Hollywood Bear: BBW Bear Shifter Paranormal Romance (12 page)

Marisia took Mick’s hand. “He didn’t want anyone to know. This one was a little worse, so we had to come in here.”

“If I told you, you’d worry. Not work.” Ivan’s husky voice was thready. “What use is that? You won’t win Oscars. If you worry about an old man. Doc Hamaranth says I could live to be a hundred.”

Mick let out his breath slowly, consciously trying to vent his anger. He knew it was caused by anxiety—he knew that nothing would have been “right” because he wanted Ivan to be well. And he was 95 years old.

A nurse arrived at the door. “It’s nine o’clock. Visiting hours are over.”

Mick felt a surge of resistance—he was ready to demand a change of rules, a private room, private hospital—but Marisia squeezed his hand gently. “They said he can go leave tomorrow, if he has a quiet night. Will you take me home?”

Mick nodded. They each kissed Ivan, promised to be back in the morning, and he took his grandmother’s arm and escorted her out, into the quiet night. The smells and sounds of the quiet countryside threw him back to childhood.

“When did you eat last, Misha?” Marisia asked.

“I don’t know.” He flashed on sitting beside Shelley, sharing peanut butter sandwiches. “I’m fine, Baba Marisia. Unless you haven’t had dinner. Should we stop somewhere?”

“I’m fine,” she said, amused. “You found us a few minutes after the last of the visitors left. Everyone has been by. Lisa Goldstein said she left food in the fridge so I wouldn’t have to cook. And the LaFleurs smuggled in some cassoulet as they were certain that hospital food would poison us.”

He forced a laugh, now that the emergency was past. He noticed for the first time the insistent throb of a headache.

They reached the house he’d grown up in, and as promised found ready-to-microwave chicken and rice, almond beans, and several other promising things. He fixed two plates, zapped them, then sat down with his Baba Marisia, who also looked more frail every time he saw her.

He ate gratefully. She picked at the small amount he’d given her as she filled him in on what had happened. He listened quietly, they discussed what the doctors had said, and when they were done, he washed his dishes and put them away. When he turned back, he discovered Marisia gazing at him. Frail she might be, but her scrutiny was acute as she said, “What is it, darling boy?”

“I think I have found my mate.”

His bear reared up inside him, and he saw the flash of his grandmother’s otter nature in her eyes as she smiled tremulously. “Oh, my darling, I am so glad!”

He shook his head. “I wish it were that simple. My bear nature is sure, but how does that even work? It clearly didn’t for my dad.”

Her smile faded, and she sighed, hands pressed to her temples. “Oh, darling, your father . . . maybe we should talk about it tomorrow, when I’m less tired, and Ivan can be with us.”

“I’m sorry, Baba Marisia.”

“Don’t be. You just told me the news I have wanted to hear for many years. Does she know about your dual nature?”

He shook his head. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Here’s what I am certain of,” Marisia said. “You couldn’t have thought of any way better to cheer Ivan. How about an early night, so we are rested tomorrow?”

He wished her a good sleep, and when she had closed herself in their bedroom, retreated to his old room, which always looked so small. He hooked up his laptop, and resumed his editing.

He felt closer to Shelley while working with his footage; the next thing he knew it was nearly four o’clock in the morning, but he’d put together a cut he was happy with. He sent it off to his agent and to the friend who had co-produced his cancelled show, then fell into bed.

***

Shelley had also slept in.

Though Mick had insisted she help herself to anything she wanted in his Idyllwild house before he’d raced out to catch his helicopter, she had been daunted by the mysterious packages in the freezer, most of which were labeled in Cyrillic script.

So once again feeling that life had taken a surreal turn, she picked up the keys, carefully made certain that the house was locked (though she doubted that the area was a seething pit of crime) and just as carefully started up Mick’s beautiful car.

Sitting where he usually sat made her feel . . . odd. Not close—the opposite, because she knew he was distant, going farther away, and she hoped there would not be bad news at the other end. There was no weird psychic connection. It was emotional, a connection at the heart.

She had lost trust of not only men but also of her own emotions. That, she thought while sitting in Mick’s car, sniffing as she tried to catch his scent, was the worst thing Dominic had taken away from her.

Only she could put it back.

She stopped in Idyllwild to get a hot sandwich, then drove carefully down the mountain.

By the time she finally rolled up her street, it was almost dawn. She forced herself to pull her own car out of her slot and pull his into the cramped space. She put hers on the street, went inside, and crawled gratefully into bed.

She woke up to the ping of her phone text.

It was from Mick:
Not serious, so far. Thanks for everything. Will call when I know more
.

She touched the face of her phone as if she could touch him. Now thoroughly awake, she forced herself to get up and woke herself with a hot shower pounding her face.

When she reached the kitchen, three surprised faces turned her way as they finished up breakfast.

Taylor irritably scraped the last atoms of no-fat yogurt from the tiny cup that constituted her breakfast. “I thought you were gone until Sunday.”

“Gig got cancelled,” Shelley said.

“I’m sorry about that, but you’ll have to find somewhere else to be tonight. It’s my turn to have people over.”

And no one over a size five allowed in her select company. “No problem,” Shelley said sincerely; Taylor’s friends were sure to be just like her.

Jan (also pointedly not invited) rolled her eyes.

Taylor flung her hair back, dropped the spoon into the dishwasher, and marched out. Annette, Taylor’s shadow, followed silently, swallowing down her last bite of toast.

As soon as the front door slammed, Jan said, “Five more months on this lease, and we’ll never have to see those two again.”

Shelley nodded—she had been hearing variations on this theme since she’d moved in—and then Jan said, “What happened?”

