The Bears of Blackrock, Books 1 - 3: The Fenn Clan (19 page)

Joe chuckled again, turning into the dining room. She scanned the beautiful space, catching Gracie’s eye as the woman bobbed from table to table. Gracie shot her a quick smile and pointed to the tables closest to the door at the front of the restaurant. Sarah was there offering menus to a couple of middle aged women who looked as though they’d knitted every piece of clothing they wore. Joe took a deep breath, checking the messy bun she’d tied just above the nape of her neck, and lifted her head up high. Then she pulled the notepad from her pocket and walked across the restaurant.

“Morning, ladies. Would you two like some coffee?”

It all came back with the sense memory of riding a bike. Gracie Fenn was at Joe’s back at a moment’s notice, grabbing refills and sneaking in to carry plates. She seemed to be everywhere at once, bussing Joe’s tables so Joe could focus on her orders. Joe managed to make only one or two mistakes – a diet cola instead of a regular cola, or forgetting to ask for blueberry pancakes instead of plain. Still, Gracie and Tiernan both cut her slack, brushing off the mistakes with a smile. By halfway through lunchtime, Joe had found a familiar rhythm, taking on five tables at once, much to Gracie’s proud delight. And none of the men made lewd remarks or spoke abrasively. Maybe Tiernan was right. Maybe the people of Downeast Maine were a kind sort.

Joe heard the words, “Well hello there, dear. You new around here?” at least a dozen times that afternoon, and each time she introduced herself with a smile and an offer of coffee or breadsticks, depending on the time of day. As she recalled from her previous time as a waitress, the older patrons didn’t leave much in the way of tips, but the middle aged crowd more than made up for it, leaving Joe with a wad of cash by the time the evening staff was rolling in. Joe was startled when the tall figure walked through the front door, dusty from work, a tiny redhead at his hip.

“Hey baby! How was school today?” Joe asked, rushing toward the door to greet her daughter. She hadn’t glanced at the clock in over an hour.

“It was really good. I won an award, and they’re gonna hang my drawing in the front hall of the school for the month.”

Joe smiled so wide, her face almost hurt. “That’s awesome, honey! What is it a picture of?”

Rory smiled. “A bear.”

Gracie appeared at Joe’s shoulder. “Hey sucker. Where you been?”

Rory looked at Gracie, a sheepish air to her expression. The little girl shrugged. “I dunno. I’ve been home.”

“Yeah well, I expect you in class tomorrow evening. Is that understood?”

Rory glanced to her mother, then up to Kirk, smiling as it dawned on her that her mother approved.

Gracie grabbed Rory’s hand and pulled her into the restaurant. “Come on over. Let’s get Uncle Kirk some supper before he gets ‘Hangry.’”

“I’ve gotta eat quick. Gotta sail the boat back to the dock before it gets too late.”

Gracie waved him away, walking Rory to a booth.

Joe stood by the front door, watching Rory march through the restaurant to take her spot by the kitchen door, tossing her backpack up on the bench to pull out her homework. Kirk stood at Joe’s shoulder, as though waiting for her signal to follow.

“How was your first day?” He asked.

Joe exhaled, thoughtlessly touching her hand to her hair, imagining the mess she’d find when she finally looked in a mirror after her shift. “It’s going really well, actually.”

Kirk smiled wide, so wide she could see it out of the corner of her eye. “Oh, I’m glad. See, told you we didn’t bite.”

Joe felt her eyebrow shoot up. “Well, that’s in shame – in one case.”

He stared at her a moment, stunned. Then he snorted, as though she’d dropped a great one liner and touched a hand to her back, gesturing for her to join him and Rory at their table.

Jesus Joe. Why’d you say that?

Her shift done, Joe crossed the restaurant to join her daughter, feeling lighter than she had in a decade. Still, she’d almost been hurt when Kirk didn’t flirt back.

Kirk sat down and ordered a steak, medium rare, demanding it be the biggest cut they could give him.

Gracie rolled her eyes.

“And hey. You said someone wanted to talk to me?” Kirk asked, hemming and hawing over whether or not he would have a beer with his dinner.

Gracie smiled. “That’s right! Oh my god, let me see if he’s still here!”

