Target: BillionBear: BBW Bear Shifter Paranormal Romance (11 page)

He held out his arm, and she slid her fingers into the crook of his elbow, relishing the leashed strength of the muscles there. It felt natural to walk side by side like this, she thought as they left Ralph’s. They started down the street, his gaze constantly moving.

Kesley said as they passed the hardware store, “You don’t think Marlo Evans poisoned you?”

“I don’t think so, though now I think anything might be possible, what with poisoned meds and her sneaking around people’s houses and bikers attacking. But if she’d wanted to poison me, why not when I was at Tranquil Breezes, zonked out of my mind? Nothing would have been easier.”

“Then who else?”

“My brother. He was there, sneaking around my window. That’s what prompted this trip, at least for me. Marlo’s reasons I can’t answer for. I wonder if my brother got in through the window while I was asleep, doctored the pills, and I woke when he was leaving.”

“Was he always like that?”

“That’s the trouble: I don’t know. Oh, I have partial memories with Charlie in them. We were little kids, teasing and fighting like kids do. Nothing I’d think of as serious—far from it. But people change. And things get hazy as I got older, as though all those memories are part of some big pattern that my brain seems to want to suppress.”

She could feel his muscles tensing beneath her hand. His bicep was hard as steel. He was wary and alert, but how much of that was pain left over from that fight?

“Will you tell me some of the good memories you’ve managed to recover?” she asked.

He smiled down into her face. “I could, but most of it goes way back. Like I said, little kids stuff.”

“I like families. Especially happy ones. I’d love to hear it,” she said firmly.

He began haltingly as they ventured farther down the street, which was mostly empty. A little eerie. Jameson didn’t seem to notice, though his gaze was constantly sweeping. Then he’d frown at little, unconnected scraps of memory that obviously frustrated him. But she discovered that if she mentioned movies or TV shows or even bands from childhood, more often than not his forehead would clear, and he’d exclaim, “Yeah, I remember them . . .”

Talking in this way, they made it all the way to the Primrose, then entered the lobby. For once the parrot wasn’t on his perch, and Kesley wondered if some of the locals who had wings were also out looking for evil skinhead bikers.

Aunt Julia came briskly out of the office.

“I hope the troublemakers haven’t made a reappearance,” Jameson said. “Sorry about that.”

“It isn’t as if you wanted to be attacked, am I right?” Aunt Julia retorted, and as he smiled and shook his head, she went on, “Deputy Rosen is on patrol until three.” She blinked, glancing briefly skyward, and Kesley knew that Abe Rosen was in his hawk form.

But she couldn’t tell that to Jameson until he found his own shifter animal—she could not reveal Upson Downs’ secret except to another shifter.

So she said nothing as he thanked Aunt Julia and they left.

They finished walking slowly down the rest of Main Street, crossed at the feeder road to Pacific Coast Highway, then started up in the other direction.

They walked all the way back and then started down the street again, this time taking a few side streets. Jameson stayed wary and alert as he asked Kesley to talk about the latest films, shows, books, and music she liked, in hopes something might trigger a memory.

She talked willingly, pausing when he frowned down at the cracked sidewalk for gradually lengthening stretches as he fought against the curtain in his mind. Kesley waited in silence, instinctively knowing that he needed quiet more than questions.

They walked for most of the afternoon, stopping only at Ralph’s again for coffee and a sandwich. Over lunch Jameson asked about Kesley’s artwork, and from there they talked about light and the sea and anecdotes about the town history. None of the attackers showed up, nor was there a sound of a motorcycle.

Kesley began to relax slowly—but late in the afternoon, just when she began to let herself believe that the skinheads had blown out of town, Jameson stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk, gazing upward at Ramirez Hill, his stance taut.

Kesley whirled, then caught sight of the wink of sunlight on something.

“What’s that?”

“Gun-sights,” Jameson said automatically.

And moving fast, he grabbed her as a spitting sound caused two
thunks
! And then a
whang
, spinning a dangling metal sign outside the barber shop next door. Kesley found herself placed behind the corner of the building as Jameson peered upward.

But the movement on the crest had vanished—and there came the faint sound of a motorcycle revving. It was followed by a distant rise and fall of a siren: the sheriff, but from the opposite direction.

The barber came out, cussing a blue streak when he saw his sign. “I called Odom first thing. Dammit! Who’s going to replace my sign . . .”

He was joined by the woman who ran the cleaner’s they stood in front of. “Look at my wall!”

They stared at where bullets had gouged the old plaster.

The barber grunted. “Crappy aim.”

“Yeah. Sorry about the sign,” Jameson said.

The barber squinted at him. “That fucker was taking pot shots at you. Know why?”

“No.”

The barber grunted. “Bunch of sleazy assholes. Odom won’t catch him—he can run cross country. Maybe I better get out my dad’s old duck hunting rifle.” He went back inside, grumbling under his breath, leaving the two alone.

Kesley shivered. “Jameson, what if they come up the street with guns? There’s no cover from that.”

“I’m beginning to think they’re used to intimidation, or easy targets. And they don’t want to be IDed. The first time was a surprise hit and run. I think the second was meant to be a snatch and grab. This guy on the hill clearly had never been trained to handle his weapon. Putting that together with the fight, I’m guessing little or no self-discipline here.”

She crossed her arms, holding them tightly against her as he mused, “I have a feeling they aren’t going to come at all right now. For all they know, behind every window is a citizen with a cell phone camera pointing at the street. And I bet they have rap sheets as long as their arms.”

As the afternoon shadows closed in, so too did a drifting fog from off the ocean. The air was thick and quiet, and visibility slowly shrank to scarcely twenty feet.

“I think that’s it. For now,” he said. “That doesn’t mean they might not make a try tonight. I think we’d better warn the hotel people.”

