Page 61 of Coveted By the Bear

His eyes danced, and he inhaled slowly, as if he were savoring a weight being lifted from his shoulders.

A string of incomprehensible shrieks followed, and I handed the phone back to Caleb, then rubbed my throbbing ear.

“Gotta go, Sadey. We’ll see you at Sunday dinner.” He hung up while Sadey was still mid-question.

The mention of Sunday dinner would have been intimidating if a more desperate fear didn’t loom in the forefront. Every minute or so, I thought of the very real danger I was in. Of the danger I put Caleb in by being with him, and it sent a cold bolt of fresh dread skittering up my spine.

He watched my transformation with concern knitted into his blond brows. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m scared. Angus won’t stop until he finds me.”

Caleb watched the waning light out the window as if it held the answers. “Look, he won’t find you here. Tomorrow we’ll go to the sheriff—”

“But he hates me.”

“Hear me out. If he and his deputy ignore us, at least we tried there first. We’ll go into the city and find someone who will help. We’ll keep at it until somebody takes us seriously and grants you a restraining order against him.”

The plan sounded solid enough, and a wave of relief washed over me. I knew he would figure out a way to keep me safe. He was calm in the face of adversity, confident under strenuous situations. It’s what made him so good at his job. His self-assurance eased my cowardly bits.

I put my mind to more favorable ventures than dwelling on imminent danger. “I want pasta.”

He grinned. “I have a craving for spaghetti myself.”

I hopped off the counter and rummaged through the pantry until I found the ingredients I needed. Caleb pulled his shirt on, to my dismay, but left it unbuttoned as a consolation. Eventually, a fire crackled in the fireplace and the smells of a hot meal wafted through his cozy home. I was standing at the stove when he pressed his body behind me.

His hands fell to my hips, and he kissed my neck softly. “Do you need me to do anything?”

“Keep doing that,” I said, stifling a moan.

His breath was delectably warm on my neck, and the vibration of his chest rumbled against my back as he chuckled. “Anything else?”

I sighed happily. “Taste this.”

Caleb did as instructed and said the spaghetti sauce simmering away in one of his pots was perfect as is.

“Okay, take the garlic bread out of the oven then. Dinner is ready.” I gave the Caesar salad one more toss and set it on the small dining table.

We took our time eating. There was no hurry, and our conversation was easy, like before I’d tried to set him free. He asked about my mother, before she’d met Angus, and I shared the good memories I had. Playground visits when I was younger, slip-n-slide summers, and infinite wishes she’d made on dandelions.

“She used to be fun,” I explained. “She didn’t like raising me by herself, but she always took me to the library and read me books before she tucked me in at night. And on Friday nights, she’d always order us a pizza and rent a cartoon for me from the movie store. I thought we were happy the way things were, but then she met Angus, and she changed. For the better, at first. She practically glowed when he helped around the house and took care of me when her friends asked her to go out for girls’ nights. It didn’t last, though. He was pretending. That was part of his manipulation, to show her his best side so she’d cling to the way he used to be when he would drink. I always knew he was bad, though. He didn’t trick me at all. I didn’t care about him, so I could see how hard his eyes looked when he told my mom he loved her. I could see him holding his hands out like he wanted to choke her when her back was turned. They weren’t even fighting. He would just do it in passing.”

Caleb drew my legs into his lap under the table and leaned back. “He sounds like a piece of work.”

I narrowed my eyes playfully. He’d been trying not to curse in front of me since he’d kissed me on the balcony. It was sweet, but I still wanted all of him, the good and the gritty. “You mean piece of shit, don’t you?”

“I do. Who took care of you after your mom’s funeral? After the trial?”

“No one. No one stepped forward, and I was awarded to the state. Mom didn’t have a will to assign a guardian, so I went into a foster home, and they decided something was wrong with me. I went into the hospital soon after that. Stayed there a year, and it was awful, but I was out of control of my memories and feelings. I’d shut down and wasn’t doing well with the therapy. I was scared and confused, and every time it came up that I could be released, my doctors denied it. Said I wasn’t ready. And maybe I wasn’t. I don’t know.”

“Do you still feel confused about what happened that night?”

He wasn’t asking because he didn’t believe me. The earnest, worried set to his eyes said he asked because he worried about me keeping everything in. “No. It all cleared up for me. I just needed time. I know what I saw. That memory never wavered. It was just all of the other stuff that became too much.”

He massaged the arches of my feet, and I leaned back into the dining chair.

“Do you wish things had been different?” he asked.

“Yeah. Of course I do. I fell through the cracks when my mom died. But then, I guess I’d be living in the city and Uncle Brady never would’ve taken me in. And I never would’ve met you.” My anger waivered, shifted. I’d been so deeply bitter about what Angus had done, it had tainted me. Jaded me.