Bear The Blaze (Firebear Brides 3) (5 page)

He still kept a protective arm around her, like he had no intention of ever letting her stray too far from him. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to be anywhere where he wasn’t, and that was a scary thought.

You barely know him,
she reminded herself.

“You don’t know the half of it,” he said casually, and that hit hard.

He was right. She didn’t. All that Abigail knew about this man was that he was the brother of one of her closest friends and that he had a dark past, one that made her heart beat far faster than it should have. And now she’d fucked him in a damn shed in the middle of the day when anyone could have walked in on them. Sort of mortified by what she’d done, she slid off his lap and plucked her shirt off the lawn, pulling it on.

Ragnar looked at her with surprise in his eyes. The sun caressed his muscles and the desire to be back in his arms was almost overwhelming in its intensity.

“Everything okay, beautiful?” he asked softly.

She shook her head with a forced smile, unsure of whether she was trying to convince him or herself.

“Yeah, I’m fine. There’s work to do, you know?”

Ragnar nodded mutely, getting up. He was about to step into the workshop when he stopped at the door, looking at Abigail. His hazel eyes sucked her in immediately.

“You know they planned this, right?”

“Planned what?” Abigail asked, confused.

“You. Me. In Idaho. There’s no reason why one of us couldn’t have come to Los Angeles and picked up that truck. They wanted us here together.”

“For what?” Abigail asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Smirking darkly, Ragnar kept her gaze. “You’ve been imported, Abigail. A real modern mail-order bride, except they got you here with a phone call and nobody warned either you or me about this.”

“What?!” Abigail asked, surprise hitting her in the face like a baseball bat. “You can’t be serious,” she stuttered. “That’s ridiculous. I came here to fix the truck!”

“Royce is a decent mechanic in his own right. Me too. But I’d seen your picture before, and I think after I commented on it, something must have stuck with Redmond. He’s a chump at times but the man’s got a memory on him.”

Staring at him incredulously, Abigail couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Had this all been some elaborate trick? But the more she thought about it, the more it sounded like
exactly
something Redmond would do. That beautiful, impossible bastard.

“Wow. I was staring right at it and I didn’t even see it.”

Ragnar crossed over to her and before she could say anything, he pressed his lips against hers in a soft, lingering kiss that she couldn’t help but return.

“I’m glad they brought you here, beautiful.”

With that, he turned around and stalked into the shed, leaving Abigail in a state of dazed confusion and maybe a little horny. Okay, definitely horny.

She slapped her hand against her forehead, groaning.

I should have known that Redmond Hamilton was up to no good,
she thought.

But maybe Redmond’s meddling could be the best thing that ever happened to her?
 

CHAPTER SIX

Ragnar

Something that Abigail had said struck home far too hard with Ragnar. When he managed to untangle himself from her later in the day, having concluded cleaning out the workshop and finding himself unable to think of any good excuse to hang around her anymore, he’d taken a shower and headed out.

Shifter Grove was a new settlement in the foothills, but the area had been a home to shifters for a long time. The Hamiltons had been a big clan once, and there were others not far either. Off the top of his head, Ragnar could name the Bitterroots in Montana—though it wasn’t so far over the mountains—and the Arders. But those were the good guys, the clans that the Hamiltons had never had problems with.

As with all shifter relations, things were rarely that easy.

Driving down the long, dusty road that he could faintly remember from his childhood, Ragnar kept his eyes peeled. Hamilton House was on a five-road intersection, three of which led to their grounds, one back to Shifter Grove, and the last one… well, that was what he was intending to find out now.

The thick, lush forests thinned out as he got farther from the Hamilton grounds and the mountains sprouted up in jagged lines. The road was barely visible, obviously rarely traveled, just like the ones leading to the Hamilton areas had been before Royce dragged everyone back kicking and screaming. Ragnar slowed down the truck slightly, taking his time to consider the surroundings. The woods were as dry here as they were everywhere else around Shifter Grove, but they were well-tended. It was obvious that someone had occasionally taken the time to clear out the thick underbrush, bringing more light and life in.

Frowning slightly, Ragnar continued on. It wasn’t long until a building came into view in the distance. It looked slanted to one side, perhaps to the point of collapsing in on itself. It was painted a deep, gnarly sort of red that stuck out like a sore thumb in the green foliage. He had to imagine that it was what the owner intended, though Ragnar couldn’t be sure who was he showing off for. Nobody came this far out of town, especially in that direction. From that point on, there were nothing but lifeless rocks and treacherous mountainsides.

As he got closer, he also saw two trucks parked out in front, both of them F-250s.

They certainly have the cash to blow on trucks,
he mused to himself, taking mental notes.

Ragnar drove straight up to the front yard, scattering some chickens, and parked next to the matching black trucks. He clambered out, eyeing the vehicles thoughtfully. In the back seat of one of the cabs he spotted an unmarked canister that looked too small to be used for oil or gas. A dark thought pricked at the back of his mind, sprouting questions.

He didn’t have time to snoop around more as the door was heavily flung open and a tall, broad man with gray eyes stomped out.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing in my yard, Hamilton?!” he roared, his face twisted with rage.

Shit. I found the hospitable neighbors.

