Bear Pause (BBW / Bear Shifter Romance): A Billionaire Oil Bearons Romance (Bear Fursuits Book 6) (2 page)

Laura rose to her full six foot. She leaned forward with her hands on her hips. Piper plastered her spine against the back of her chair. “You just crossed a line, Piper Belington. Go on home. To Denver. Or Manhattan. Or Los Angeles. Or Chicago. I. Don’t. Fricking. Care. Just so I don’t find you underfoot again. Don’t come back until you’ve learned some better manners.”

Piper got to her feet, wobbling a little in the skintight boots that encased her legs to the knee. Laura could only hope her cousin would topple into a snowbank on the way out. Who the hell wore six-inch heels in fricking Colorado? On an honest-to-god cattle ranch that was still cleaning up from a spring blizzard? And this was the nitwit Granddaddy had picked to inherit the ranch if she didn’t fulfill his conditions?

* * *

“How’s it going, little bro?” Steve Holden asked. He assessed Brandon’s tired features with expert eyes. Weary, but not exhausted. It other words, still good to go. The uninformative corrugated steel of a Quonset hut was all that could be seen behind his younger brother’s head. Brandon could have been anywhere. Steve knew his brother was deployed somewhere in Syria, but he knew better than to ask exactly where. “Have you got any news?”

Brandon’s grin lit up his eyes and banished his look of fatigue. Even with tonight’s crappy video feed, Steve could see his happiness. “The Rangers accepted me,” he bragged.

Envy and pride warred with anxiety. For a couple of fraught moments, Steve didn’t trust his voice. Then pride won. He swallowed hard and grinned back. “Congrats!” he said. “Does Mom know?”

“Not yet.” Brandon shrugged and his desert camo briefly appeared in the tight shot. “Gotta admit I am not looking forward to that conversation.”

“She’ll understand,” Steve lied. Mom wasn’t wild about both his kid brothers being deployed at the same time. Brandon’s acceptance into the elite Army corps would ramp up her worry about his twin Ryan even more. “She’ll be proud. Dad too.”

Brandon chuckled wryly. “Pull the other one. She’ll flip her wig,” he corrected. “If she wore one. She just got you safely stateside, Steve, and now I’m not just deployed, I’m about to start training for the same job your team got blown up doing.” He sighed. “You know I have to do this, don’t you?”

“I do.” Steve acknowledged. “Joint Forces was the biggest rush. Even after three years, I still miss it, and maybe I always will.” He chuckled to cover the awkwardness he was feeling. “You know we Holdens live for danger. You’ll look good in a green beret, little brother. And America needs what we Holdens have to give.”

Brandon nodded once, and changed the subject, which was certainly not one for a monitored line. “I hear the Bascoms have come looking for you, bro,” he said. “What’s up with that? Mom said that you got a letter from some high octane law firm. Ryan says you got an inheritance.” He dragged out the syllables for comic effect.

But Steve didn’t laugh. He glared into the screen as if Brandon had sent that insulting letter from Thompson, Thompson and Willis. “Yeah. Seems my birth father’s grandpa died and left me money – if I can fucking prove I’m his genetic descendant.”

That wiped the grin off Brandon’s face. “Mom and Kenneth Bascom were married long before you were born. You’re his legal son. Mom would never have cheated on her husband. Any husband.”

“Don’t I know it! So you can see how I don’t fancy proving that I have Bascom DNA. But there’s a shitload of money involved.” Steve’s voice hardened, despite his resolve to keep this conversation light.

“What does Dad say?”

“That nothing I do would ever make me not his son. Which is true. I was his son long before he adopted me. The Bascoms treated Mom like dirt when Kenneth Bascom died. She wrote to tell them he had been killed on maneuvers. Some lawyer wrote back to say that if she could prove I was his son, the Bascoms would take me off her hands.”

“Jesus.” Brandon whistled. “I never knew that. Cold as an Idaho February.”

“Mom only told me when I told her about the letter.” Steve figured his face was as stiff as Brandon’s had become. “I mean, I knew there was bad feeling between her and her first husband’s family, but not how bad. Those sons of bitches. I’m not sure I want their fucking money.”

“How much money are we talking about, Steve?”

“You ever hear of B&B Oil?” Steve replied.

“Of course. Did your great-grandfather have some connection to B&B?”

