Bearly Begun (BBW/Bearshifter Romance) (Bachelor Bears of Yakima Ridge Book 1) (4 page)

There was a brisk knock and Boswell entered without waiting for permission. “Hey,” he said to the room. “Got the sister talking to those boys. She’s about at her wit’s end.

“Van’s stolen. Or borrowed, more likely. But the owner’s claiming stolen. We’re printing it now. Sister says the boy’s father is an ex-con and his prints will be all over the vehicle. If he didn’t wipe it down.” Boswell closed his notepad and stuck it in his pocket.

“Their father was the driver?” Len was equal parts horror and surprise.

Boswell looked pityingly at Len’s naiveté. “Father got out of prison three months ago and has been apprenticing those lads ever since. Sister wants us to throw the book at them. Wants them in a young offender facility away from their father.”

“That is not happening,” Ms. Carmichael said sternly. “Those boys have no prior record. They should be released into their guardian’s care, and if she is no longer willing to take responsibility, then to a foster family.”

Boswell ignored her. “You still want to press charges?” he asked Len.

“Explain this situation to me again, sir, ma’am.” Len looked at both the standing officer and the seated social worker. “I’m some confused. If I press charges the boys get to go home with their sister who wants them in jail. If I don’t press charges, ditto. Is that right?”

“If you press charges it goes in their record,” said Ms. Carmichael as if he were willfully stupid.

“So that the next time they steal, they get off again?” Len looked hard at the social worker.

“Yep,” said Boswell.

“Charge ‘em,” Len said flatly.

“I’m sure we can work something out.” The social worker stood up. “I want to speak to,” she glanced at the sheet in front of her, “Ms. Pacey.”

“Ms. Salter,” said Boswell laconically. “Half-sister.” He left Len with the table.

This was a gong show. Sister was trying to have her baby brothers face the consequences of their behavior. Social services wanted to massage their egos. Courts wanted to send them out into the big old world to reoffend, at which point maybe the boys could go someplace where older kids could help them polish up their criminal skills.
Craziness.

Hallahan came into the room with a tall woman dressed in a white overall. Her dirty blonde hair was scraped back into a ragged bun. Her face was haggard and pasty under the fluorescents. Leonard stood up, every sense on high alert. His chest swelled and his shoulders squared.
What the hell?
She wasn’t even pretty. If she had a figure, it was rectangular. But his bear was on point.

“This is Ms. Salter, Cord and Hunter Pacey’s sister. She’s their guardian. This is the complainant, Mr. Benoit.”

Len put out one huge hand and took the one she offered in return. It was a strong hand, a little calloused, with short unpainted nails. “Hello,” she said huskily and every muscle in his body resonated to that low voice.

Len nodded. Well now, what did it mean that those boys didn’t even have people names? He could think of half a dozen hounds called Hunter and a couple called Cord in French Town alone—probably dozens more on all Yakima Ridge. He smiled down at Erin and told himself the attraction he felt was just pity, but his bear was strutting and didn’t pay any mind to his common sense.

Boswell pulled out a chair for her. “Ms. Salter would like to know if you would demand restitution.”

Len shrugged. “They didn’t take anything, this time. Nothing to restore.”

Boswell shook his head. “Victim’s rights,” he said as if that explained everything.

“Mr. Benoit,” Erin said, “If you demand restitution, my brothers will have to do some sort of community service and not just go home to play video games and hang out some more with their father.”

“Huh.” Len tore his mind out of his pants. “So how’d that work?”

“In a couple of weeks, they’ll go before a judge for sentencing,” Boswell said, “He’ll assign them to work at a community center or a food bank for so many hours a week until they’ve done fifty or so hours.”

Len shook his head. “How old are those two?” he asked Erin.

“They were eleven in March.”

“Then they need to be punished right now. Today. If you wait a couple of weeks, they’ll just be resentful when they’re punished. They need a sharp shock now. Also, it’s nothing to me if they stack canned goods in a food bank.” Len deep voice was flat and final.

Erin’s face fell. Her eyes were blinking as if she were trying not to cry. Len heard himself say, “I’ve got a better idea.” The others looked at him. “You let me have those two youngsters from now until, say, Christmas break. If they’re not at school, if they’re not asleep, they’re working for me.”

