Sam (BBW Bear Shifter Wedding Romance) (Grizzly Groomsmen Book 2) (167 page)

Linnie nodded again, and raised the cloth back to the wound, and gently squeezed a little iodine on the injury.

Cain snarled, and slammed a fist on the table; for a moment, his face twisted, and Cain’s mouth opened to reveal dangerous-looking incisors.

“Sorry …” Linnie started, but Cain shook his head.

“No. It’s okay,” Cain nodded his head. “Pain is transitory.”

Linnie’s eyes widened, and shook her head. “Wow. Fuck that.”
 

Cain guffawed, and Linnie smirked, bringing up a cotton ball to daub the wound down. “Does this hurt?”

“It all hurts,” Cain answered. “Pain can be worked around. Controlled.”

Linnie brought out a bandage, and the medical tape.

Cain shook his head. “No need. Wound will be healed in a day; bandages just make them itch.” He stood, and walked over to a chest set along the wall.

Linnie sighed. “So, how long are we gonna be here?” she asked. She watched him stand in front of the chest and studied the thick, dark body hair across his shoulders. There was something…primitive and virile about that hair.
 

He opened the chest, and reached inside. “A day.” he answered, and then paused. “Maybe a few days. My partners will look into the family. We’ll stay here. We stay out of the way, and keep you safe.” Cain pulled a sweater on as he spoke.
 

Linnie was surprised how much it changed Cain’s look; he went from a threatening, protective guardian, to a cuddly…Linnie giggled inside her head. A cuddly teddy bear. “So, is there a TV around here?” Linnie looked around the cottage.

“Nope,” he said.

“WiFi?” she asked, bracing herself for the answer she already knew was coming.

His rumbled with laughter and he shook his head. “WiFi? This isn’t a cozy cafe with a fake fireplace and pumpkin spice lattes. TV? WiFi? Darlin’, there’s no power out here.” Cain answered. “Power means a power bill. That means paperwork. Very dangerous people pay very boring people lots of money to read very boring paperwork. Then they find what they’re looking for,” he said. “Who they’re looking for.”

“What about the fridge?” Linnie responded, pointing with her thumb. Her other hand clutched her phone. For the first time in almost two decades she might have to survive without her phone.
 

Cain shook his head again. “Not plugged in. We bring ice. There’s ready-to-eat meals in the kitchen cupboards. A pump out back to bring water in.” Cain said, nodding his head towards the back of the house.

Linnie paused for a moment, opened her mouth to ask a question, thought better of it, and closed it. Then she reconsidered, and asked, “But, what are we going to do?”

Cain remained stoic. “There’s books.”

“What if we get in trouble, though? I mean, is there a phone?” Linnie stood up, and gave the room another look.

Cain shook his head. “No cell towers out here. Off the grid means off the grid. We’re out here for at least a couple weeks.” He seemed to recuse himself as that last bit slipped out.

“Weeks? What do you mean weeks? A moment ago it was one day, maybe a few days. Now it’s weeks?”

“It’s always been weeks, Linnie,” Cain said, looking away. “Look I’m not the best at babysitting, ok?“

“Babysitting?” she said, her pulse racing. “Babysitting! I’m not a child, you condescending meathead! And I’ll have you know that I was a professional nanny, so you’ve managed to insult me and my career.”

“I keep people safe. I protect them from other people who want to hurt them,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m not as effective at protecting people from themselves.”

An awkward pause hung between them, and it seemed to suck the oxygen out of the room.

“I…can we start over?” he said, running his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry that I offended you. Sometimes I speak without thinking.”

Linnie crossed her arms while she studied the room. She dropped herself into a pleasingly comfortable leather chair. “This whole thing is stupid. I’m not gonna testify. I’ll go into that courtroom and clam up.”

She looked to Cain. In the past, when she’d gotten to this point of her speech, someone had always interrupted, reassured her of her safety, told her how necessary it was for her to speak against the crime syndicate, and how brave she was. Then they’d let up a bit. Better food, a few trips out so she could shop a little. Maybe a salon trip.