“His grandfather had a seizure or stroke. He left by helicopter.”

“Wow. Well, I think—”

The front door slammed open, and Taylor reappeared, frown lines between her beautifully groomed brows. “There’s a strange Mercedes parked in Shelley’s spot. Do you know anything about that?”

Jan opened her mouth, but Shelley said quickly, “I’m watching it for a friend who’s out of town.”

“You’d think anyone who could afford that could afford their own garage,” Taylor snapped. “I wish someone had bothered to think about how that enormous cruise ship makes it a hundred times harder to get in and out of
my
spot.”

She turned on her heel and slammed out again.

“Five months,” Jan said, then her expression changed. “I’ve got the lunch shift all week, so let’s make a night of it!”

Shelley went back to bed until Jan returned. Then they went out to their favorite restaurant, followed by an ice cream binge, and then a movie.

When Shelley woke up the next morning, she had two texts waiting.

From Mick:
He’s home. Will try to call when the house is not full of well-wishers. I forgot to tell you yesterday. I’ve roughed together the footage we shot to share with my agent. What do you think?

From Marv the Agent:
Call me
.

She glanced at the time, resisted the urge to call at that second, and took her shower and dressed first. Then called.

Marv answered himself, a first. “Whatever you’re doing on your location shoot is getting some interest. I’ve had four inquiries about you since lunch yesterday.”

“Me?” Shelley exclaimed. “I’m not on location. I’m home.”

“You are?”

“Mick Volkov had an emergency,” Shelley said, wondering how much she ought to say about his personal life. “We only shot for two days.”

“Well, it just goes to show, when one of the big dogs barks, the rest of the kennel all start yapping. Why don’t you come up to the office so we can talk?”

“Sure,” Shelley said, surprised, gratified, and intensely curious.

She heard Taylor’s sharp voice from the kitchen on the other side of the wall, so she decided to stay in her room until Taylor and Annette left for work. She opened the attachment Mick had sent. Shelley wondered how rough it would be, given they’d only had a couple days, and was surprised to see how smoothly the clip had been edited together. He’d even added music, something with a strong beat that added speed to the movement, and complemented the beautiful scenery.

She killed time on the net until she heard the front door slam. She found Jan sitting at the tiny kitchen table, yawning and rubbing her eyes.

“Mick sent me the footage he took,” she said.

“Oh, let’s see!”

Shelley set up her laptop on the table, and the two crowded in to watch.

“Wow,” Jan breathed when it was over.

Shelley snorted. “What wow? It’s just me riding around. Though the camera work is really beautiful. That shot where the light turns the water to little crystals after I rode through the stream, and I look so cold and badass—right then I was hoping my butt wouldn’t get wet.”

Instead of the expected laugh, Jan shook her head. “You don’t see it, do you?”

“See what? I just said his camera work is great—”

“It’s you,” Jan said. “I mean, yes, his camera work is magical. I can see why he’s got where he is, but I’ve never seen
that
face on you. You’re
gorgeous
.”

“Oh, Jan.”

“You’re in love.”

Shelley looked up at the yellowed ceiling, then down at the industrial green fake tile floor without seeing either of them. Then finally at Jan. “I know. It hit me when I was in the mountains, driving his car. Except how could that possibly be? We hardly know each other!”

“Seems to me you know each other
really well
.” Jan wiggled her brows.

Shelley spluttered a laugh. “Sure, the sex is fantastic. We’ve been talking, but not about anything that matters—we haven’t had
time
.”

“Maybe. But five minutes is all it takes for some people, or there wouldn’t be a billion songs and stories about love at first sight.” Jan turned the laptop to face her. “He might not have had time to say much, but with his camera? He’s totally into you.”

Shelley watched the camera lingering on her as she swept the bike around in a tight turn, dust spiraling up to turn her into a silhouette. In the light of day, the doubts were creeping back. “It’s just that he’s a great director.”

Jan paused the clip where the rosy late afternoon sunlight caught Shelley just after she’d pulled off her helmet. She hadn’t been aware that he was still shooting as she glanced off to the right and shook her damp hair back.

“Ew, I’m all sweaty.”

“Don’t look at that. Look at this.” Jan pushed the button and Shelley unfroze, put the helmet back on and began to ride, but glanced back, smiling. “I bet he was smiling at you right then. Wasn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Shelley said softly. “He was.”

***

Between the parade of well-wishers and the insistent buzzes of his phone, Mick got no time to himself.

After three solid days he began to wish his grandparents weren’t so popular—and that he could see Shelley in person. He texted her several times, and he called her once. Her voice was warm as she thanked him for the clip. But he didn’t want to hear about his great camera work, he wanted to talk to
her
. Yet once the chat was over he didn’t know where to start. He had to see her. The easy conversation about their respective days, the many calls she’d suddenly gotten, the doctors and their guesses, elated and frustrated him both. He needed proximity—he needed to be there.

And he had no idea how to begin.

Mick’s grandfather was home now. And at first he slept a great deal. Mick ran errands for his grandparents so that Marisia wouldn’t wear herself out. He fielded questions from neighbors, served and drank gallons of coffee and tea with friends, went to the grocery store, the pharmacy, the medical supplies outlet.

Between these errands he dealt with L.A. calls. Most of these were positive about his insanely brilliant idea, except for an idiot mid-level network flunky who sounded astonished, simply astonished, that he hadn’t used a stand-in, that he wanted Shelley Willis for the pilot.

The flunky said, “Well, maybe if she drops forty pounds, and we send her to someone for a face—” 

Mick hung up, muttering, “Idiot.”