Second Chance Bear and a Baby: BBW Bear Shifter Baby Paranormal Romance (Who's the Daddy? Book 3) (2 page)

“Yes, another round,” Joel said.

“Sure thing.” She turned back towards the kitchen and walked over to place the order, her head filled with the sorrowful face of Liam. Somehow he pulled at her emotions, perhaps because he looked so sad. In a crowded room full of people, he was alone. Carla knew that feeling all too well.

“How is my special lady?” Jason, the cook, asked. He was younger than Carla, or at least he looked it: he had a baby face, and his blond hair and blue eyes did nothing to help him. Almost angelic, so the young girls in town often came over to hang out outside the steak house. The flirting that went on was outrageous, but Jason wasn’t cheap; he didn’t sleep around, especially with the girls who were barely legal, and Carla liked him for it. But not in the way he hoped. A cougar was not her style, despite Jason’s hints at a relationship.

“Hey, Jason. How’s it going?” she asked, pinning the order up.

“Busy night. All these boys in blue celebrating some drug bust.” He sauntered over to talk to her, apparently willing to ignore the orders piling up as he leaned on the solid wooden countertop. “Any of them give you any trouble, you let me know.”

She laughed. “I will, but I think most of the trouble is going Eloise’s way.”

He looked across the room to where the other waitress was telling one of her jokes, which ended with an eruption of raucous laughter. “Eating out of her hand,” he murmured.

“Jealous?” she asked, her eyes filled with humor at the way the cook stood up quickly and brushed off her insinuation.

“Not at all. She’s too old for me.” He abruptly turned away and went back to work, leaving Carla with the distinct impression she had hit a nerve. There she was thinking he had the hots for her, but he liked the vivacious Eloise instead.

“Hi, honey,” a male voice asked from behind her.

She turned to see Joel, a shot glass in his hand and an apologetic smile on his face. “Hey there. Do you need to change your order?”

“No.” He looked nervous, his eyes flicking to the shot glass in his hand. “I have a favor to ask.”

“Sure.” She made her voice polite and friendly, but she was not prepared to get caught up in some weird shit with this guy.

“My friend, the one who is so miserable.”

“Yes.” Should she have pretended she didn’t know he meant Liam. Hell no, the guy sucked the life out of the room, of course she would know who he meant.

“I got him this, but he’s gone outside for some air. Would you take it out to him … and make sure he drinks it? Might make him feel a bit better.” Joel held it out to her.

“Why don’t you?” she asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.

“I think he wanted to go out for some air, to get away from us and the rest of the crowd.”

“Sure.” She took the glass, understanding his meaning: as a waitress she was almost invisible, non-confrontational, unless your name was Eloise.

She cast a glance over to her friend, wishing in some ways she could attract at least some attention. But to do that she would have to become something she wasn’t, and dress as a person she couldn’t be. No, when the right man came around, he would like her for who she was, not whom she was pretending to be.

“Will you stay while he drinks it? Please,” Joel called.

She nodded, and pushed the door open, breathing in the cool, refreshing air, grateful when the door shut behind her, cutting off the noise from the bar. She could stay out here for the rest of her shift, if she didn’t have tables to wait. Not seeing the party pooper, she walked around the side of the building until she came across him. He was standing staring at the stars, totally unaware she was there.

“Hi. Liam, isn’t it?” She smiled, it always set people at ease.

“Yes.” He glanced at her, taking a moment to focus. “Sorry, is the food ready?”

“Not yet.” She held her hand out and offered him the glass. “Your friend thought you could do with this.”

He looked at it and then at her. “Thanks.”

He held the glass in his hand. She wondered if it even registered in his brain that she had given it to him. She couldn’t force it down him, but if he didn’t drink it, she would have to go back inside, she had tables to wait on. It sure was good to stand here with him though; the air was cool, the voices from inside muffled. It was soothing to her head, and when she looked up at the stars, she wanted to stay out here and forget all about her life.

