The Bears of Blackrock, Books 1 - 3: The Fenn Clan (28 page)

Joe swallowed. “Yes?”

“He’s asking for you, sweetheart. Do you want to come in?”

Joe was up and heading for the door before she could think. She turned back toward Catherine and Rory, her brows up.

Catherine patted Rory on the back. “I’ve got her. We’ll be right here.”

Joe took a deep breath, and despite a decade of living in constant fear for her daughter, left the most precious thing in the world in the care of the Fenns.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Kirk’s body ached from head to toe. The doctor requested a thorough description of how exactly he’d come to be so bruised and broken, more out of curiosity than medical necessity. Kirk confessed he’d been hit by a truck.

The doctor’s eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t make comment. “Well, you weren’t the easiest patient for our anesthetist. Kept trying to wake up on us.”

Kirk coughed against his dry throat, the new hole in his side stinging from the involuntary spasm. He groaned softly. “Yeah? Sorry about that.”

The doctor chuckled. “Can’t imagine it’s your fault, now is it?”

Kirk coughed again and didn’t speak. Technically, it was his fault. His kind simply had a higher tolerance – for drink, for drugs. The amount of anesthesia it would take to knock a bear out would kill the average man three times over. Kirk hadn’t exactly been in the right state to share that info before he was wheeled into surgery.

“How is your pain level?” Doctor Robineau asked.

Kirk shook his head, feeling pain from his collar all the way down his torso. “Probably just where you’d expect it.”

Doctor Robineau made an exaggerated frown and nodded. “Well, we’ll get some morphine in your IV to help you sleep, alright?”

Kirk coughed softly, but nodded. He didn’t say anything against the morphine, despite knowing the stuff would more than likely hardly take the edge off. Best to just let the doc feel helpful, rather than disappoint him.

There was a soft knock at the doorway, and they both turned to find Josephine standing there, her eyes red and puffy from weeping. Kirk shifted on the bed, as though he might go to her and soothe her, but his abdomen screamed in protest, settling him right back onto his pile of pillows. Instead, she crossed the room to him.

“I’ll have the nurse come in shortly,” Doctor Robineau said, making his way out the door.

Josephine was at the side of the bed, leaning in over him, careful not to press her weight on him. Kirk almost wanted her to. However painful it might be, he was sure the act of not holding her hurt more.

“Feel familiar? Look how the tables have turned,” he joked, offering a half smile.

She just frowned, almost in tears.

“You alright, sweetheart?” He asked.

She laughed, her brows creasing just above her nose. “Am I alright? Are you insane?”

“Maybe.”

She reached up to his temple, brushing a piece of his hair behind his ear. “I can’t believe you’re awake.”

He grinned, fighting not to let the pain show on his face. “Not too shabby, huh? Said I didn’t even need that appendix anyway.”

Josephine’s expression changed to the opposite of his intent. Her eyes welled up, and she pressed her face into the bed beside him.

“What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I should have gone when I had the chance.”

Kirk’s eyes went wide. “No you damn well shouldn’t have. I asked you to stay, and I meant it.”

“But your house – your truck. If it weren’t for me, you’d still have everything.”

“Hey. Hey,” he said, touching his hand to hers, waiting for her to look at him. “I do still have everything.”

She shook her head, her chin creasing as she cried. She sat there a moment, her expression frozen in grief, unable to speak.

“It’s just stuff, Josie. None of it matters. I’m alive… I have you, I think.”

She took a deep breath, ready to speak. Nothing came. The emotion seemed to only double in strength as she pressed her nose to his bare shoulder, careful not to hurt him.

“Did you mean it? What you said,” he asked when her tears settled a bit.

She took a shaky breath. “What?”

Kirk met her gaze, inspected every fleck of blue harbored in her green eyes. “That you love me?”

She made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, but could barely manage to nod her head.

“Good,” he said. “Good. Because -”

A figure marched through the door, chased by a small nurse who was trying politely to stop the man from barging in. Patrick Fenn wouldn’t be so easily swayed.

Gramps looked haggard, soot covered and bruised, his gray beard blackened in places and completely singed in others. He turned back toward the hospital room door.

“Ma’am, I aim to speak to my grandson, and there’s no force on earth that’s gonna stop me. You have a good evening,” he said, raising an eyebrow as though challenging her to disagree. She didn’t, and Patrick gently shut the door in the woman’s face.

“Thanks for visiting, Gramps.”

