Chapter Eleven
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“Do I have this right?” Emma asked the empty kitchen as she studied the peeled potatoes and hunk of beef in the pan. Had she rightly remembered how her mother’s cook made pot roast? Questionable. Since the Cavanaughs didn’t associate with hired help, Emma’d never been allowed in the kitchen for longer than it took to eat her afternoon snack.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t located any cookbooks in Ben’s home, which meant she was on her own in the kitchen. Scary thought. But she so, so wanted to do something nice for him.
He’d been past kind and openly pleased when the Cosantir “sentenced” her to sing as her penalty.
Wonder filled her again. The Cosantir wanted her to sing, to be a bard. If she proved herself useful, if people came to like her, maybe she could stay in Cold Creek. She’d run her paws off to be worthy of the chance.
First, she needed to show Ben and Ryder she understood the Law of Reciprocity. Ben had given her a place to stay, fed her, cared for her. Ryder had made her a beautiful hardwood cane, dark and smooth and glossy. With her brace and the cane, she didn’t have to be carted everywhere.
Although, being carried by Ben was more enthralling than anything she’d fantasized about as a young female. Cared for and helpless—a very heady mixture. And Ben himself… Well. His easy-going nature concealed a formidable strength of will and an intimidating self-confidence. When he focused on her, she felt like tasty prey—and very, very female.
She gave herself a shake. Stop daydreaming.
The potatoes and roast beef lay like corpses in the pan, and she bit her lip. She’d managed to scour the kitchen, despite frequent breaks to let the pain ease. The countertops and table sparkled; however, cleaning wasn’t enough to balance the scales.
Surely, something as basic as roast beef couldn’t be easily ruined. Right?
After some puzzling, she turned on the oven. Now, what was the correct temperature?
Ryder had made a frozen pizza one night and set the oven to 425 degrees. The pizza was very thin, the roast very thick, so surely the temperature needed to be higher? She turned the dial to 450 degrees.
She did know that a roast should bake for a long time. Their cook had put the meat into the oven when Emma had been snacking, so the beef must have cooked for around three to four hours. She’d check it in three…to be on the safe side.
There. Done. Biting her lip, she hesitated. Maybe she should watch it?
Staring at the oven door would be silly. She looked around, wishing for someone to talk with. The house was so empty even the dust motes seemed to echo.
If she went outside, the flower fairies would keep her company while she planned what to sing at the tavern. The food didn’t need her help to cook, after all. And when the males and Minette returned from the construction site, she’d treat them all to a tasty hot meal. Wouldn’t they be surprised?
*
Three hours later, Emma limped into the kitchen and gasped in horror at the black clouds of smoke pouring from the oven.
“Oh, no. No, no, no.” Leaving the back door open, she turned off the oven.
With true dismay, she heard the front door open and the stomping sound of boots.
Ben and Ryder had returned.
“Fuck. Did Emma set the place on fire?” she heard Ryder ask. “I told you not to tease her about her reading. Females get all gooey over those lovesick stories.”
“I smell burnt meat,” Ben answered mildly. All too quickly, he entered the kitchen with Minette and Ryder.
Gritting her teeth, Emma opened the oven door, already knowing she wouldn’t see the perfect, juicy, tasty meal she’d planned.
Far from it.
The smoking, shriveled carcass was surrounded by black lumps of potatoes. By the Mother, how could she have messed this up so badly? Been so stupid? She was every inch as worthless as her mother had always said.
She’d spoiled good food and wasted Ben’s money.
“Well, there’s a…” Ryder glanced at her and didn’t finish. Instead, he moved her to one side, grabbed a potholder, and pulled out the disgusting mess. After setting the pan in the sink, he turned the water on. Steam rose with an angry hiss.
Ruined. She tried to blink back the tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s not worth worrying about, darlin’.” Ben gave her loose hair a teasing tug. “We appreciate the effort, even if it didn’t turn out.”
His kindness ruined her attempt at composure, and her eyes filled completely, blurring her vision.
“Sit, Emma.” With strong hands, he pushed her into a kitchen chair. Crouching in front of her, he took her hands.
“I wasted your money. I shouldn’t have tried to prepare a meal.” She hung her head, her mother’s voice in her ears. Worthless. Stupid. Awkward. Ungrateful. “I don’t know how to cook.”
