Page 26 of Coveted By the Bear

Caleb took off the old gray baseball cap he was wearing and scratched his head. The movement seemed to be more about agitation and less about an itch. “Mira, I’m not doing anything to upset you. Not on purpose. It’s important that the people in town get used to seeing you and being around you and eating next to you. The more you alienate yourself out here, the less they will be able to relate to you.”

“Well, maybe I like the way things are.” Even I could hear the false note in my voice.

“You like it when people are mean to you when you come into town?” he asked.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I rested my head on the window and did my best to ignore him—if anyone could really ignore Caleb McCreedy in such close quarters.

“No? That’s what I thought. They’re in the wrong, Mira. I’m not defending them, but if anyone is going to make it right, it’s got to be you. You have to be the bigger person on this one.”

“But I’m a very tiny person,” I said, dragging my beseeching gaze over to him.

He looked at me in confusion, and then back to the road. Back at me, then back at the road again. I helped him out with a tiny smile, and he surprised me with a laugh, short and loud.

In a softer tone, he said, “I know you can do this. It’s just going to take some time.” He seemed to relax, and he hooked his arm over back of the bench seat between us.

I held my breath. If I exhaled it would shake—I knew it would. His arm wasn’t around me, but just a few seconds ago, I’d been sitting in front of where his hand was resting. As it were, his fingertips could almost touch the tip of my collarbone had he the mind to do so.

He didn’t. The trip commenced with his arm arched in an almost-touch, and me breathing as lightly as I could without fainting cold against the window.

When Caleb pulled the truck into a parking spot in front of Rooney’s Bar, I raised my eyebrows and nodded. Classy.

“They serve breakfast,” he explained. “Jake’s serves a mean lunch, but nobody can beat Rooney’s pancakes.”

The mention of the delectable, butter-soaked, golden edibles brought an embarrassingly loud grumble from my stomach. He gave me an I-told-you-so look and shut the truck door behind him. I wanted to kick him.

I could refuse to get out of the truck. I turned the thought over in my mind, but one look at him hopping off the curb to open my door for me stomped out that notion. I had no doubt he would drag me bodily from this vehicle. That or he would be disappointed in me, which would be even worse.

Caleb reached for the door, and my naughty little finger pushed down on the lock button just as he pulled the handle. His startled face was enough to better my mood, and I grinned at him through the window before pushing the unlock button. He tried to look irritated but mostly he looked amused. I slid out of the truck, and Caleb shut the door behind me so firmly that my hands went over my ears before I could stop them. Why did he have to be so rough with everything? It was like the built up power he possessed in his body leaked out at random times throughout the day. Caleb wasn’t a gentle or apologetic creature. He was a man born of raw masculinity and strength. I wondered how much of that had been from before the attack and how much was from the animal inside of him now.

“Come on,” he said, pressing his hand lightly against the small of my back to get my legs moving.

I pulled my hands away from my ears and allowed him to lead me to the door of Rooney’s. What other choice did I have? My legs were threatening to collapse under his touch.

When I tried to scuttle into the booth in the back corner, Caleb switched directions and led me to a table at the very center of the busy eatery. I wanted to curse, but I kept my colorful words to myself.

Breakfast was just as horrifyingly awkward as I imagined it would be. Caleb acted as if he didn’t notice everyone staring at us. I, however, felt the weight of the unwanted attention with every bite I took. I wished I could just enjoy the food. I was a decent cook, but there was just something about someone else cooking for you that made it taste better. That, and I hadn’t had pancakes in years. And eating syrup was downright orgasmic.

Caleb lacked the ease with which his sister conversed, but I was impressed with the effort. He waited for me to order my meal before he started talking. Mostly he talked about his plans for my house, which were interesting, but not quite as much as the way his mouth moved when he talked. I was scattered and unfocused and his every movement seemed to demand my attention. Everyone’s whispered mumblings about the unlikely event of one Caleb McCreedy taking one Crazy Mira Fletcher to breakfast like we were long time pals was borderline overwhelming to my sensitive ears. I imagined the town collectively crapping a sea urchin at what transpired in Rooney’s Bar this morning.

I pushed my last two pancakes around my plate. I’d been starving when we walked through the door and smelled the home cooking, but sitting under a magnifying glass the entire meal as everyone in Rooney’s leaned closer to hear our conversation made me lose my appetite. Caleb frowned at my unfinished meal.

“Excuse me, Sarah?” he asked our waitress as she bustled by our table. “Could we get a to-go box? And the check whenever you have a minute.”

“Sure,” she said sweetly. Sarah slid a glance in my direction and then back to Caleb before she leaned closer to him and lowered her voice. “Anything for a McCreedy,” she said through a flirty smile that boasted much too much dark lipstick.

When she came back with a to-go box and the check, I looked curiously across the table at the tiny, white piece of paper to see how much a breakfast for two cost. Caleb pulled out a wadded up ten and a five from his pocket and put them under a plastic cylinder that held the sugar. He crumpled up the receipt, but not before I saw the waitress’s phone number written across the top of it.

I stared at him as he downed the rest of his coffee. How many times had girls given their numbers to him in hopes that he would call? From the way he flippantly threw it in the trashcan on his way out, it probably happened regularly.

He took a toothpick from a small plastic container on the front counter and offered it to me. I declined politely and headed for the door as he exchanged small talk with an older gentleman behind the bar.

“What do you think you are doing?” a woman asked as I stepped outside.

Automatically, I sidestepped the flurry of motion I saw coming in fast from my right. Becca.

“What are you doing with Caleb? Are you stupid, or is it unclear to you that we are a thing?” she asked. “Why on earth would he be eating breakfast, for the entire town to see, with a freak like you?”

There really was no need to try and keep up my end of the conversation. A response from me seemed completely unnecessary.