Patrick shook his head, but Joe seemed only further troubled by the sight of the old man. Kirk fought with the pain in his shoulder to move his hand and take hold of hers. She sat there silent as Patrick opened the door a crack and glanced outside again. His demeanor seemed strange, almost shady.

Patrick shut the door again and turned toward the bed. “I apologize to interrupt, but it couldn’t wait.”

“Alright,” Kirk said, suspicion in his cadence.

“The Fire Marshall is on his way. The two of you are going to be questioned.”

Joe swallowed audibly, but Kirk shifted himself upward, despite the pain. “Is that a bad thing?”

Patrick shook his head. “No, but I wanted to be the one to tell you myself.”

Kirk’s brow furrowed. He could feel Joe’s pulse racing under her wrist.

“They’re going to tell you they found a body in the house.”

Joe’s mouth fell open, but Kirk sat up further.

“What? Who?”

“There’s gonna be some time before they figure out who it is or what killed him, but I needed you to know. Didn’t want it to be a surprise. Didn’t want either of you to say something you shouldn’t.”

Patrick turned his eyes to Josephine.

“What the hell are we gonna say? Gramps, what did you do?”

“I gave you the gift of a clear conscience, son.”

Joe exhaled, realization settling in. “Is Carson dead?”

Patrick shot her a look, then nodded so subtly, it was almost unperceivable.

“In a few weeks, they’ll tell you he was probably mauled by something, and ran into the house to get away, not knowing it was on fire. He succumbed to his wounds before the fire took him.”

Josephine’s hands went to her face, and she sat stone still, staring in disbelief.

“Are you sure?” Kirk asked. His stomach was in knots to match the rest of his torso, all panging and screaming in revolt against being used. “Gramps, what if they think one of us killed him?”

“Then I’ll confess. They won’t have much of a case, giving he was ripped apart by a god damn bear.”

“Gramps!”

“What?! It needed to be done, and you know it. This poor woman and her girl deserve to live a good life. So do you. And don’t you dare tell me you weren’t aiming to do the same damn thing when he stuck you.”

Kirk paused. He had. He’d bared his teeth and gone for the skull. He was going to bite the fucker’s head off. He’d have the taste of the bastard’s blood in his mouth right now had he not taken a knife to the side.

“You’re not meant to be a killer, my boy. You never have been. I killed dozens in Korea, it’s not a new thing to me. I’m proud to have that shit’s blood on my hands.”

“What if they find out?” Josephine asked. “That you are – that you’re all -?”

She stopped, the revelation was still too new and strange to her, and Kirk could see it. Still, she didn’t pull her hand away from his; she still professed her love for him mere seconds after seeing the bear crumple at her feet. She’d accepted him. However hard it was to do so, she’d accepted him. His greatest fear; that he would show his true self to the one he loved and have her reject him – it had come and gone without so much as a rift between them. Just as his Mom had said – the right one will come along and love you for exactly who you are.

Patrick crossed his arms, leaning his weight onto his heels. “You’re one of only a few norms who know about us, darling. I’d like to keep it that way.”

There was a knock at the door, startling the three of them. Patrick moved for the door as Joe helped Kirk upright in his bed, propping the pillows beneath him. An official looking man in a suit walked into the room, followed by the Fire Marshall, Greg, a stocky fellow in black long sleeve t-shirt and jeans, a Fire Dept cap on his shaved head. Kirk knew Greg well.

“Hey Kirk, my brother. Nice to see you still kickin,” Greg said, stepping forward to shake Kirk’s free hand. Kirk winced against the effort of lifting his other arm, but he was determined to accept the handshake. “Had everybody worried, pal. Except for me. I knew you were too tough to be shanked.”

Kirk chuckled, flinching against the pain as his middle shook. Greg apologized, stepping away from the bed to allow the more official man to step forward. He introduced himself as Detective Beau Jacobs.

Patrick raised a hand from the door. “Let me know if you two need anything, yeah?”

With that he was gone.

Joe squeezed Kirk’s hand tight in her own as the Detective took up his post at the foot of the bed. “So, we had a couple questions for you two.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Kirk’s body cindered away beside her, rattling her awake in the early morning as the sun began to warm the trailer. The alarm would go off soon, and she’d rise from the bed to wake Rory and cajole the child into getting dressed and packing her backpack. Kirk had come home to Patrick’s trailer on Parkhurst Lake after just a few days, healing at a speed his doctor seemed almost unnerved by. Now, three weeks after taking a pickup truck to the shoulder and a knife to the ribs, Kirk was back to his robust self.

