Target: BillionBear: BBW Bear Shifter Paranormal Romance (2 page)

Chapter Two

On a hillside not too far from the tiny California coastal town of Upson Downs, a hawk cried in the air above the work party laboring to clear debris from the stream. Someone they knew was coming, and a few minutes later a new helper showed up to work downstream.

The hawk dipped his wings and circled down to fly over Pacific Coast Highway a few miles to the west.

Kesley Enkel impatiently swatted another fly off her bare shoulder and sighed as red-haired, gangling, college-age Chick Paulsen glanced back at her from farther up the creek they were clearing, his glasses flashing. “ ’sup, Bandit?” Chick asked. “Wrong side of bed?”

Any side of bed is wrong when I’m alone in it
, Kesley thought to herself, but she was not about to say that out loud to a guy she’d babysat when she was in high school. With her luck so far today, her sister McKenzi, working fifty feet below her where the creek turned toward the Lopez fish farm, would hear and have plenty to say about that empty bed—and Kesley’s rotten luck with men.

A sting on Kesley’s naked rump didn’t help her mood any. Every insect in the western hemisphere seemed to have congregated on this hill above Pacific Coast Highway 1 for that specialty dish, Sunburned Human.

Kesley was glad that Chick, with his pale, freckled skin, could slather on sunscreen. None of the shifters who might be going into the water could wear sunscreen because it might foul the water tumbling down to the Lopez family’s fish farm. Kesley, like many of the others who could do some tasks in animal shape and others in human, shifted back and forth from raccoon to woman.

Chick, being a rooster, wouldn’t shift. As there wasn’t much a rooster could do in debris clearing, he had to stay human to work. But he’d undressed because everyone did on these projects—as long as they were well out of sight of civilization.

Kesley was supposed to be clearing a huge wodge of grassy muck where it had caught against an old tree stump, impeding the flow of the stream. This called for hands and tools, but suddenly she couldn’t stand the heat anymore, looked around quickly, then shifted to her raccoon.

At once the bright colors dimmed as her focus shifted to her physical senses. The horrible heat and itch were gone. It would take her raccoon fingers longer to clear her share of the mess left over from the storm the previous day, but she didn’t care. Kesley loved the feel of cool water on her paws, the slick silk of grasses, the nubbly bark and twigs. From the look of things, one of the higher palisades had fallen during the storm, crumbling into a tangle of mud and greenery to smother the feeder stream. She always liked working with her hands, but as a raccoon tidying small things was especially satisfying.

Then a warning shriek—the
stranger coming
cry—from the hawk high above them caused all the shifters to snap to their human shapes. They got back to work using hands, until five minutes later the crackle and hiss of brush from up on the cliff caused everybody to straighten up and turn.

“And there they are,” Chick muttered. “Peepers.”

A bunch of mostly young guys appeared among the scrub trees and bushes on the cliff, grinning down at the nude humans spread all along the tumbling stream.

Then tall, massive Elliot paused in helping to shift an enormous gnarled tree trunk, straightened up to his towering height and trod up the path toward the guys peering over the bushes. Elliot paused to pick up a folder resting on a boulder.

“Let’s get back to work,” Penelope Lopez shrilled, waving her hands commandingly, but only about half of the volunteers heeded her—her twin brothers being among those ignoring her.

Everybody enjoyed this part.

Kesley hated what the town called “peepers.”

They apparently listened to the rumors put out by enterprising people from over the hill that there was a nudist colony at Upson Downs. They drove all the way up the one-lane Highway 1 carved into the cliffs above the ocean in hopes of getting a look at naked people. How
did
these rumors keep getting fresh Nosy Parkers, Kesley wondered, not for the first time, as she glanced down the edge of the stream at her fellow townspeople, all sizes and shapes. They’d grown up being careful not to shift in front of outsiders, and though among themselves they were used to nudity, no one ever went around town in the buff.