Ryder frowned. “I thought all females were taught to cook and clean.”
Did he think her not only incompetent, but a liar as well? Her spine straightened. “We had a cook.” Her gaze dropped back to her lap, where Ben’s rugged hands still held hers. “I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen.”
When her breathing hitched in a prelude to tears, she controlled herself. No crying. She was a grown female.
“A cook. Interesting.” Ryder’s black eyes were unreadable. He walked over to the doorway and scooped up Minette. “C’mon, kitten, you can work on your puzzle while I get cleaned up.”
After a second, she pulled her gaze from the empty doorway and realized Ben hadn’t let go of her hands. A tug not only didn’t gain her freedom, but also tightened his grip.
After a second, he stroked his thumbs over the backs of her hands, sending a thrill of awareness through her. “Look at me, honey bear.”
Honey bear? The tone of his voice was as affectionate as when Ryder called Minette “kitten.” It sounded as if…as if he really did like her.
His level gaze was as open and easy to read as Ryder’s was impenetrable. He wasn’t upset. “This isn’t a world-ending event; you simply burnt dinner. We’ve all messed up and more than once.” His lips twitched. “Now, I’m an okay cook, but Ryder’s damn good, yet he’s concocted some real disasters.”
“Really?”
Ben considered for a moment. “I think the worst stink was when he forgot he’d put potatoes on to boil. The water evaporated and burned the shit out of the potatoes. By Herne’s hairy balls, the whole house stank for days.”
The tightness in her chest loosened. “But I ruined dinner. Now there’s nothing to eat.”
“That’s why the Mother gifted us with restaurants and diners. Let me take a quick shower and we’ll all go out to eat.”
He released her and curved his hands around her waist, rising and pulling her to her feet. Rather than stepping away, he moved close enough she felt the warmth of his body from her thighs to her shoulders. “By the God, you smell good.”
His lips brushed her hair.
He was so tall, her eyes were level with his chest. She couldn’t help but see how his blue work shirt strained over his thick pectoral muscles. The opened top buttons revealed springy brown hair, and she wanted to unbutton more, to run her hands over him.
How would the hair feel against her skin? Against her breasts? She blinked. By the Goddess, how inappropriate was that thought?
Tilting her head back, she tried to ignore the strong line of his throat, the square jaw, the dent in his chin. No, Emma. She mustn’t allow herself to be so drawn to him.
Too late. His slow smile informed her she’d revealed her desire. Oh, humiliation. Where was a deep, dark cave to hide in when a bear needed one?
“Um. I’ll just…” Her words dried up under the hunger in his eyes.
His voice came out a low rumble. “Since it’s a bit soon to ask you to join me in the shower, you’d best take yourself off, darlin’.”
Shower. With him?
Heat flamed up her spine, seared her face with a flush, and sizzled right to her core. “Ah, right.” She eased away and moved toward the stairs. With luck, her limp would conceal the way her knees were wobbling.
He chuckled.
Guess not.
*
At Angie’s Diner in downtown Cold Creek, Ryder sat with his “family” as he enjoyed a massive slice of cherry pie. With scuffed, wooden floors and blue-checked tablecloths over square tables, the old-fashioned restaurant served home-style food and pies that would do any chef proud.
He thought back to the shriveled mess of a roast Emma had pulled out of the oven. The poor bear’d been so upset, she’d nearly burst into tears. For a second, he’d thought she was putting on a Genevieve-style act, but Emma didn’t wear perfume, and he had smelled her distress. She hadn’t been playacting.
Discomfort inched up his spine. Since Genevieve, he’d only interacted with females at the straightforward, all-about-mating Gatherings. But his avoidance might have gone on a bit long. Possibly Genevieve had a more adverse effect on his life than he’d acknowledged. Possibly he’d become a bit cynical. Or maybe just smarter. Difficult to say.
He was coming to realize that Emma was easily hurt. Vulnerable. Hell, at least she’d tried to cook for them, which was more than Genevieve had ever done. He should’ve seen her embarrassment about not knowing how to cook and been gentler. Ben had figured it out quickly enough.
