Page 40 of Coveted By the Bear

A man in his late thirties took a cart filled with bags of cement out the front door.

“Why not?”

“Because I said so. I don’t want my cart disappearing on me.”

I clicked my teeth closed with an audible snap. “You think I’m going to steal your cart?” I couldn’t tell if I was more angry or hurt.

The man crossed his arms and stood up to his full height. I wasn’t intimidated. “Whatever,” I grumbled. “I’m going to have to make a few trips.”

He nodded tersely but didn’t offer to help. I shoved the paintbrushes in my pockets and grabbed the first two cans. They made a loud clunk as I set them firmly into the back of my truck, then stopped short when I saw a familiar silhouette disappear into the hardware store. Hesitating, I bit my lip and stood behind the safety of my old rusty truck. I couldn’t just leave my paint in there. I’d already paid for them, and I knew the guy working the counter wouldn’t save them for me. I’d just wait until Caleb came back out. Years of hunger had instilled patience as one of my few virtues.

The salesman inside talked to Caleb amicably. They laughed at something he said, and then the asshole pointed an accusing finger directly through the window at me.

“Shit,” I whispered. I ducked down out of sight, but not before I saw the look of surprise on Caleb’s face as he searched the store window.

He found me squatted down behind my truck, biting the corner of my thumbnail and hoping he would let me be.

“Hey,” he said through an amused grin. “Who are you hiding from?”

Honesty was the best policy. “You.”

His face darkened, and he looked away. I used his distraction to jump up and skirt around him. The cans of paint were solid in my hands, and I turned to run directly into Caleb’s chest. He steadied me with a strong grip. In my haste, I hadn’t realized he followed me back into the store.

He grabbed the last four cans. “Let me help.”

The man behind the counter glowered at Caleb, but I ignored him. “Suit yourself.”

After he finished securing the paint in the back, I hopped in my old Green Monster. “Thanks for the help. I mean with everything. The house looks—well, it looks like a home again.”

He shut the door and gripped the open window. Inch by inch, he leaned closer to me. “Mira, listen—”

A group of men ambled across the sidewalk in front of my truck, talking loudly. “Caleb!” one of them called. “You coming to Rooney’s? Beer’s half off for the game.”

Caleb nodded a greeting. “Yeah, I’m right behind you.”

A few of the guys squinted, as if they were trying to decipher who Caleb was talking to in the ugly truck, but they kept moving. Caleb inched away. “I guess I should go.”

I tried to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “Right. On account of your reputation and all.” The engine roared to life as I gave an angry twist of the key. He opened his mouth to say something, but I jerked out of the parking spot before he could. I didn’t want to hear it.

In another lifetime, I had self-esteem. I had a life. I went to school, had friends, and felt worthy of affection. Everything had been leached from me. Snuffed from my life to make it dark and barely livable. But now things had changed, and I began to think I deserved something. Anything. It was Caleb’s fault for giving me wants again. My life had been fine when I’d felt nothing but desperation for my next meal.

A life void of feeling hurt less.

Chapter Fifteen

Mira

Indian style. Where had that term come from? It was the most uncomfortable sitting position for someone with very little cushion in their backside. Though my diet had improved tenfold as of late, my butt bones still threatened to pierce through my paper-thin skin. Maybe I should have studied harder in anatomy. I was pretty sure butt bone wasn’t a scientific name.

Paint splattered my leg as I swept the paintbrush across the wooden siding on the front porch. It was a crisp morning, cool as a fresh spring and not weather-fit for cut-off jean shorts, but there was no way I was going to ruin any of my new clothes painting the house. Two hours in and my arms were already shaking with fatigue. Breakfast hadn’t helped much. My stamina was still unimpressive, was all.

The noise of an approaching car made me hunch my shoulders against the dread. Caleb shouldn’t be here. He was starting work on the rig today. It would be his first day back. I had counted the days with a mixed sense of apprehension and relief.

Like Sunday.

When I was young and still in school. Sunday was both my favorite and least favorite day of the week. It was the weekend, but the last day of it. Saturday night I would ready for Sunday and think, phew, another day before I start back to school. But in the next breath I would think, only one more day until I start back to school.

It was the same feeling with Caleb.