“Doing what?” The hazel eyes were big in Ms. Salter’s drawn face. Her voice was full of hope. She looked as if she had a vision of a knight in shining armor.

“Construction,” Len replied. “I’m renovating the place they were robbing. They can fetch and carry and I’ll try to teach them a skill or two. But first time they’re late or they don’t show, we drop an anvil on them. What’s the worst thing you guys can do to a juvenile?” he asked Boswell.

“Not much. And someone’s told them that,” the cop said cynically.

Len thought. “Well, then we’ll have to tell them that if they slip up they get to go live in the woods.”

“The woods?” Erin asked.

“I’m from Washington State, all we have is the great outdoors. Couple of city boys, what could be worse?” Len asked with a smile.

Boswell permitted himself a sharp crack of laughter. “Now we just have to convince Ms. Carmichael.”

“You tell her that whatever she decides, I’m pressing charges.”

CHAPTER FIVE

It was completely inappropriate. But Erin could feel her breasts swelling and her nipples peaking every time she looked at the handsome, burly guy sitting opposite. Thank goodness she was wearing her shapeless all concealing coverall. There was no way he could tell.

Len looked across at the sister. She was just as drab and colorless as he had thought. But every moment she smelled better. So she was drawn to him too. That was good wasn’t it? Too bad he didn’t even know her first name. He put a hand across the table.

“I’m Leonard Benoit,” he said. “Tell me about yourself.”

She blushed and the pinkness did good things for her appearance. She looked like a plump woman who was worried sick, or on some sort of weird diet. Eyes sunken and mouth tight. But when she flushed she looked younger and prettier. He guessed no one could look good with her hair in a shaggy knot on top of her head. But his bear apparently didn’t give a damn about how she looked.

“I’m Erin,” she shook his hand with a strong firm grip, and then snatched it back and put it on her lap. “I work for Diamond Foods. They supply the cold food for vending machines. This week I’m filling sandwiches.”

“I’m in Portland fixing up a house over on Parkhurst. That’s where Cord and Hunter have been ripping me off. Place needs a ton of work. I’m sure I can find stuff for them to do every day,” Len told her.

Erin’s eyes narrowed. “How come you’re so willing to take them on?” she asked warily.

“Well now,” said Len companionably, leaning back as if the stiff interview chair was his own overstuffed armchair. “I wasn’t always a hardworking, clean living man, myself. Took a lot of wrong turns on the way to manhood. But I had help to set my feet back on the right path. Seems your brothers need what my uncles did for me and my own brother when we were just such rapscallions.”

Erin could barely take in what Leonard Benoit was saying, her hormones were too busy spinning out of control for her to listen. This big man made her feel inexplicably feminine and safe. Which was ridiculous when she had her brothers’ future riding on whatever happened in the next hour.

“My daddy died when my brother and me was little fellers. Along bout the time we sprouted six whiskers between us, plus a couple of chest hairs apiece, we got a little big for our britches too. Got in a mort of trouble. Worried our mom something awful. We were talking back, running off, shirking our chores.” He shook his head at the memories of his childish misbehavior.

“Thought we were hot shots—when all we were was pipsqueak brats running wild. But my old Uncle Pierre and my Uncle Ed, they sorted us boys out lickety-split and taught us better.” Len laughed reminiscently.

He could remember like it was yesterday, coming into the house to find it full of bear—every one taller than trees and madder than fire. Yes, sir. The clan had sure enough gathered round to cut Joey and Lenny Benoit down to size. Took about a second for them to see there wasn’t anybody amused by their escapade.

“Likely all your brothers need is a firm hand to remind them of the rules, and a little less of their daddy’s company. Don’t know how me and Joey would have turned out if we hadn’t had kinsfolk to set us straight. But I can tell you, for blamed sure, that nobody sat around wondering if we were stealing because we lacked self-esteem.”

“What exactly did your uncles do?” Erin asked hopefully.

“Well, Joey and me went into town last day of school, and helped ourselves at the general store. Mr. Singh saw us walking off with his goods—candy bars and what all.” Len chuckled and shook his head at his youthful folly. “We thought we was some slick, I tell you, Miss Erin. But we were green as grass and twice as dumb as dirt.

“Mr. Singh just picked up his phone and called my Uncle Pierre. Was quite a reception committee when we fetched home. Cut a long story short, Uncle Ed took us boys into the woods and made us sorry we shamed our name and fretted our mom.”