Yet somewhere, somehow, someone had been seen, or the peepers wouldn’t have driven all this way.

The biggest worry hanging over them all was someone finding out about the shifting.

Kesley looked down at her heavy thighs and butt, and the soft flesh over her stomach, knowing that she was certainly no peeper’s dream. Her last boyfriend had made that clear enough. Still she made sure her backside was turned toward the cliff, rather than her heavy breasts, then looked back over her shoulder as Elliot rounded the bend on the path.

The half-dozen peepers took a step back as Elliot suddenly loomed at them, all six foot seven of him, with huge sloping shoulders, his entire naked body covered with fuzzy light brown hair, his beard and hair a wild mat. He wasn’t the least bit in shape, as he hated exercise, but nobody ever noticed because of his sheer size. Not to mention his wide, toothy grin in the middle of that crazy beard and wild hair.

“Greetings,” Elliot said, proffering his folder. “Welcome to the Cult of Natural Living. We would like to invite you to our temple for orientation—”

“Cult?” said a peeper.

“Temple?” squeaked another

“We were just going,” another said, backing up hastily.

“Why don’t you join us? We all
love
giving testimony,” Elliot said, advancing on them and grinning even wider, showing off his impressive dentistry. “Once we were like you, lost souls, bound by the strangled clothing of so-called civilization, but once we donated all our material goods to our temple, we acquired total freedom . . .”

The only sounds were the hissing of shrubs and the thunder of feet toiling back up the path and out of sight.

Elliot shrugged, and shambled back down the path.

“No takers for the flyers yet,” Elliot said sadly as he set the folder back down on the boulder.

Kesley batted away another insect as she said to Chick, “Weird, how they always back off from Elliot, even though he’s nude, so he obviously doesn’t have any weapons.”

“Dad will be bummed.” Chick raised his fingers to count, his glasses flashing. “That makes seven for Elliot and four for me.”

“So?” Kesley asked, laughing. “You really count?”

“Sure. Dad worked a long time on making up the cult. Tried to make it sound extra creepy and yet extra boring. And here we’ve had eleven peeper encounters but not a one has taken any flyers.”

“Back to work!” Penelope shrilled. “Or we’ll be here all night.”

Kesley sighed. Pen was right—not that Kesley was likely to have anywhere to go.

Again.

They called it quits mid-afternoon when the sun and heat were strongest. They pulled on their waiting clothes and trooped up the path to the top of the rise where the cars were parked. It was a relief to fall into the seat of the old VW clunker that Kesley shared with her sister, McKenzi.

McKenzi landed in the seat next to her, and the old VW shook. It hit Kesley once again how odd it was that McKenzi in her cat form was light as, well, as a cat, but as humans, she and Kenz were a couple of Pillsbury Dough Girls.

McKenzi nosed the VW behind Elliot’s moped as the group started over the narrow, windy road toward town.

“So what are you doing tonight, Bandit?” McKenzi asked.

“First, a good soak with Frankincense and tea to kill the sunburn,” Kesley said. “Then maybe some painting.”

“Sis, you gotta start dating again.”

“No.”

“Seriously. Nick the Dick doesn’t deserve all these months of gloom and doom.”

Kesley sighed. “What’s the use? You were right. I have the worst luck with men.”

“No, you just keep falling for the liars and users because you have a good heart, and you want to believe they have good hearts. But there
are
good guys out there. Like you.”

Kesley loved her family very much, but lately she’d been thinking that if she heard one more Understanding and Supportive Comment, she was going to either shave her head and take to leather and studs, or join a convent.

“I’m never dating again.
Ever
,” Kesley grumped. “I’d totally go off the pill except that I like knowing what day my period will start.”

“What about Loren Talbert in Overton?” McKenzi said, completely ignoring her. “He’s a nice guy, and he would never turn into a tarantula around you.”

“If he’s so nice, why don’t
you
date him?”