At least for a couple of minutes. What harm could that do…

Liam stood with the shot glass in his hand, his body heat making it warm, but his mind was too clouded to notice. In the same way, he was only dimly aware of the woman standing next to him; the pain of his loss hurt too keenly to allow any other thoughts in.

For the last few months he had bottled up the pain that threatened to destroy him. Losing his mate had sent him to the edge of insanity, and only bringing down the drug dealers responsible for Niq It had given him focus. Now that was accomplished, he was adrift in a sea of hurt, with no way to shut it off.

“I love the stars,” the woman next to him said.

His gaze swept over her momentarily, and he tried to place exactly where he had seen her before. The warm shot glass in his hand jogged his foggy memory. She had given him this drink. He searched a little more, the veil over his memory lifting.

“You’re the waitress,” he stated.

She smiled. It was a kind smile, a concerned smile. “Glad I’m so memorable.”

“I’m sorry. It’s been a tough few days.” It had been tough for longer than that, but she didn’t want to hear about his heartache, and he didn’t want to talk about it. He never wanted to talk about it, no matter how much Joel tried to get him to open up.

“I can see. So why are you out here, when the rest of the guys are in there celebrating?” she asked, her eyes drifting up to the stars.

“I lost someone.” The words were a struggle to get out.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” She glanced back to the door of the bar, just as it opened and another woman stuck her head out.

“Your tables need you, honey, orders are ready,” she said, looking at Liam with curiosity. “I hate to interrupt.”

“It’s OK, I was on my way back in,” the waitress next to him answered.

“As long as you’re OK, Carla,” the waitress at the door asked, her voice filled with curiosity.

“I sure am, Eloise. Thanks.” Carla straightened up. “You going to drink that and I’ll take it back inside?”

She pointed at the glass in his hand. Liquor had become his refuge at the most difficult times. On the days when he had been unable to sleep because
her
face haunted him, he would drink himself senseless, not caring if he woke up with a headache fit to split his skull in two. The pain meant he was feeling something, that his body still worked despite his heart having been cleaved in two.

“Of course,” he said and tilted his head back, taking the shot in one gulp, not even noticing the taste, just waiting for the buzz to hit his brain.

“You should go in and I’ll bring your food to your table. I hope your buddies don’t mind if it’s stood for a couple of minutes while I’ve been out here.”

He turned to hand her the glass and their eyes locked. A sense of knowing swept over him, the fog in his mind lifted, but he was even more confused. His memories of the woman he’d lost, the mate he’d lost, began to shift to the back of his mind and he felt a rush of panic, because he didn’t want to lose them. They were all he had left of his mate.

But
this
woman in front of him was his mate. The sensation hit him squarely in the chest. His heart seemed to swell, blossoming. Breaking out from the shriveled shell it had become. It was impossible: no shifter had two mates. Yet the need for her was so strong, so undeniable, he knew he could not fight it, in the same way he had been unable to fight the huge gaping loss of Louisa.

Poor Louisa. His heart stuttered and threatened to implode. Louisa was the one his heart belonged to.

“Are you OK?” Carla asked, placing a hand on his arm. A shot of electricity went through him. She had the touch of his mate. It was a recognition that went deeper than emotions, than his senses even. It was a
knowing
that permeated his soul.

“I… I’m not sure,” he said.

A weight seemed to lift, and for the first time since he lost Louisa, he felt hope. Hope that he had a life to look forward to. He no longer wanted to fade away into nothingness in the hope he would be with her again. His life was with the living, not the dead.

“Let’s get you inside. I shouldn’t have given you that drink on an empty stomach.” She put her arm around him, and he liked it. He liked the warmth of her body pressed against his, the way her luscious curves moulded to his hard, toned body. The way she cared for him. It was probably just her nature, but he liked it, reminding him of Louisa, and how she risked everything to help people.

“I can manage.” He should pull away from Carla: she wasn’t his mate, couldn’t be his mate. But she was. It was like a paradox, some unsolvable puzzle. They were both his mates.