Cain’s flat expression said he wasn’t moved.

“Right? I mean…pow!” Linnie made a finger-gun, and shot herself in the temple. “I mean, that’s how it works, right? I testify, they come at me.”

Cain walked silently into the kitchen.

Linnie shook her head. “No. This wasn’t supposed to go this way. I never asked for this! I was just…why should I die for this? No, if I…I could recant. Take it all back. Refuse to testify.”

Cain paused to lean on the table, not moving, just listening to Linnie.

“That’d work, right? I mean, they’re only after me because of the charges. I don’t have to help. The DA, he can’t make me testify, right?” Linnie elaborated.

Cain blinked slowly.

“Right?” Linnie said, hoping to get an answer from Cain.

Cain sighed heavily in response, and shrugged. “I got lost on my way to law school.”

Linnie nodded. “Exactly. Right?”

“I’m gonna go chop some wood. If you need anything, I’ll be listening. Just call.” Cain’s answer was short, entirely on point, and avoided everything Linnie was desperately trying to talk about.

Linnie sighed, and slumped in the chair. If that was as talkative as Cain got, this was shaping up to be a long few weeks.

The first few hours were challenging. There were no screens, no cell reception, not even a radio. At first, Linnie passed the time by staring out the window and watching the trees. Then, she wandered around the cabin again, checking the stock of ready-to-eat meals. She grimaced at the one labeled ‘Ham Slice in Natural Juices’.
 

She examined the various hunting trophies, then studied the paintings, and finally resorted to the books. Faulkner, Shakespeare, and Vonnegut; they all seemed a bit like heavy reading. The last real book she’d read was something by Chuck Palahniuk. Something her friend had pushed into her hands, gushing over how amazing it was.
 

Cain walked in from outside, closing the door behind him and unbundling a big satchel full of split logs. He laid them next to the fireplace and gingerly placed a few logs into the stone enclosure. Then he took a small tin from the shelf above the fireplace and put a small fuzzy ball beneath the logs. “Lint.”

“Like pocket lint?”

“Yep. It’s great for starting fires,” he said, striking a match and reaching into the fireplace. Nothing seemed to happen, then smoke was visible. It carried up the chimney as the fire caught. Cain’s actions were patient and methodical.

Linnie watched the process, and then stared into the resulting fire.

As night drew outside, Cain returned to the circle of furniture, and set a bowl filled with a thick stew in front of Linnie. He crossed the circle to sit on the couch opposite, eating his own stew slowly.

With the gathering night, and her stew half-gone, Linnie sighed deeply, causing Cain to glance up at her. “It’s scary out here,” she said.

Cain’s brow furrowed, and he glanced at his stew.
 

Linnie continued, “I went to school for early childhood education. I’m not a cop. I never wanted this. I never signed up for this. I’m scared, now. Every day, I’m scared, and I’m so tired
.
Of running like this. I just want to get back to my life.”

Cain stared at Linnie with his glittering golden eyes. She felt almost trapped by his gaze, transfixed. She continued to talk; Cain’s stoic demeanor presented her with the chance to open up, and she meant to take it.

“Like, what happens to me after the trial, if I testify? A life looking over my shoulder, always worrying? I deserve to have a life!”

Cain looked back to his stew, and took another spoonful. Before putting it in his mouth, he muttered, “So does Brandon.”

Linnie’s breath caught in her throat. A silence hung for a moment between she and Cain. He was right; Brandon had every right to his life, just like she did. Just like her, Brandon hadn’t asked for any of this; he was the prisoner of circumstance, just like her. He was just a little boy.

“...so does Brandon.” Linnie murmured. After another pause, she asked, “Do you
think I should testify?”

Cain looked up from his soup, and met Linnie’s gaze again, and then blinked slowly.
 

Linnie raised her eyebrows, trying to make it clear she expected an answer this time. “Well? Do you?” Linnie asked.