With that, Gracie disappeared into the kitchen, their order flapping in her hand as she rushed off. Kirk slumped back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest as he scanned the restaurant. It was growing busier in the later hours, but still had many empty tables across the room. He took a long swig of his water. “Not a bad crowd for a Wednesday.”

Joe smiled at him. This was small talk, something Kirk often fell back on when in her company. She didn’t blame him. She wasn’t exactly offering up much about herself, even when he asked. Still, he did tell her about his day from time to time – the business, his family, what a massive pain in the ass his grandfather, Patrick Fenn, was. She watched him lean over the table to inspect Rory’s homework and point out a flaw in her decimal point placement.

“So this is Tiernan’s restaurant? Or his and Gracie’s?”

Kirk exhaled out his nose in a half snort. “Naw, everything as far as the eye can see is my grandfather’s. My dad technically owns this place, but it’s not official until the old man dies, and I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”

“No? He must be getting old, no?”

Kirk smirked at her. “He’s a healthy bastard for seventy six.”

“Seventy si -?”

“What up, jerk?”

They all turned to look up just as Billy appeared beside the table. Kirk’s face brightened instantly, and he was up from the booth, wrapping his massive arms around the thin young man, giving him a good squeeze. Billy jostled in the massive man’s embrace, but seemed to be enjoying it. Kirk held him around the shoulders, shaking him, gently.

Billy leaned into the tussling, despite being fixated on a piece of paper in his hands. Gracie appeared at the corner of the table, setting Rory’s mac and cheese in front of her. Billy held the paper out in front of Kirk, his eyes still down.

“What’s this, then?” Kirk asked, taking the paper. He unfolded it, moving it back and forth in front of him, betraying the need for his reading glasses. Kirk’s eyes moved across the paper as they all remained there, silent. Finally, Kirk made a strange grunting sound; something between a gasp and cheer. He turned on the teenage boy, grabbing him up and lifting him off the ground as he hugged him. Billy’s young face cracked open in a smile, but he still kept his eyes down.

“You gotta be shittin me, Bilbo! Are you fucking shitting me?”

“Watch your mouth, jackass,” Gracie scolded, but Kirk was too busy shaking Billy to hear her. He patted the boy’s back, squeezed him, set him down, picked him back up, and did it all over again before finally releasing his hold on the boy. Billy’s face was flushed, his smile betraying a set of shiny metallic braces.

Billy shrugged, taking the paper back from him. “Yeah, I just – I just wanted to show you -”

Kirk grabbed him again, squeezing him to his chest. This time Billy returned the hug, pressing his face into Kirk’s shoulder as his young face contorted with emotion. Joe startled to see her fry cook suddenly break down in near tears in the middle of the dining room. Not a word was spoken as Kirk turned the young man toward the front door of the restaurant and led him outside.

Gracie leaned against the booth, watching her brother and her fry cook disappear out the door, both clearly emotional as they went. She shot Joe a knowing look and smiled. Gracie sat down across from Joe, leaning in to speak. “Billy was in the system a couple years ago. Almost ended up dropping out of school and running away from the home he was in. Was right around the time Kirk started taking in kids. Billy was his first. Stayed with him for something like six months.”

Joe turned back toward the door of the restaurant, as though she might be able to see through the wall – hear the conversation that must be taking place between the two men.

“Oh my god, the poor thing.”

“It’s alright. His dad pulled his shit together – pardon my French, sweetie,” Gracie said, shooting a parting glance toward Rory. “Billy went home when it was safe, and Kirk got him a job here. His way of sorta keeping an eye on him, you know?”

Joe nodded. “Well, what’s going on? Is something wrong?”

Gracie spotted Billy and Kirk coming back through the front door of the restaurant and smiled at Joe, squeezing her hand as she slipped out of the booth. “Billy got accepted to Dartmouth. Sh, don’t tell them I told you.”

There was no time for comment as Billy rushed by the table, heading back toward the kitchen. Gracie turned to follow him as Kirk slumped back down into his seat. He turned toward the wall of the restaurant, crossing his arms over his chest, silent. Joe watched him as subtly as she could. He pressed his thumbs to the bridge of his nose, then wiped his eyes. When he finally turned his attention back to Rory’s homework, as though he hoped to hide there, Joe could see the puffy redness around his eyes.

She stared at him openly, as though daring him to meet her gaze. When he finally did, he stifled an almost laugh and instantly excused himself, disappearing to the bathroom.