Kesley nodded in agreement, and they walked to the hotel.

Aunt Julia was there, chin high as she listened.

“I’m pretty sure I’m the target, though I have no idea why,” Jameson said. “But I don’t like the idea that they might come here looking for trouble.”

“Thank you for thinking of us,” Aunt Julia said. “But I’m not worried about us. It seems you’re the one they are after. Even so, we’re taking our own precautions—Elliott, David, and some of the other youngsters have been setting up cameras all over the place, obvious and not so obvious. As for peace of mind . . .” She smiled at Kesley, “my suggestion is, you spend the night somewhere else.”

Kesley didn’t even have time to blush, as she was already texting McKenzi:
I’m bringing him to my place. Please don’t spoil it.

She was totally not surprised when a text came instantly back:
Already thought of that. Check the oven when you get home.
Kesley clicked off her phone, thinking that the entire town probably knew by now that she was dating the mysterious new guy.

Aunt Julia said, “We’ll be fine. Why don’t you two run along?”

As soon as they got outside, Kesley’s heartbeat quickened as she said, “Hungry?”

“I’m starving. That’s another bennie of getting out from under that heavy dose—my appetite has woken up.” His voice warmed on the word ‘appetite.’ “Think of anyplace I can stay?”

“As a matter of fact.” She smiled at him, and every nerve thrilled at the unmistakable invitation she saw in his eyes. They started up the street again as the thickening fog swirled around them. There could be a hundred bikers on the hilltops, but all they’d see would be an ocean of gray.

When they drew even with the Crockery, Kesley glanced in the big windows, and saw her sister waving at them insistently and pointing upward at the hill as she grinned.

Jameson said, “Wonder what she wants?”

Kesley laughed. “She arranged a dinner for us.”

“Geez, is she a mind reader? I don’t know whether to be pleased or disturbed.”

“No, she’s a . . .”
Cat
. “ . . . person who means well. I’ve, um, had a few bad relationships lately.”

“What makes her think I’m not another one?” he asked, his smile fading as they turned up the steep path that led to the Enkels’ ridge. “I have to admit that one of the things bothering me is the possibility of finding out that I’m some kind of asshole.”

She shook her head firmly. “Whatever happened to you, I don’t believe you did anything evil. Your memory might be hidden, but your nature isn’t. I feel safe with you.”

“This much I know,” he said, stopping in the middle of the road and closing his arms around her. “I would do anything to keep you safe. Anything.”

“And I you,” she whispered, before they kissed.

Then she tugged his hand, and they walked on. The path was steep, a shortcut that people on the hill had used since the days before cars. Kesley always arrived at the top slightly winded unless she made herself walk it every day. She watched Jameson carefully, worrying about any hurts he was hiding, especially if he’d been flat on his back in the hospital a bare month ago.

He bent into the damp, eddying fog, but did not get any more winded than she, and once again she sensed his leashed strength. She found that sense of hidden power sexy—she found everything about him sexy.

“The cottage below mine is Kenz’s cottage,” she said as they topped the rise. “These were old mining cottages way back when. The family added plumbing and electricity a couple generations ago. So the wiring is, um, creative.” She blushed, not quite ready to mention that the little cottages were traditionally for newlyweds in the family—the couples moving to the larger, rambling house when kids started to appear, and the older generation retiring to the cottages.

“And this is mine.” She paused on the tiny porch and opened the door.

He was so tall he had to stoop his head slightly to clear the lintel. They walked into the living room. Nick had shown no interest in anything but in the bedroom, but Jameson paused to survey the murals she had painted on the walls.

“It’s the town,” he said slowly. “I recognize that hill. It’s where you took me that first sunset, never to be forgotten.” He flashed that smile at her, as once again she sparked with heat. “Only you have all these animals playing and running around, instead of people.”

“I know some people would think it’s kind of silly.”

“No, it’s beautiful, in a kind of innocent way.” He shook his head. “They all seem so happy.”

“I figured out when I went to college that I would never be any Michelangelo, but that was okay.” She shrugged, feeling more exposed than she had lying naked on the hillside with him. What he thought of her place was important to her, she realized. “I like my art to make people smile.”

“That is your nature,” he said softly, with another admiring look around. “My mother would love this,” he added suddenly. “Or, if she were alive.” He frowned and rubbed his temples in a way that was becoming familiar.

To distract him, she pointed at her tiny kitchen, from which enticing smells emanated. She glimpsed covered dishes inside the oven. “The dinner is on low, staying warm. Ready to eat?”

He stepped closer. “What I would like to taste right now . . .” He lifted his hands, and she stepped into them. “Is you.”

The kiss started off exploratory, teasing and touching, and when the nibbling began, as always with Jameson, the kisses shot all the way to high heat. Her fingers, made quick work of his buttons as his hands caressed slowly down her back to her hips, and then up again.

When they broke for breath, her eyes searched his face, once again finding the answer there, a truth that transcended memory. The doubt that had begun to curl through her—would he change his mind about her when he recovered what he’d lost?—burned like fog before the sun.

Everything went away except the moment, and the driving need: she wanted him, and his every breath, every heartbeat echoed back her need. And he needed her. She sensed it in the way his face lost its tension, in the way his breathing changed.

His hand drifted up over her shoulder to hook behind her neck so that he could possess her mouth again, and  she leaned into him, reveling in his possession—and taking possession of him in return.

His other hand slipped under her loose, shrouding clothing and caressed up her flesh, pausing over her ribs as his thumbs grazed her tender nipples, and she hissed, every muscle tightening to her heated core.

Her hands shook as she finished the last button and his shirt hung open. She flung it wide and spread over the muscles of his chest, rubbing over the soft hair there.