Well, almost.

His sparkle hadn’t fully returned yet. Joe knew the cause. It wasn’t hard to figure it out, given Kirk still hadn’t returned to his land since the fire. She, Patrick, his cousin John, even Gracie had all offered to go with him back to Falkirk’s Seat to see the damage, but he simply refused.

“I don’t think I’m ready for that,” he’d say each time, turning a forlorn eye back to making pancakes, or whatever other task was at hand.

Now three weeks later, Kirk had finally agreed to head up to the property for the first time. He was ready, he assured everyone. Joe wasn’t so sure.

Joe rolled over in the bed, watching Kirk sleep for a moment before the day began. They’d shared this bed every night since he returned from the hospital, the shag carpet and smoked meat smell of the trailer permeating every room. His dark curls were matted into the pillow beneath his head, his stubble left to grow wild for three or so days. This bed wasn’t exactly built for him, and his feet dangled off the edge by most mornings, tugging the blankets from her side of the bed. She didn’t mind. He kept her warm enough to sleep without blankets. He looked perfect to her there, even if that beard was a symptom of an ache in his heart. An ache she still felt responsible for.

“No more responsible than I for your crash,” he’d said, when she brought it up again. It didn’t matter. She wanted to make it right. She wanted to find a way to relight that candle that once burned in him when she met him. It was sputtering and sparking, but it hadn’t yet come back to life.

“You wanna whip out your phone? Take a quick snap shot? It’ll last longer.”

Joe startled at Kirk’s voice, her hand shooting up to her face. “Sorry. Just couldn’t help myself.”

“Well touch, don’t look,” he said, reaching for her under the covers. His hand was between her legs with the familiarity of daily intimacy. He didn’t need to ask; didn’t need to seduce. She was his, and his touch was always enough to inspire a romp.

She giggled, hissing at him, but Kirk sleepily moved under the covers over her, his warm body cooking her beneath him as he pinned his knees between her legs and pried them apart.

Josephine stood outside the Blackrock Tavern watching the blue pickup pull out of the parking lot. Kirk’s face looked almost downtrodden as they rolled away, her kisses and whispers of love weren’t enough to still his mood. They were on their way to Falkirk’s Seat – to the scene of the fire. She dreaded it for him.

The Fire Marshall had done exactly as Patrick promised.

“We found remains in the home. Any clue who they might belong to?” Detective Jacobs said, as though referring to a lost wallet or car keys. 

They didn’t pretend ignorance. The surprise of Patrick’s confession carried over to their conversation with the police, and they assured the Detective and the Fire Marshall that all their kin was accounted for. Within a week and a half, they officially identified the remains – Carson O’Neil was dead. No charges were pressed.

“Looks like the idiot underestimated his accelerant, ran back into the house. Bastard was beat to shit, but the wounds look conducive with the vehicle accident. Though he might have met with something wild, if the teeth marks are any evidence.”

Joe had stood by while Kirk took this phone call, a call he’d neither enjoyed, nor appreciated. Greg spoke with the familiarity of an old friend, sharing evidence that under any other circumstances might’ve been withheld. Hearing the finer details of how Carson set a fire in the basement using the pilot light of the water heater and gasoline soaked rags, combined with further accelerant in plastic jugs beneath the basement and apartment steps didn’t help Kirk’s mood, it seemed.

“He’d meant business, that lunatic. Clearly wasn’t something new to him,” the Fire Marshall, Greg Wells said , trying to keep the conversation light despite feeling the same sullen manner that everyone else in Kirk’s life could feel. It wasn’t hard. He wore it like a crown.

Joe watched the truck disappear in the distance, silently praying that Kirk would make it through the day, and turned into the tavern to start her shift.

“Hey sweetheart! Get crackalackin, we’ve got a tour bus coming through from up north.”

“Oh, fancy,” Joe said, snatching her apron from the hook and heading out onto the floor.

The morning regulars filtered in to their usual booths, all ordering the same breakfast, all keeping the same habits. Joe was growing accustomed to this strange corner of Maine, even taking a liking to the blueberry pies and the maple candy that every single store sold in bulk. She smiled at quiet Maynard Talbot while he was in from the reservation for his morning oatmeal, and refilled Officer Black’s coffee once every ten minutes until he made his way back to his shift. The world seemed simple here. Simple, quiet, and easy.