Joe turned to Rory, watching her chew on a piece of her hair as she worked out the last of her math problems. Joe struggled with her own thoughts.

Could it be true that a man like this existed? Could Kirk Fenn, the seemingly gruff, massive lumberjack looking fellow that had taken her in – could he really have one of the biggest hearts she’d ever encountered. Seeing him teary eyed rendered her suddenly, and she wanted nothing more than to tuck him into her arms and hold him. She’d never felt anything like it in over a decade.

How does one comfort a giant of a man like that?

She touched Rory’s hair, letting herself contemplate Rory’s helplessness the night her mother was almost killed in that station wagon. Joe was sure there was no better man to have taken her daughter in that night. She stifled a sadness that came and went throughout Rory’s life – the sadness she felt when she imagined what life would have been like for her little girl if she’d just had someone else for a father – someone like Kirk. Joe pursed her lips together as her throat grew tight, and let herself utter a silent prayer for that night; for her and Rory’s survival, for her recovery – for Kirk.

Thank you, was all she could find to say.

Kirk plopped down in the booth across from her just as his steak arrived, and it was Joe’s turn to excuse herself, rushing to the ladies’ room to regain her composure.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Rory was curled up into the corner of the backseat, buckled up and wrapped in Kirk’s work coat. She’d pulled it up to her chin as Kirk started the truck outside the restaurant, his breath casting clouds across the inside of the cab. Despite the warmth of the previous few days, February seemed to be remembering its nature that evening, and Blackrock was growing cold with purpose. Joe rubbed her arms, shuddering against the feel of the cold leather seats. Even with the heat full blast, it took a few minutes to warm up.

“God, it was so warm this morning! What the hell happened?”

Kirk smiled as he turned the truck into the Fenn roadway and hopped out. “Maine. You’ll get used to it,” he called as he opened the massive gate. “It’s gotta be fucking miserable sailing the boat over.”

She shuddered loudly. “Oh god, I completely forgot you had to go do that!”

“No, no. No worries. Dad actually offered to sail it over before the sun went down. Should already be there or close to it. And hey, it’s Maine. Weather should change soon enough. I could take you and Rory out for a sail, if you’d like.”

“That would be amazing” Joe said, melodramatically shivering.

Kirk snorted, fighting not to betray the smile those words inspired. He spent a good amount of time hoping that Rory and her mother might find reason to settle down there – that the job and the school would be enough to keep them there, to keep them close enough for him to see them and keep them safe. He hopped back out to close the gate, and rubbed a hand over Joe’s arm as he climbed back in. “Almost there.”

The dirt road was empty of any other vehicles, the Fenn family all tucked into their homes for the evening. Deacon’s house was dark as they passed, the youngest of the Fenn cousins out driving his ambulance in the twilight hours. Kirk silently wished his cousin a good night, as he always did. Though Kirk ran Patrick Fenn’s construction company, he kept his phone close, ready for a call to bring him in, to suit up and put out a fire. There were no paid firefighters in Blackrock, only volunteers. Still, Deacon had been the responding EMT on many of Kirk’s calls. The younger man had seen more than most, and despite being the youngest Fenn cousin, he had the oldest eyes.

Kirk pulled into his driveway and shut down the engine, letting them both sit in the dark a moment, listening to the engine click and hum as it cooled down. When he finally climbed out, he rounded the truck, gently opening the back door to collect Rory from her seat. She’d passed out before they reached the gate to the Fenn property.

“She’s too heavy, Kirk. Just wake her up. She knows I can’t carry her in anymore.”

Kirk ignored Josephine’s protests, hoisting Rory up into his arms as though carrying a feather pillow. The dark curls were tangled now, but the pale face pressed to his chest, her mouth half open, drooling onto his shirt as he let Joe open the door of the house for him. He slipped through the kitchen and down the hallway, putting Rory into her bed, his tall frame making easy work of settling the ten year old into her top bunk.

Joe was watching him from the bedroom door, her hair still up and messy about her head from her long shift at the Tavern. He fought not to let her see him smile as he slipped back out into the hallway. Kirk made a quick run over to the rec room, slipping out onto the deck to look down at the dark water below. The rhythmic clack of his boat could be heard shifting in the water below. Thank you, Dad, he thought.