His brother wasn’t smooth with words—not like, say, the sheriff—but Ben had a bluntly honest kind of charm. It was good his littermate had been there to soothe the little bear.
Ryder took another bite of pie and listened to Ben filling Emma in on some of the local “celebrities.” The drunk who danced on Calum’s bartop sounded intriguing, although foolhardy, considering the Cosantir could fry him with a touch.
As Ben told the tale of a female-hating cahir chasing an overly forward female out of his rental—both of them sans clothing—Emma laughed. A beautiful, throaty laugh.
Ryder leaned back in his chair and studied her without cynicism, which took an appalling amount of effort.
She was a lovely female. Under Ben’s care and the quiet evening, she’d relaxed. Her happiness gave her a glow like a late summer moon. She’d shone as brightly when singing at the tavern last night.
Her singing…
By the God, her exquisite contralto could seize a male by the balls and tow him after her. When she’d sung to Minette, the entire bar had quieted to hear her, and she hadn’t noticed. All her attention had been focused on Minette, and she’d kept the cub’s attention with a very skilled bard’s talents. He could still hear her.
The two of them had looked…heartwarming…cuddling on the couch. His daughter had looked more content than he’d seen her in a long time. Emma was good for the cub. Hell, better than he was. The mite made him feel too big, too rough, and totally at a loss. Males didn’t raise cubs—especially female ones.
Emma’s song had been about the courage it took to try something new. Well, a ready-made family was one “new” he’d never anticipated, but damned if he wouldn’t do a better job raising his cub than either his father or Ben’s had done with them.
From what she’d told Calum, the bard had even less family than he and Ben did. He’d noticed that when singing about the kitten’s homecoming, Emma’s voice had turned wistful. Now he knew—she had no family to return to.
Why had she been reluctant to share she was a bard? The Daonain valued bards highly. Never plentiful, the story masters had grown even scarcer over the last century. Shifters distrusted change, and bards were even more conservative, as if learning the ancient songs engraved tradition into their bones. The human encroachment drove many bards to the isolated Elder villages or to death. Few remained to teach the new generations.
Calum’s opinion had been clear enough. He’d pounced on the little bard like a tasty mouse and had her obligated to sing before she could even think. Yeah, the Cosantir was canny, and Emma’s past was a puzzle he might enjoy piecing together.
Smiling, Ryder returned his attention to the table.
Finishing off his apple pie with a gigantic bite, Ben leaned back with a groan. “The third piece was a mistake.” He grinned at Minette. “I think only a crane will get me out of this chair. What do you think?”
Minette’s eyes danced. Earlier, Ben had shown her his company’s construction equipment. Now she knew what a crane was used for.
Ryder listened, longing to hear a little girl giggle from her, but it never came. Her smile was a delight though.
So was Emma’s smile. Unfortunately for him, however, it was far too appealing. She made him feel as if he was standing on a rain-sodden cliff, the soil shifting beneath his paws as he watched rocks fall, knowing he’d be next. Well, he was an older and wiser cat now. Hopefully.
As Ben scarfed down the last bite of pie, he raised his eyebrows at Ryder. “Your dessert didn’t last long, either.”
“Says the grizzly who devoured three pieces to my one.” Ryder grinned. “It’s a wonder you aren’t even bigger than you are now.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Emma nudge away her half-finished cheesecake—the same dessert she’d been enthusiastically eating a second ago.
Ben frowned and pushed the plate back to Emma. “Eat, honey bear. You need the calories to heal.”
“I’m not hungry any longer.” Her eyes didn’t meet Ben’s.
Genevieve had done the same to get attention. Was always fishing for compliments. However, Emma didn’t display the posture of a female seeking admiration, but rather one trying not to be noticed.
By the Hunter, he hadn’t been trying to hurt her feelings; he’d merely been teasing his littermate about being a big bear. But…Emma was also a bear. Fuck.
Although Genevieve never doubted her own appeal, he’d known females who worried over their attractiveness. He’d also noticed that, whereas males fought their rivals physically, females often battled with words. Had Emma taken a few verbal slashes? Perhaps she hadn’t lived enough years to understand how alluring she was.
Compassion slid tender fingers between his ribs. He’d inflicted the blow; he needed to fix the damage.
