Page 52 of Mated to the Mountain Bear
BEN
Iwatch Mason from the kitchen window, checking the perimeter. He’s thorough, I’ll give him that, crouching near the tree-line and studying the ground with genuine concentration.
Beau’s still at the table with Zara, going through more questions. His voice is an inaudible murmur, professional and patient. But his eyes keep flicking to me, an older brother’s look that tells me he knows something’s different. About me. About us.
The weight of it makes my shoulders tense. He’s going to have an opinion, but I don’t think I want to hear it.
I grip my coffee mug tighter, the ceramic warm against my palms. Really, I should be out there helping Mason scout. Should do something useful instead of standing here like a guard dog.
But Zara’s fingers are still trembling, wrapped around her mug, knuckles white from the pressure, to stop it from showing. I can’t bring myself to move away, not if she needs me. Every time she shifts in her chair when Beau asks a tough question, it makes my protective instincts flare.
And Beau can feel it.
Mason returns, brushing pine needles from his jacket with theatrical sweeps. Water droplets from the wet foliage darken the shoulders of his coat.
“All clear,” he reports, stomping his boots on the mat. Pine needles and mud scatter. “No signs of recent activity beyond your usual paths.”
“Good.” Not that I needed him to tell me that. I turn back to the window, watching for movement that isn’t there.
“That’s encouraging,” Beau says to Zara, closing his notebook with a soft snap. “Means he probably doesn’t know where you are.”
She nods, but I catch the doubt in her expression and the way her shoulders stay tense, waiting for bad news. Her fingers trace the rim of her mug in nervous circles. After weeks of being hunted, good news feels like a trap.
“So.” Mason settles against the counter like he owns the place. His wet jacket drips onto my clean floor but pointing it out would only encourage him to shake it out. “What’s for lunch? All this investigating makes a man hungry.”
I shoot him a look that would send most people running, but Mason just grins wider, clearly enjoying himself. Water droplets still cling to his hair, making him look younger, and more like the troublemaking kid he used to be. Probably still is behind it all.
“I could make something,” Zara offers, already starting to stand. The shirt she’s wearing, mine, shifts as she moves, the hem hitting mid-thigh.
“Sit.” The command is abrupt, my voice sharp with the effort of not stabbing Mason in the eyes for admiring how pretty she looks. She blinks at me, surprised by the harsh tone. “You’re supposed to be resting.” I add, hoping to make up for the delivery.
“I don’t mind helping...” Her voice trails off at my expression.
“I’ll handle it.” I move to the refrigerator, already regretting the decision.
Mason peers over my shoulder as I pull out ingredients, his breath too close as it invades my personal space. “Whatcha making?”
“Food.” I elbow him away, harder than strictly necessary. “Go sit down.”
“Touchy.” But he retreats to the table, spinning a chair backward to straddle it. The old wood creaks under his weight. “So, Zara, how’s the mountain-hermit experience treating you? Has he growled at you for breathing too loudly yet?”
She glances at me with a shy smile playing on her lips. The first genuine smile I’ve seen since Beau got here and forced her to relive all the painful things that have happened to her in the last month. “Maybe a few times.”
“A few times?” Mason leans forward, interested. His elbows rest on the chair back, making him look like an eager student. “And you haven’t run screaming down the mountain?”
“I considered it,” she teases, accepting the coffee refill Beau offers. Her fingers brush his as she takes the pot, and I have to turn back to the eggs to avoid snarling at my own brother. “Especially that first morning. He practically growled at me for trying to help with breakfast.”
“Classic Ben,” Mason says, delighted. “Remember when he kicked us out for showing up uninvited? Even after we drove all the way up here with beer and food.”
“Which is every time you show up,” I point out, cracking eggs into a bowl with perhaps less finesse than I should.
“We’re family. Families don’t need an invitation.” When Mason gives Zara a huge smile, the urge to drive my fist straight through his charming face is immediate and visceral.
“Yes, they do.” I growl.
Zara laughs, the sound warming the kitchen as she pats my hand. The comfortable gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by my brothers. Beau’s jaw clenches. I know what he’s thinking. That his loner brother, who hasn’t seen a woman in months, is taking advantage of someone in a vulnerable position. But he wouldn’t have left her here if that were the type of man I am.
Hard as it’s been, and much to my bear’s annoyance, nothing’s happened.