“I did,” McKenzi said, shrugging. “But his idea of relaxing is talking shop. After he unloaded an especially detailed wisdom tooth extraction over French food, I flitted. I mean, I have to respect a guy who loves his work, but that’s just
wrong.
”

“So you think I’m desperate enough for root canals over wine and cheese?”

“He’s an improvement over Nick the Dick.” As they pulled up in front of their the cottages where they lives, McKenzi abruptly got serious. “Listen to big sister, Bandit—”

“You’re only two years older than I am,” Kesley exclaimed, stung for a moment out of her weariness.

“But a
whole
lot more experienced. Because I’m a flitter. I
like
flitting from guy to guy. But you’re the romantic type who wants to put down roots. And you keep ending up getting hurt by lying flitters like Nick the Tiny Dick who tell you what you want to hear, because you can’t help being romantic.”

Kesley groaned inwardly as she began to load the back of the VW with her framed artwork. She hated how true those words were. Nick had been dating another woman during their entire relationship—calling Kesley when his girlfriend had to travel for her job. And when she’d found out, he’d said, “So? It’s not like you’re seeing anyone else.”

Kesley rolled her eyes. “I’m joining a convent. Soon’s I can find one that will let me paint.” She finished stacking her folding easels on top of the art.

Again McKenzi ignored her. “Hey, on the way back from your art gig, can you stop at Rosens’ and pick up a few things?”

Kesley sighed. “Give me the list.”

They more or less shared groceries, finding it easier to use Kesley’s stove for baking, and McKenzi’s slightly less ancient fridge for storage.

She wiped her hands down her loose, shrouding cargo pants, pulled on her oldest and biggest sweater, which she hoped hid her body, then took the list from McKenzi. Her sister, as usual dressed in tight jeggings and a red clingy top that totally rocked her curves, looked at Kesley’s outfit and sighed, but she said nothing—just flipped up her hand. “Good luck!”

Kesley drove down the hill and stopped at one of the two red lights in town. As she did, her absent gaze swept past the family buildings, catching on a man and woman walking not-quite-together on the other side of the street.

Kesley’s eyes caught on the man: tall—wow, he was tall—broad-shouldered.

The woman held something or other, and turned to one of the shops. The man stepped closer to the sidewalk, and his head tilted up, dark hair falling back off his brow as he lifted a camera to sight on the hill behind Kesley. She tingled all over, instinctively leaning toward the wheel to look closer—

Toot! Kesley jumped, then noticed old Mrs. Kemp in the car behind her. The light had turned green!

Kesley blushed, mouthed the word “Sorry” in the rear view mirror, and hastily turned left.

She drove fast, feeling stupid for having stared at that guy. She was totally off men! Not even for staring purposes!

It was a relief to get out of town, even if the weather looked like it was going to be cold. The art festival in the main shopping mall parking lot in Overton never did well once the weather turned wintry. McKenzi suspected this might be the last show, which meant they’d call it quits until Easter.

She parked next to the area marked off by traffic cones and plastic tape for the art festival. Her usual station between the morose iron sculpture guy and the chatty lady who made sock dolls was empty, so she began to set up. She caught herself thinking mentally about that tall, dark-haired guy she’d seen on Main Street—and shut that down hard.

No guys! It just led to misery.

She turned to the Sock Doll Lady and determinedly started asking about knitting, which she knew the lady was only too happy to talk about—for hours.

The afternoon steadily got colder as clouds marched in low from over the ocean five miles away. The artists had to put rocks and cups on their flyers, and check their easels as the wind began to rise.

Kesley’s mood dropped as low as the iron sculpture guy’s, and even the Sock Doll Lady got less chipper when they all noticed the only two sales were by the woman who did the sad clowns, sad waifs, and the back ends of horses with a vaguely farmland scene behind.

A gust of wind nearly flattened her easels. It was time to give it up, though she hated to go home without a single sale.