“Little bear.” He waited until her eyes lifted. “Ben’s right. You need extra calories to heal your wound and to keep those lovely curves.” He ran his gaze over her, letting his appreciation show. “And you’re still underweight.”
The flush pinkening her cheeks was damned pretty. When she glanced at his littermate, as if for support, Ryder couldn’t help but think of the many carnal ways he could unsettle her and have her clinging to Ben.
“I like curvy females, too,” Ben stated. “Ones I can enjoy without feeling as if I’ll break them. Your size is perfect.”
“Aye,” Ryder agreed, smothering a laugh at her wide eyes.
As she started to eat again, his smile faded. Rather than possessing Genevieve’s arrogance, this one wasn’t at all sure of her charms. Hadn’t anyone told her how beautiful she was?
Why was she out in the wilderness, anyway? He stopped himself before asking a question that would only disconcert her more. Belatedly, he realized she was as uncomfortable in public as Minette was. She’d chosen the chair facing the room, not something a female usually did. Like Minette, she’d needed a while to relax and join in the conversation. A loud laugh would still make her stiffen, which didn’t make sense. Bards liked people; they weren’t afraid of them.
He glanced across the table and saw Ben regarding the little bear thoughtfully. He didn’t seem to have any more answers than Ryder did. Well, they’d work on the Emma puzzle together. The decision gave him a sense of satisfaction.
Having finished her chocolate cake, Minette used her finger to get the very last of the frosting, although a fair amount ended up on her face. Fucking cute. Grinning, Ryder wiped her face off. “Gotta say, the people here know how to put a meal together.” He’d also noticed that the diner was almost full, which was impressive considering it was a Monday night.
“The desserts are made by Zeb and Shay’s mate, Bree, who used to be a pastry chef in Seattle,” Ben said. “The meals are cooked by Angie herself, and are the ones she made when her cubs were young.”
Ryder exchanged a rueful glance with Ben. With their mother dying at their birth, they’d never enjoyed family dining. “You always hear a mother’s cooking is special.”
“Not my mother’s cooking,” Emma murmured as she swirled the water in her glass. “She never set foot in a kitchen except to order around the cook.”
“Yeah, you said you had a cook,” Ryder said.
Her head shot up in surprise. Hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud, had she? Had she lived in the forests by herself so long she talked to herself?
“I…uh, yes, we did.” Emma looked past him. “I think the cahir over there is looking for one of you.”
Ryder turned to see Zeb crossing the room.
Zeb nodded at Ryder and Emma. Minette got an almost-smile, which—to Ryder’s surprise—she returned. Then Zeb launched into what brought him. “Ben, we could use your help.” His voice was low enough to be heard only by their table. “Got a pack shifter, Tullia. Older than dirt. Her house is falling down around her.”
“Sure. What can’t you handle?”
“Electrical. The kitchen is a house fire waiting to happen. Some oversight for the volunteers. If you have extra time, we’ll take it.”
“Not a problem.” Ben’s gaze became unfocused as he considered. “My electrician is finishing a job tomorrow. How about the day after? And I’ll pop in whenever I have a moment.”
“Appreciate it.” Without another word, the cahir stalked away.
“Friendly, isn’t he?” Ryder commented, getting a low chuckle from Emma.
“Reminds me of you.” Ben grinned. “You should have met him when he and Shay first arrived. First month, we could have counted his sentences on one hand. Cold Creek’s good for him—and he’s paid back the place a thousandfold.”
Several more people came into the diner and greeted Ben. He responded with nods.
“Do you know everyone in Cold Creek?” Emma asked.
“Pretty much,” Ben pushed Minette’s milk closer to her. “Between being a cahir and doing construction, I get around.” He shrugged.
“Zeb didn’t ask for an estimate,” Ryder noted.
“Won’t be a charge.” Ben sipped his beer. “The previous alpha of the wolf pack didn’t do squat for the members, and a lot of the older wolves’ homes are ready to fall down. Now that Shay is Alpha and Zeb is Beta, the two are stuck playing catch-up. I help out where I can.”
Ryder studied his brother, looking past the surface changes, adding up his observations. The nonchalant way Ben had answered was…eye opening, as if everyone “gave” something, and his only decisions were who to help and when.