Squaring his shoulders and raising his chin, Ragnar crossed his arms over his chest. There was something incredibly familiar about this place, as well as the eyes of the man staring at him now. Ragnar’s brow furrowed slightly as he tried to remember what struck him about it all, but he wasn’t given a chance to really drill down on it.

“I said, what the
fuck
do you think you’re doing in my fucking yard, Hamilton?” the man seethed, walking right up to Ragnar.

“I came to see who our neighbors are. I don’t mean any disrespect,” Ragnar said calmly, keeping his gaze level with the man.

The man was obviously strong, years of hard work having shaped and molded him. He had narrow eyes and a thick nose, with a square, sloppy haircut. Add that to a short neck and his snarls of fury, and the werebear—Ragnar could smell it on him—looked every bit the part of a bouncer or a thug. The door flung open again and another man stormed out, a copy of the first.

It was then that the fog in Ragnar’s head cleared. Of course. He knew who these two were!

“Hasslebacks!” he blurted, making the brothers stare at one another in confusion for a moment.

“Yeah, we’re the Hasslebacks. What, you lost your memory or something, Hamilton?” the first one scoffed, who Ragnar guessed to be Slade.

Sear stepped up as well, his blue eyes the only thing that really told him apart from his equally bulky brother.

“What the fuck do you want, Ragnar?” Sear asked.

Ragnar relaxed a bit. Okay, so he wasn’t the only one who remembered.

“Like I said, I came to say hello to the neighbors,” he said, looking around now with renewed interest.

He and the Hasslebacks had been friends for a short while when they were kids. It was something Ragnar had gone to great lengths to hide from his family. The Hamiltons and Hasslebacks had never gotten along. Ragnar wasn’t entirely sure if it was written in their DNA or their bear ancestors had decided it on some sort of a clearer rationale than simple dislike, but that was how it stood. Hamiltons and Hasslebacks didn’t mix.

Way back when, both clans had been equally large and constantly at each other’s throats. In an area as big as the mountains they occupied, one would think that two bear clans could get along without ripping one another’s hearts out constantly, but that had never proven to be the case. Too stubborn to move, both of them stood their ground, and as the clans grew the conflicts only got larger.

It was sort of poetic that both the clans were now reduced to the very basics of what they’d once been. The Hasslebacks had had a compound as massive as the Hamiltons, maybe even bigger. Ragnar knew for a fact that there had been more than ten smaller homesteads dotting the surrounding forests, but he was willing to bet that none of them had any inhabitants in them anymore.

“Well, hello. Now get the fuck out,” Slade barked, sneering.

“What’s with the warm welcome, Slade?” Ragnar said, smirking slightly. He wasn’t about to be intimidated, especially when the scene before him was ticking off all the wrong boxes in his head. “I remember we used to get along. Isn’t that worth something?” he asked.

“I don’t think a city bear has a place to come waltzing in here, demanding any kind of treatment,” Sear commented, always the more level-headed of the two. “And I think Slade’s right. You need to go, Ragnar.”

“Before something happens you’ll regret,” Slade added grimly.

“Is that a threat?” Ragnar asked, cocking a brow.

“It’s a promise,” Slade said, grinning.

There was a look in his eyes that Ragnar knew too well. He’d seen it before. The cold, uncaring eyes of a man who had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Nodding slowly, Ragnar looked from Slade to Sear.

“It was good to see you. I’m sure my brothers would send their greetings,” he said, whipping around and heading back to the truck.

He took notice of the can in the back seat again, studying it for a brief moment.

“We don’t share the sentiment,” Sear added flatly.

Ragnar smirked as he climbed into the truck. It was surprising how much gusto the Hasslebacks still had, despite the fact that their situation seemed to be as dire as the Hamiltons. Well, more even, as Ragnar didn’t see any cubs anywhere and the feeling he got was that the two brothers were the only ones on the grounds, the last members of their line. Ragnar knew how that shit stung.

He turned his truck around, feeling Slade’s and Sear’s eyes on him the whole way out of the front yard. In the rearview mirror, he could see the moment when Slade exploded at Sear, flailing his arms in aggravation and pointing at Ragnar’s truck.

Guess I hit a nerve,
he mused.

He hadn’t thought of the Hasslebacks for years. Even when getting back to Idaho, he’d been so enamored with the good memories that he had about Hamilton House that he blocked out the bad completely. But there was a lot of darkness in the past, and Ragnar felt he’d struck the nail on the head with his little trip. It looked less and less realistic that the fires had been an accident. He finally had his first real suspects.

Combining that discovery with the romp he’d had with Abigail that day, Ragnar felt like he could consider the day a roaring success so far. Now if he could only focus on his work and get his mind off of her sexy curves and that dirty mouth of hers, maybe he could get something done.
 

CHAPTER SEVEN

Abigail

It was hard to work on the truck when all she wanted to do was to discover what kind of glorious growly sounds the werebear she liked made, and she didn’t like it one bit.

Grumbling to herself, she tossed a wrench out of her toolbox and dug in deeper, doing her best to remember why she was there to begin with. When she saw the wrench she’d originally been looking for, it dawned on her and she relaxed, just a little though, and pulled it out. Spinning around, she glared haughtily at Old Bell.

“Bitch, you better start working with me. This is no time to go through adolescence all over again. We’re both too old for it,” she huffed to the flaming red truck, sitting innocently above the service pit, ponderously staring into the yard outside.