“He was B&B,” Steve said. “Founded it. Held one hundred percent of the shares. Apparently, if I satisfy his lawyers, I get two percent.”

“Not a lot to make up for that level of assholery, bro. What would that work out to?”

“Thirty, forty, fucking millions, boyo.”

“Oh.” The brothers shared a moment of silent communication as Brandon absorbed that fact. Steve assumed that his brother was thinking, as he was, of how far that much money would go in Williamsville, Idaho. “So what do you have to do to get it, Steve?” Static in the feed almost covered his quiet question.

“Not much. Supply a little DNA, and hand over my fucking self-respect.”

Brandon grimaced. “What are you going to do?”

Steve took a deep breath and when he spoke his voice was back to normal. “Check them out. The Sarkanys have given me some time off to go out to Colorado. In a couple weeks, I’ll go look the Bascoms over. I’ll see if I want to call them cousins or not, before I commit myself.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Brandon asked. “I mean, your gripe would be with the dead guy, right? And the dude’s gone. The rest of the family might not even know about you. They might be okay. You could just take the money.” His voice trailed off.

Steve shook his head. “Nope. I think I’m going to have to take back the Bascom name to get the money.”

“Shit. But they might be okay.”

“Maybe,” Steve allowed. “As near as I can make out, none of them know Kenneth had a kid. But, for my tastes, those Bascoms all have too damn much money and not enough character. I don’t know that I want to call them kin.”

“How do you mean?” Brandon asked.

“Too many women. I swear to god, they’re all a bunch of fucking tomcats. You never saw the like. It doesn’t sit right with me. Weak in one way, weak in all.” Steve recited their grandfather’s favorite proverb.

Another look of perfect understanding passed between the brothers.

“You do what you gotta do, bro. Listen, my time’s up. Gotta make way for the next guy,” Brandon said.

Steve nodded. “Keep alert, stay alive, Corporal,” he ordered as he logged out.

* * *

“I had a visit from Piper this afternoon,” Laura announced at supper.

The ranch house dining room was streaked with the last rays of the March sun. It lit up the massive table and sideboards that Clive Bascom had thought cemented his position as the wealthiest rancher in Colorado.

Laura and her father were sitting across from each other on the long sides of the mahogany table. These were the chairs they had occupied when Granddaddy Clive had been alive and sitting at the head of the table. Neither one wanted to sit in the old man’s chair. And this way they could talk more easily.

Freddie Bascom sighed. He had changed out of his work clothes and had a shave and shower. But even in a pressed shirt and bolo tie, he looked like the rough and tumble bullrider he had been in his youth – all big shoulders and bulky muscle.

His vivid blue eyes were troubled, but his voice was amused when he replied. “Didn’t even think she remembered where the Double B is. What did the kid want?”

“To tell me I worked for her.”

Freddie blinked and then he snorted once. “Not even Piper could be that stupid, Lauralee. How did she get that idea lodged in her fool head?”

“She said her lawyer told her so. And that the stud was part of the deal.”

“She heard what she wanted to hear, Lauralee.” Freddie stopped eating to talk. “We went over and over it with Trevor Carmichael. You have a life interest in the ranch, with reversion to Piper and Nolan Belington only if you don’t marry and have a kid before you’re thirty-five. They have an interest, but not in the stud. In no sense do you work for those two.”

“I know I don’t. Which is good. Because what they know about ranching or breeding horses would fit into a thimble and rattle. But, I tell you what, Daddy, I will not spend the rest of my life answering to trustees either. Which is what Granddaddy’s will comes to. I’ll sell the stud first – or move it.”

“Now don’t go getting all hot and bothered, Laura honey,” Freddie advised. “I know you were hoping to get that clause set aside, but you still have time to get wed and have a baby before you turn thirty-five.” His voice was hopeful.

“Do I? I seem to have already wasted sixteen of my thirty-four months.”

Freddie chewed reflectively for a bit. “Eighteen months is still plenty of time.”

Laura shrugged. She focused on her plate and for a few minutes there was silence in the dining room. The sun slipped behind the foothills and the room dimmed. Laura touched the button beside her foot and Teresita came in and switched on the chandelier. Soft light gleamed.

Thank you,” Laura murmured. Teresita refilled their water glasses and went back to the kitchen.

“I should have listened to Trevor,” she said. “But was so mad after I found out what was in Clive’s will that I flew off the handle. And now I’m running out of time.”