While doing Ben’s paperwork, Ryder’d noticed Ben’s construction workers had generous benefit packages. Several files had been marked gratis with the invoice totals crossed off.
Ben had always taken care of his friends. Apparently, his service had expanded to encompass the entire town.
Turning his gaze away, Ryder traced a finger over the squares on the tablecloth. Aside from becoming more cynical about females, had he changed since he and Ben split apart? Had he grown at all?
He’d worked to be successful. To be recognized for his skills. To have enough money, but everything he’d accomplished had been to benefit himself.
His success now felt…hollow, lonely.
When Genevieve had spread rumors he was abusive, Ryder’d been shaken when no one had spoken up for him. The Cosantir’s lack of action hadn’t been surprising since the guardian lived in a different town and remained aloof from “petty” problems. Nevertheless, in Farway, no one had stood up for Ryder.
Yet had he ever given anything to the town? He’d lived there, but never helped make it better for anyone, never participated in anything except the Gatherings—which Genevieve had turned into nightmares—and never tried to be a part of the community.
He and Ben had always wanted to belong somewhere. How had he missed learning that belonging required effort on his part?
Ryder looked around the room, observing the people. Good folks, both humans and shifters. Flannel shirts, jeans, and boots. Hardworking, independent, solid citizens. Ones he’d be proud to call friends. It was time he did some work to earn their respect.
As Ben had.
Ryder rubbed his jaw. He’d given nothing to Genevieve’s territory, but here—this would be his town and his territory.
It was time he started to nail down his own place here.
*
Later, in the great room, Emma rested with her back against the couch arm. Minette was tucked in the small space against her side. The feeling of the small body next to her was sweet enough she had a lump in her throat. A month ago, she’d never imagined she’d be so happy.
Well…mostly happy. The stench of burnt roast still lingered in the air. However, her embarrassment had diminished, leaving only resolve. She was going to learn to function like a normal person, including learning to cook.
Ben had been astonishingly nonchalant about her fiasco.
Ryder had been, as well, despite his initially cynical questions. He’d been fun at supper, teasing Ben and Minette—and even her. It seemed his brusque personality hid a wicked feline sense of humor.
Across the room, he was building a fire in the wide marble fireplace. As the kindling caught fire, a salamander poked its pointed nose out from the ashes and wiggled happily.
Minette went to watch, standing beside her sire.
Ryder tugged her down beside him. Every day, he grew more comfortable with his cub. He pointed at the fire elemental. “When the fire starts to roar, the salamander will dance for us.”
When Minette gave the same squirm of delight as the salamander, Ryder laughed, and Emma could only stare in wonder. His magnificent, resonant laugh sent shivers up her spine. Why didn’t he do that more often?
“Who fancies some music?” Ben thumped down the stairs and into the room. He held two classical guitars.
Guitars. Emma’s fingers curled with longing. She’d missed music even more than people. Don’t touch, bear. Not yours. “Do you and Ryder play the guitar? I thought you said you grew up in the wilderness, owning nothing more than a few books.”
“Ben did—in Texas.” Ryder’s jaw flexed. “When we were five, my father dragged me to Montana.”
Leaving Ben behind? The thought of their separation made her heart ache. She’d thought it was sad to have no siblings. How shattering would it feel to be separated after being together?
Ben ran his fingers over the guitar strings. “When we met up again as young males, we spent a winter with our mother’s grandmother in an Elder Village with no electricity. She taught us to play guitars.”
Ryder’s chiseled face softened at the memory. “Naini was Welsh, and nothing made her happier than an evening of music. Everyone had to participate or suffer her displeasure.”
Envy filled Emma at the thought of singing with others. She and the master bard had played music together. A couple of times, another bard had visited him. To share songs within a family group must be marvelous.
“Here you go, honey bear,” Ben said gently. He bent and brushed his lips across hers in a kiss.
His lips were warm. Firm. His cheek brushed against hers with the slight scratchiness, and rather than pulling away, he lifted his head a couple of inches and looked straight into her stunned eyes. The line beside his mouth deepened, although he wasn’t…quite…smiling. He held her eyes for a second, then another, before he straightened.
He’d kissed her. She could feel the blood surging in her veins and the increasing hum of interest. Everything in her wanted another kiss.