Save for that one detail – Kirk Fenn could turn into a bear.

“It’s not contagious, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Catherine Fenn had said, trying to still Joe’s fears as they sat together in the hospital waiting room.

Did it matter whether or not it was contagious? Or the more unnerving notion, that there was a 75% chance that their children would also be like Kirk – that her future children with Kirk might turn into bears. Joe’d seen Kirk more than once, she discovered. That morning in the snow, playing with his baby sister Gracie in the fresh snow.

“That’s why I was out the night of your crash,” Kirk said, frowning when he thought back to that night. “We always go out in the snow.”

Joe thought about that night often now, contemplating the chances of her crossing the path of the very man she would soon fall in love with, that she’d soon be carrying the child of.

She hadn’t told him that detail yet – that she was pregnant. She wasn’t sure it was something that he was ready to hear. Perhaps once his house was being rebuilt. Perhaps when he saw his life coming back together, then he’d be ready.

But would she?

I might give birth to a bear, she often thought, and her stomach would drop. Yet, then she’d catch sight of Kirk smiling, or of the way he tussled Rory’s hair, and snuck extra chocolate chips to her pancakes, even when Joe forbade him. Joe thought of a tiny little boy, dark curls and bright green eyes, flashing his father’s smile at her as they played in the snow and her heart melted over and over. Did it matter that he might grow up to be – she searched for a word.

Magical?

“Miss? I know we’re running a bit early here, but do you think you guys might be able to seat us early?”

Joe startled, turning to find a large crowd of young people meandering in, led by a pair of gentlemen, both working hard to wrangle their wards as they filtered past.

“Of course, I think we can manage that!” Joe said, gesturing for them to follow her into the closed dining room.

“Thank you so much,” the tawny haired man said as the teenagers bobbed and weaved through the tables, settling in with a bit of a roar for their lunch. “We don’t normally come through this way, but the restaurant we usually stop at has closed up in Cherryfield.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Joe said, handing a young woman with pierced septum an open menu. “Though lovely for us!”

“You guys still got blueberry pie? I remember this place had the best blueberry when I lived here as a kid.”

Joe smiled. “Best I’ve ever had.”

He beamed. “Och! You’ve made my day!”

Gracie rushed into the dining room, looking surprised, but calm, quickly moving in to take drink orders and offer appetizers. This would be a two or three person job.

The young crowd was enjoying their drinks as the two men checked on each table, at times touching shoulders, or giving pensive looks over the menu. Joe watched their demeanor, almost confused by the familiar air they carried themselves with. They didn’t seem like tour guides to a gaggle of touristing high schoolers. They treated each one as though they might treat their own family. By the time appetizers were on the table, Joe’s curiosity won.

“Excuse me, TJ?”

The light haired man’s brows shot up in a friendly expression. “Yes dear?”

“Can I ask what this group is? Are you a tour guide or something? Or is this a school thing?”

He beamed. “That would be a fun job.  No, I’m a counselor, actually.”

Joe stopped a moment, smiling. “What kind of counselor?”

“Uh, maybe social worker would be more appropriate. That’s Dave over there. He’s a counselor as well, but fancies himself a tour coordinator, of sorts. We try to take everybody down to Arcadia for a sightseeing tour around this time of year. Gets them out of the home.”

Joe smiled. “The home?”

TJ smiled. “Yeah, most of these kids are in and out of the system. We run a live in program to keep them off the streets when they’re home life isn’t great, make sure they’re safe, warm – fed, as you can see.”

Joe scanned the faces of the crowd. There were children as young as twelve or thirteen, and some as old as nineteen, most of them smiling or stuffing their faces. She thought of Kirk and the college bound Billy, and smiled.

“Here,” he said, handing her a business card. “If it would be alright with your manager, we might make this our new go to lunch stop for our field trips. Sadly, not all places are so welcoming to a crowd of rowdy kids.”

“Oh, Gracie’s the one to talk to there, but I can tell you right now, I can’t imagine Tiernan or Gracie -”

She stopped, staring at the business card a moment – at the name written in white block print just under the school’s name.

“You alright?” TJ asked, smiling.

She swallowed, glancing up at TJ as he turned back toward the crowd of kids, giving a jovial warning to a louder table. “Yeah, I just need to make a quick phone call?”

TJ excused her, and she turned for the kitchen, a new found fire to her step.