Cain cleared this throat and wiped his mouth with his napkin before setting it in his empty bowl. “I think…” He paused, inhaled, exhaled, and began again. “I think you’re right. I don’t think it’s fair. I think it’s terrible. I don’t think you did anything to deserve it. I think you spoke up because you were worried about one little boy, and I think you accidentally caught the tiger by the tail. I think you need to make the choice that you’re going to be able to live with five years from now. Ten years from now.” He set his plastic spoon in his bowl. “I don’t know what that decision will be. How could I? It’s your decision.”

Linnie sighed.
 

Cain’s eyes stayed on her face, and he blinked slowly. He collected Linnie’s empty bowl, and headed to the kitchen. Linnie called after him, “So how did you end up stuck with me?”

For a long moment, Cain was silent as he pouring water from their potable water jug into a kettle. “Lost the draw,” he said with a chuckle.
 

Linnie snorted and covered her face.
 

Cain continued. “We go with what feels right.” He nodded, apparently agreeing with the kettle. “You felt right.”

“We hadn’t even met, though.” Linnie said, feeling herself smile a little. “You decided to take the job with nothing to go on.”

Cain shook his head. “I didn’t take the assignment until I was in the hotel room.” he murmured, walking back over to the sofa to sit back down opposite Linnie again.

She let the comfortable silence wrap around them again for a few minutes, pretending to read her book. After a moment, she set the book down again, and asked Cain, “How did you become a bodyguard?”

“Who we are affects what we are.” Cain said. “Bears are protectors. Defenders. My family has found a way to leverage that. Wolves are hunters, predators; they travel unseen among humans, preying on them.”

 
Linnie nodded. “And…uhh, pigs?” she asked, tentatively.

“Boars,” Cain set his jaw. He obviously found the boars almost as unpleasant as Linnie did.
 
“They dig in the dirt, gnaw at roots. Live among the filth. I’m sure their lives make as much sense to them as mine does to me,” he said.

Linnie nodded again. “Could they not, though? Could a bear be, I dunno, a ballerina?”

Cain harrumphed. “Probably not. Husky, solid. Robust. Doesn’t exactly suit a ballerina, does it? If you mean, could I have chosen not to be a protector?” he shrugged. “I don’t know. I was born wanting to help people. To protect them. I didn’t have to become a bodyguard, but I probably wouldn’t have ever been a thief, or a hockey player.” He paused, and shrugged. “Maybe a hockey player. I don’t know.”

“So, it’s like a calling, almost. It’s not awkward because it’s something you enjoy. Something you wanted.” Linnie said, and it was Cain’s turn to nod.

A moment of silence fell between the two of them, and Linnie turned back to her book.
 

After a moment, Cain asked, “What about you?”

“What about me?” Linnie replied. She felt her stomach do a little flip as this man’s attention was cast on her.

“Could you have been anything else?” he asked, sipping his tea.

“Oh yeah.” Linnie said, with a snort. “A princess, a ballerina. In my teens, I went through this terrible phase where I wanted to be a gothic poet; my sink was stained black, oh lord it was terrible.” She laughed.
 

Cain joined in with a chuckle.
 

“But you know, not really? Since I was old enough for my choice to matter, it’s always been something to do with kids. I was going to be the only goth poet who ran a daycare. Two year olds in mascara and black lipstick.”

Cain’s chuckle filled the room with a dull rumble, and Linnie laughed along with him. “I guess I know what you mean. You know which direction you’re heading, and you just sort of
 
slip in, where you fit.”

Cain nodded.
 

Linnie smiled at him, and let the silence stand between them. Usually in a conversation she found those pauses uncomfortable and awkward; she broke them by checking her phone, discussing a television show, complaining about the parking. But here, in the cabin, and between she and Cain, the silence wasn’t uncomfortable, or the result of their being a lack of things to be said. The quiet was a communication of its own.

The few moments of silence stretched on for slightly over an hour. Linnie adjusted her position twice to chase the sunbeam she was using to read, but the third time her book fell into shadow, she turned to look out the window. To the east, the sky was black as pitch; roiling thunderclouds were making their way across the darkening sky towards the cottage.