Shaking her head, she looked down. He’d put the guitar in her lap. She was holding a guitar for the first time in three years.
“Oh,” she breathed. The scent, the feel of the glossy finish, the sound when she plucked the first string… Wonderful.
“By the God, look at her.” Ryder’s chuckle held the same amused enjoyment as when Minette had squirmed. “You got your prey cornered, Griz. A kiss to get her all flushed, a guitar to light up her eyes.”
Ben grinned. “I hope you still have your instrument, bro. I don’t think she’s going to share my spare.”
“Yep, I brought it.” As Ryder took a log from the pile, he asked Minette, “Can you show Ben where it is, kitten?”
Minette ran across the room, took Ben’s hand, and pulled him after her.
As Ryder set bigger logs in the fireplace, the scent of fir and pine filled the room with smoky sweetness.
Emma did a tentative strum over the strings, and the guitar bumped into the back couch cushions. The position wouldn’t work. She struggled to sit up.
“Hold on, little bear.” Ryder took the guitar from her and set it to one side. With a hand behind her back and the other under her knees, he turned her, placing her legs on the leather ottoman. His lean fingers were longer than Ben’s, just as callused, and to her surprise, just as gentle. His scent held the wildness of a cat shifter and a hint of the woodsy soap he used.
Tingling sensations traced over her skin, teasing her with the knowledge she was female and he was male. No. No, no, no. It was bad enough to be attracted to Ben, but this male? This very cynical male who was far too handsome? Impossible.
She bowed her head to study her hands. “Thank you.” Her voice came out a whisper.
“Emma?” When she looked up, she met night-dark eyes gleaming with laughter. “You are very welcome.” He ran a single finger down her cheek.
Pulling back, he shook his head in the same way she shook out her fur when she first trawsfurred, getting rid of the last, lingering traces of human. “Ben and I both spent a lot of time in the wilderness. The one time I did a whole summer, I was still talking to myself a month later. How long were you away from civilization?”
The unexpected question shocked her. His dark eyes were intent and slightly frightening. “No evasions, please, little bard,” he said softly. “Give me a number.”
Lie? She couldn’t, never could. “Three.”
“Three what?”
Stubborn male. Her whisper was almost inaudible. “Years.”
His staggered expression pleased her, until he followed it with another question. “Why?”
She lifted her chin. “I explained to the Cosantir.” And she wasn’t going to explain further.
When Ben and Minette walked into the room, she almost cheered.
“Here’s your guitar, bro.” Ben handed it to Ryder.
With a frown, Ryder sat in a chair, but his gaze kept returning to her.
It didn’t matter, she told herself. She didn’t have to answer any more questions. She shouldn’t have answered him at all. Stupid male.
Stupid Emma.
“Problems?” Ben’s regard warmed her skin.
“No? I have a guitar. Nothing can be a problem.” Music could heal almost anything.
The minute the males started singing together, she knew she was right.
So beautiful. In a sonorous baritone, Ryder carried the melody. Ben added the harmony in his deep, rumbly bass.
More than beautiful. Like one of those fabled aphrodisiacs, the sound of their beautiful male voices danced across her skin, trailing desire behind it. Nothing, not even the Gathering, had ever affected her so deeply, in every sense.
When she looked at Ben, all she could see was how broad his shoulders were, how his biceps strained the fabric of his white shirt, and how the collar framed his corded neck. She wanted to press her lips right there, to the tanned skin exposed by the two open buttons.
When she looked at Ryder, she couldn’t look away from the beauty of his wrists and his powerful fingers on the strings. What would those hands feel like on her body?
Stop.
She switched her attention to Minette. In front of the fire, the cub swayed in time with the music and watched the salamanders dance amidst the flames.
Lovely.
Unable to stop smiling, Emma curled her hand around the guitar neck and added some fancy fingering to the music. Happiness welled up and overflowed inside her as she lifted her voice in a descant, above and around the melody.
Minette bounced as the music became richer.
The males turned to look at her. Ben’s gaze filled with pleasure; Ryder’s softened to a liquid darkness.
Maybe this sunlit time wouldn’t last, but for now…for this glorious moment in time…she’d wrap herself in the warmth.