“Well, Hob Along Cassidy. Do you want a tour of the apartment now?”

Joe smiled at him, and nodded. He fought his own smile even harder. Despite the doctor’s orders that she not spend a lot of time climbing up and down stairs, and her refusal of his help when he offered to take her up anyway, he knew she’d been up on her own. He’d come home from work with Rory in tow one afternoon and found the staircase heading up from the garage smelling of plastic, sweaty sock, and Joe’s jasmine perfume. He hadn’t said anything at the time. How the hell do you explain to your houseguest that you can smell that they’ve been exploring? Still, she gestured to her newly freed limb and he grinned, turning to lead her up into the apartment.

The sun was down now, the tall windows at the front of the house only betraying the slightest hint of light far over the Atlantic. Giving the boat a thorough check would have to wait til tomorrow. Kirk slipped back through the kitchen to the garage and opened the door to the upstairs apartment. Joe passed him, making her way up the stairs first. She smiled at him as she passed, whispering, ‘thank you,’ so softly, it almost sounded intimate. He tried to ignore it.

Kirk followed her into the small apartment. He flipped the light switch, only to remember he’d not yet replaced an old, dead bulb overhead. Yet before he could comment or apologize, Joe was off.

It wasn’t as palatial as the main part of the house, but the little garage apartment had a large living room, a small eat-in kitchen, and two good sized bedrooms off the back end of the house. There was a nice bathroom with a shower and bath combo, and enough closet space to park a Buick. Joe went from room to room, exploring and praising every detail even in the dark.

“Oh wow! This closet is huge.”

“Oh, I love the bedspread in here.”

“Why don’t you use this soap downstairs, it smells so nice?”

By the time Joe was fawning over the plates in the cabinets, Kirk gave her a stare down.

Joe spotted the expression and stopped, covering her laugh with her hand. “What?”

Kirk gave her a wide eyed expression. “Who put you up to this?”

“Put me up to what?”

Kirk began lunging around the living room, gesturing at random objects. “Have you ever seen such glorious fringe on a pillow. Oh my god, look at this curtain! Is this couch real pleather?”

He plopped down onto the couch, running his hand over it languidly as Joe laughed again.

She held her hand over her mouth as she did, and he wished she would let him see her smile.

“Am I not allowed to appreciate things?” She asked.

Kirk scoffed. “Sure, you can appreciate all you like, but given I’m pretty sure I cooked you the best steak of your god damn life last night, and all I got was a ‘Hmm, thanks,’ I’m pretty sure you’re either about to try to sell me a used car, or someone – to whom I’m probably related – put you up to being nice to me, today.”

Joe moved closer to the couch, still covering her mouth as she smiled. “Nobody put me up to being nice.”

“No? Then what’d I do? Cause this is new. Even I can admit that interior design skills are not my strong suit.”

She swallowed, stopping just a few inches from the end of the couch. “I’m just grateful. I had a really good day.”

Kirk’s heart swelled. “Oh man, I’m so fucking glad, Joe. I really am.”

Joe stepped closer, and Kirk straightened. Her scent hit him again, the way it had when she passed him on the stairs. He hadn’t noticed it then, somehow. He was so used to her usual dower mood, the usual tension she carried herself with, as though wound tight like a bow string. Yet, now her scent had shifted to something enticing, and she was moving closer.

“Did you make good tips?” He asked, almost cringing at how stupid it sounded.

She smiled. “Not too bad. If it keeps up like today, I might actually be able to pay you rent by the end of the month.”

Kirk shook his head. “No, no. Don’t even worry about that.”

Joe closed the distance between them and, without a word, set her knee into the couch, and straddled his lap. He startled, half yelping as he sat up taller. She lowered herself down onto him. Despite his heart shooting straight up into his throat, he didn’t protest.

“What are you doing?” He asked, his voice cracking slightly as he spoke. He closed his eyes, as though he might escape the embarrassment of sounding like a fifteen year old boy as this woman – this grown, voluptuous women straddled him on his tired old couch. Her hair was still clipped and messy, and her clothes smelling of onions and gravy. He didn’t care; she smelled like lust, too.

She leaned down closer to him, letting the tip of her nose press to his. “Do you want me to stop?” She asked.