“He beat you!” Erin said horrified.

“No, ma’am.” Len assured her. “He took us into the forest and got the three of us lost. Showed us what hungry felt like. And when we stumbled out, he told us it was time we earned our keep. Gave us the nastiest job at his mill. We were some glad to see school start I can tell you. All the same, hard work turned us into men.”

“How old were you?” Erin asked doubtfully.

“Thirteen.”

“Working in a mill!”

“Cleaning the ventilation screens.” Len told her. “The bark strippers they put sawdust and bugs into the air, so the ventilation screens work overtime. Get clogged up. Every hour they have to be washed. Somebody’s gotta scrape the sap and wood chips and insects off by hand and then hose them down.

“It isn’t dangerous, just some hard and it don’t ever end. You get soaked in the first ten minutes, and your clothes get stiff with sap and fill up with bits of bark. Mostly it’s a job they don’t keep anyone on long.” He chuckled and winked at her. “Joey and me we had it from Fourth of July through Labor Day.”

“You seem to have good memories of that job,” Erin said in amazement.

Len kept going. He told her how he and Joe had swaggered home with their first paychecks to be met by their mother and old Uncle Pierre. How Mom collected both checks and Uncle Pierre told them how it was going to be. He was their father’s great uncle—their grandfather’s brother. The eldest Benoit.

“Guess Joey and me hadn’t never seen that good old man look at us like we were something the dog had been rolling in.” Len told Erin. He could remember the pain of Uncle Pierre’s disgust. It had been the short, sharp shock he and Joey had needed.

“Tomorrow, you are going to march into town and pay Mr. Singh for the things you took. A day’s pay each. And you make him an apology too. And if he should have any little thing needs doing in his shop, well you can spend Saturday doing it. Show him you are sorry.” Uncle Pierre had informed them coldly.

When they had showed up on Saturday morning to say sorry, it seemed like half the county was there to listen. Mr. Singh kept asking them to speak up as if he were stone deaf. So right there, in front of the whole world they had to admit to being thieves. And give the Singhs two days’ hard earned pay on top of that.

Mrs. Singh had kept silent until they asked if they could do anything around the store to make up for shoplifting. Then she had smiled grimly and nodded to her husband. “We can’t trust you indoors,” she said loudly. Half the shop snickered. “But the siding could use a coat of paint. It needs to be scraped first.”

He and Joey had spent three weekends, up ladder, in the broiling sun, scraping old paint off the clapboard siding, before they were allowed to paint. Scraping paint made them glad to get back to screen washing.

After the shop was painted, they had figured they were home free. Uncle Pierre came over just as they were planning a Saturday of fishing.

“Your roof needs work, boys. Good thing you’re making a little money. We’ll buy the shingles today. Your cousins are coming to teach you to lay them right.” And off he took them to the hardware store in Hanover.

They had spent that weekend running up and down ladder, pounding nails and carrying packages of shingles. Being bossed by their older cousins. They hadn’t had a minute of fishing.

Turned out their house needed a whole lot of work, and all summer long Uncle Pierre made them do it. And pay for every nail and can of paint.

“Me and Joey, we were big kids. Strong and willful,” Len told Erin. “Having a man’s job to do settled us right down. I didn’t relish having to give Mr. Singh a day’s pay to pay him for the stuff we stole, but I was sure proud the Sunday my mom wore a new dress that she bought out of my wages.

“Thing is, Miss Erin, my uncles were setting for us. All our back chat and swagger and shiftlessness—well they had noticed it right off. They were just waiting for us to go our length. Soon as Mr. Singh called, they had a plan. Course we thought our punishment just fell out of the clear blue sky—but for certain they set us up.

“We were cocky, right up till we got caught and made to face up to our thieving and wickedness. But what all did we have to be prideful of? Not a blessed thing.

“Fact is, we learned how to do that summer. And when we knew how to behave like men, and how to replace a windowsill, or fit a door, we were less prideful, knowing how little we really knew—and how we’d shamed our family.” Len’s calm voice rang with conviction.

“You think that’ll work on my brothers?” Erin sounded as doubtful as she felt. Hunter and Cord were not country boys but smart-mouthed, streetwise city kids.