“I know, pet.” Freddie shook his head. “But that’s water under the bridge.”

As if he hadn’t spoken, Laura continued, “When Trev told me not to bother challenging a will that Edgar Thompson had drawn, I should have gone on one of those singles cruises instead of going to court. Would have cost less too.”

“Your challenge worked out okay for Cal and Pat,” Freddie reminded her. “Edgar Thompson only agreed to striking out that clause about heirs having to quit the military, because you dropped your challenge. That’s not nothing.”

“I was glad to do Cal and Pat a favor. But I don’t know why it took so long for me to come to my senses.”

Freddie nodded and helped himself to mashed potatoes. “Nobody ever got rich trying to get the best of Clive Bascom,” he said. “Or Edgar Thompson.”

Laura laughed derisively. “Don’t I know it. Now I only have a couple months left to find myself a husband, if I’m going to have a baby before my thirty-fifth birthday. Clive must have been senile when he put that clause in.”

“Edgar Thompson says not. And he’s got three psychiatrists to back him up,” Freddie drawled. He chased the last of his peas with his fork. “Clive was just up to his usual tricks. He knew damn well that what he was putting in his will was downright deceitful.”

“He promised me that he would transfer the ranch to me if I managed it for him,” Laura said bitterly. “Ever since I got out of college I’ve been doing just that.”

“He always meant Luther to have it,” Freddie said, as he had said many times since Clive’s will was read.

Teresita came back into the dining room and began to clear the platters away. Freddie and Laura began to confer about the mares who were due to foal that week. But as soon as the young woman had put slices of cherry pie in front of them and left, they went back to Laura’s dilemma as they did most nights. Not that the house staff didn’t know all about the inequities of Clive’s will, but there was such a thing as discretion.

“Luther had been dead for over five years when Clive wrote that will. And he never wanted to run the ranch.” It was old ground, but Laura still had a hard time believing how thoroughly Clive had deceived her.

“All you need to do to get full control of the Double B is to get married and have a baby.” Freddie’s weather-beaten face creased into a real grin that made his blue eyes sparkle. “I’m not saying Clive’s will isn’t a betrayal, Lauralee,” he said gruffly. “It sure enough is. I know he flat out promised you the ranch. But Clive wasn’t the only one who would like to see you happily married with a couple of kids. I’m ready to be a grandpa. And your mama would have wanted you to have a family too.”

“Chance would be a fine thing.”

“Any man that got you would be a lucky fellow,” Freddie said staunchly.

“I think you’re a touch biased, Daddy.”

“Nah.”

CHAPTER TWO

Steve Holden parked outside the only coffee shop in Success, Colorado. He removed his black helmet with its silver badge of two crossed arrows over a sword and ran a hand over his damp head. The freezing breeze tried and failed to ruffle his close-cropped hair. It was April, but apparently winter hadn’t given up on Colorado yet. Fresh snow had been piled on three sides of the little parking lot.

He snapped the strap of his helmet into the lock on the back of the cycle, and took the three concrete steps in one stride. He unzipped his black leather jacket as the warmth of the diner blasted him in the face. At a cluster of tables in the corner, half a dozen grizzled ancients sat chinning over thick white coffee mugs. They looked up as Steve entered and greeted him with squints and a pause in their chatter. He acknowledged them with a single, respectful nod.

The booths were empty and so were the red stools at the counter. Steve sat down in the middle of the row and looked at the selection of pies circling in the clear case at the end of the Formica counter. Six different kinds. None cut. That suggested the proprietors were expecting lots more customers. If he sat tight, he would hear all the gossip he needed to begin his investigation.

“Coffee, please,” he said to the middle-aged woman in the pink uniform. Wordlessly, she poured him a mug and plunked down a handful of creamers. “Thanks.” He glanced at her name tag. “Lily. And a piece of pie. What do you recommend?”

“They’re all homemade.” Her tired eyes scrutinized his face and came to some decision. They joined the small smile that curved her mouth. “Apple, butterscotch, blueberry, rhubarb, chocolate and banana cream.” She rattled them off. Her eyes went to Steve’s jacket. “You passing through?” she asked.

“Unless I can find a job,” he replied casually. He ignored the creamers and drained his coffee mug.

Lily’s painted-on eyebrows lifted. She refilled the mug. “Pie?” she prompted.

“Butterscotch, please.”