Holy fuck, no! He thought. Yet no words would come. He let his hand brush against her elbow, fighting not to seem like a nervous idiot.

Come on, Kirk. Man up. Get debonair, you shithead!

Joe’s hands found the buttons of his flannel shirt, gently unbuttoning them from his neck down. He kept his hands on the couch beside her, afraid to touch her, as though agreeing to this moment might cause her to stop.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked, finally.

She smiled down at him, nodding. “I am.”

His shirt was open now, and she ran her hands over the fabric of his undershirt, pulling it up from the waistband of his jeans. Her hands were cold when they touched the skin of his belly, drawing a gasp as she ran the back of her fingers across his skin. He wanted to take her up in his arms and ravage her, and he’d admit he’d fantasized more than once about her slipping into his room at night and climbing into bed with him in nothing, but her underwear and a nightshirt. Yet, now that she was close to him, touching him in the way he fantasized, he almost felt as though returning the touch was taking advantage. As though he’d somehow coerced her into this.

“I don’t know if I -”

She grabbed hold of her own long sleeve shirt, pulling it up from the waist and over her head. Her bra cradled her breasts in such a way that they burst from beneath the shirt, round swells between which he wanted to bury his face and live. Still, he didn’t move.

“Touch me, Kirk.”

He startled, looking up to meet her eyes. Hearing her say his name in that soft, husky tone of hers was almost too much for him to take. He lifted a hand, cautiously, settling it at her hip.

Joe was up and on her feet in an instant. She grabbed the buttons of her jeans, unbuttoning them and tearing them down to her ankles and kicking them off. She stood there before him now, a nude bra that framed her breasts like a Da Vinci painting, and black boy short panties that framed her ass like an adult film. He stared at her, wordless and breathless.

“Do you want me or not?” She said, and her tone betrayed frustration.

“God, I - You’re springing this on me, I’m sorry. I’m just -”

“Just answer the question. If I misread you, I’m sorry. I just thought I was catching a hint of something, and I’ll be completely honest with you – I haven’t…” She paused, unclipping her hair and brushing it aside in frustration. “It’s been a really long time. I’m sorry. I thought you wanted to.”

She turned from him, bending down to grab up her clothes. Kirk sat there, stunned a moment, watching her gather up her things, the cheeks of her ass jiggling at him mockingly as she turned away and headed for the door.

He’d never wanted to sink his teeth into anything so bad in his life.

The decision never happened. Kirk simply rose from the couch, crossed the room in three strides, and blocked the door to the stairs. She glared up at him, defiantly. Somehow, this familiar, displeased expression restored his confidence. This glower he recognized as Josephine.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

She exhaled out her nose, frustrated. “What, now you want me?”

“I’ve always wanted you.”

They both stopped a moment as the unintended weight of his words hit. He was grateful when she rolled right over it. “Then show it. I need you to show it because it literally took every ounce of confidence I’ve ever mustered to do what I just did.”

He felt almost relieved to hear her say this. “Ok, then. Uh,” he stalled, looking down at her face, then at her body. His eyes kept drifting to her breasts. They were full and pale – delicious looking. He wanted to feel them, put his mouth all over them, watch them bounce in front of his face when she rode him. Yet, the thought of declaring any of that left him frozen to the spot. He half expected her to call him an asshole for doing exactly as she seemed to want.

Joe moved suddenly, dropping her clothes to the floor at his feet. Then her hands disappeared behind her just long enough to unhook her bra. A second later, she pulled the garment down the length of her arms, letting it fall as well. He exhaled one shuddering breath. He’d never practiced more restraint in his life.

“Are you really going to make me do everything?” She asked, exasperated. “Because I really don’t know if I can.”

“Fuck, ok,” he said, unable to break this strange, almost awkward dance. He set his hands on her hips, pulling her closer to him. Then he bent down to her, his lips drawing close to hers. She seemed to recoil almost at this, not out of displeasure, or fear, but as though overwhelmed by the sensation. Kirk let his hands graze up the slope of her lower back, pulling her closer to him.

Dear god, this was happening. His cock had never been so hard in his life.

“Momma?” A voice called from down the stairs.

The two of them parted from one another instantly, bumping heads together as they both bent to retrieve her clothes from the floor.

“I’m right here, sweetheart. I’ll be right down,” Joe called.