She walked by his side and he couldn’t help it, he inhaled her scent, and she blew his mind. He wanted her: a mixture of pure lust and a need to claim her as his own threatened to overpower him. As if it wasn’t confusing enough, his bear, who had been almost comatose since they lost Louisa, lifted his head and took notice of the world once again. Carla had stirred something inside him. Something he thought gone for good.

He could fight it, and a small part of him wanted to. Wanted to scream and say it wasn’t right. That same small part knew what had happened, knew it was to do with the drink she had given him. He should be angry. What was in his drink was the whole reason Louisa was dead.

Who had done it? Was Carla part of the drug ring? Was she going to ask him to make the case go away? If she did, would he do it, for her, for his mate? Was she connected to Louisa’s death?

All these questions flew though his head at lightning speed. But as they entered the bar, he saw Joel’s anxious expression, the way his eyes were fixed on the doorway as he walked back into the bar. He knew. Joel knew about the drug.

His friend, the person he trusted most, his partner for many years on the force, had spiked his drink.

With Niq It.

“Here you go, fellas, sorry it took a while.” Carla set the plates down on the table, her eye catching Liam’s, and this time she was shocked to see a glimmer of something that wasn’t sadness. There was a spark there. Joel saw it too and smiled, although he quickly hid it.

Carla frowned, sensing something odd was going on here. Were they setting her up? Had this whole thing been a setup? Liam had been acting all sad and forlorn just to make her feel sympathy for him, and now he thought he had reeled her in, he was giving her the kind of look that would melt her panties.

Not these panties
, she thought hotly, and turned around sharply to head back for the rest of their meals. As she walked she felt the heat creep into her cheeks, and other places. No, she would not let him get to her, he was obviously unstable: either that, or he had drunk more than one shot of liquor while he was outside. That was it—the guy was probably an alcoholic and had been secretly drinking, or smoking something. Yep, drugs, that was more often the culprit these days instead of alcohol.

She sighed, picked up the plates, and headed back, cursing Eloise for asking her to swap. This was not Carla’s table, and she had a good mind to tell Eloise she could have them back.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” she asked with her best fixed smile on her face as she set the last of the plates down.

“No, thank you,” Liam said, his eyes lingering on her face a moment too long before they flicked to Joel, who was smiling, not so much in a happy way, more of a mouth hitched up on one side, concerned kind of a way.

Weird
, she said silently to herself. They may be men of the law, but that did not stop them being all kinds of crazy. Maybe you had to be crazy to do their kind of work. Just like you had to be crazy to be a waitress in a steak house filled to the rafters with testosterone.

“Enjoy your meal,” she said sweetly, and then headed over to her next table. “What can I get you fellas?”

“What are you offering?” one of them asked, smirking suggestively.

She rolled her eyes internally. This was going to be a long night. “The fries are our cook’s specialty…” She should have that emblazoned on her T-shirt, she thought with a smile, and took the order.

It was one of the busiest evenings she could remember. Whatever case they had cracked, must have been big; they were certainly patting themselves on the back. Even Party Pooper had brightened up, although she tried not to look at him too often, because every time she did, he was staring at her. His eyes following her around the room as if he owned her, as if her flesh was his and he wanted to devour her.

She shook that thought right out of her mind.
Don’t let yourself get sucked in, there is something off about him,
she reminded herself. Yet her body
was
aware of him, a sixth sense that honed in on him.

“Hi there, honey,” Eloise said as they both took dirty plates back to the kitchen. “How is it going? They are a rowdy bunch, aren’t they?”

“They are.” Carla turned back towards the crowded room.

“That guy on your table seems to have perked up. Keeps looking at you.”

“Does he?” Carla asked, feeling the heat creep across her cheeks.

Eloise nudged her. “You are allowed to have a little fun, you know.”

“I’m not into the same kind of fun as you,” she retorted, and then took it back. “Sorry. I’m feeling a little strung out over Mike.”

“And that is exactly why you should let that one scratch your itch.”

“I don’t have an itch.”

Eloise burst out laughing. “We all have an itch, and I know for a fact yours has not been scratched for a long, long time.”

“I don’t do one-night stands.”

“Listen. Sometimes you have to just take the plunge. Talk to him.”