in my bag. My cases are already filled with my guns, checked, emptied, secured.
Just before I close the tailgate of my truck, I hear the unmistakable sound of a snort, followed by a warning growl.
I know before turning around that I’m about to be face to face with a black bear.
Most of the territory around here is a bit of a stomping ground for them, and of course the exact acreage we’re occupying is their proverbial home turf.
That being said, a black bear sighting isn’t an everyday occurrence, but they do return to their favorite spots and I’m guessing we’re trespassing.
Looking over my shoulder, I assess the danger.
He’s not holding an aggressive stance, more curious and probably looking for some grub.
With deliberate movements, I pivot, avoiding any sudden gestures or anything that would freak him out.
As soon as I’m turned around, I can slam the bed of the truck closed and scare him off.
They hate loud noises and, in general, black bears are scared of mostly everything they’re not used to which begs the question… what the fuck is he even doing here?
As I take a step to the side, I have a blinding moment where I imagine my bones jumping out of my skin like some kind of Looney Tunes scene.
It takes me a second to realize Berkleigh got heavy-handed on the car horn.
That little stunt had the expected effect of scaring the shit out of the bear, who is currently slaloming around trees in its haste to get the fuck out of Dodge.
Did she just save my life? Maybe. Will she remind me of this heroic moment for the rest of our lives? No doubt. And she’ll use every possible occasion to do so.
“Fuck.” My one word whisper is only for me as I head for the tail gate to make sure it’s secured. As I round to the driver’s side, opening the door and sliding behind the wheel, I’m feeling a little more like myself.
“You’re welcome.” Damn, that was quick.
I choose to keep quiet, letting the small shake of my head say everything I’m not communicating out loud.
“I hope it’s okay. Do you think I traumatized him?” Her words have me freezing midway to the start button on the truck.
“Do I think it’s okay?” I’m just making sure I heard her right.
“Yeah. We always assume that animals don’t have feelings or that somehow their feelings are lesser than ours, but I don’t believe that.”
I let loose a wide grin.
“I can guarantee you that the bear’s feelings are much bigger than mine will ever be.” We do the thing where we stare at each other, where she weighs my words and I hold on to my truth.
“You’re an asshole.” There’s no bite to her insult, it comes out like it’s just a habit at this point.
“It’s the truest thing you’ve said all day.” I start the truck up, confident this conversation is over, but my Sweet Bee has a whole different idea.
“Here’s what I think…” Let it be known that no conversation starting with those four words ever goes as planned.
“No.” I make a U-turn on the path, careful to navigate around the trees and stumps on the way.
“What do you mean ‘no’? You can’t dictate what I think or what I’m going to say about what I think.
” Slicing a glare her way, I choose, a-fucking-gain, not to run my mouth.
It’d be nice if she took note of that, too.
“This is America and even in this private bubble between the two of us, free speech is still a thing.” Jesus fucking hell, how did we get from scaring a bear to brandishing the first amendment right?
“No.” Now I’m speeding down this damn path that should be taken at a leisurely pace, what with all the wild life hanging out, as exhibited by the events before this useless conversation. And is it really a conversation if I’m not contributing to it?
“Stop saying that. You’re being ridiculous. Now, listen to me.”
“No.”