The Right to Bear Arms: BBW Military Paranormal Romance (Wild Operatives, #1) (7 page)

When he finally slipped out of me, my legs had regained their strength. I dipped down without making eye contact to grab my shirt and begin pulling it on, but Russell stopped me with a hand on my wrist.

“Don’t. Please.”

“Don’t?”

“I meant it, Daniela. Don’t hide from me, baby.”

“I’m not hiding,” I lied. “Just getting dressed.”

His body stepped in snugly behind me, his cheek against my hair and his arm wrapped around my middle in a tender embrace that left me feeling cherished. “No one here but you and me, darlin’.”

“Do you really think I look all right?”

“No, I don’t just think you look all right. I think you’re stunning from head to toe. Not just on the outside, but here too.” Russ placed his hand over my heart. “Come on. I’ll run a bath for us to have a soak before you get into this kitchen again.”

Trusting Russ, I let him take me by the hand and lead me. Our first bath together was the icing on top of everything else we’d shared since our date, and we held each other until the cooling water pruned our bodies. Afterward, while toweling each other off, we exchanged slow, drugging kisses that made me lightheaded.

He surprised me with a sudden question. “Why is it so hard for you to believe I like you the way you are?”

“I’ve never met a guy who looks like you who cares to be with someone like me... When I married my ex, I was a lot skinnier than I am now. He hated that I gained weight.” Back then, my good-looking ex-husband had the physique of a slim running back. His lean build and tight muscular tone gave him a sleek appearance in a football uniform and in my bed.

“You think because I look like this, that it means I want my woman to be small and dainty?” His laughter made me twist around to look up at him in confusion.

“Don’t you think girls like Juliette are hot?”

“She’s obviously not the woman I want, now, is she?” His hand glided over my damp skin and cupped my breast, a gesture that seemed more for comfort than any attempt to arouse himself or me. “My wife was... she wasn’t much smaller than you when I married her. Taller, maybe, and that made her seem skinnier, but I always appreciated how she had some meat on her. She was thin after the sickness, but the woman I keep in my heart and memories was almost as thick as you. And you know what, baby? I wouldn’t change either of you for anything.”

He hadn’t shared much about his wife beyond the assurance of her passing and that he was truly a single man. I hadn’t noticed a photo of her yet in the house, but of course, I also hadn’t seen his bedroom with more than the weak light of a lantern.

“You really loved her.”

“Completely.”

I didn’t make it back to my house until late afternoon, and if not for Russ’ keen sight, I probably wouldn’t have noticed something was wrong until the next day when I came down for work.

“Baby, was your car always scratched up like that on the driver’s side?”

“Scratched up?” I leapt out of his truck and ran toward my car for a better look. A long horizontal scar ran from the front tire down the side until it reached the rear light. A sick feeling churned in my stomach and my body went cold. I couldn’t feel my toes or my fingers anymore.

“Shit,” Russ muttered from the other side of my car. I glanced over at his red face, tensed frame, and clenched fists. I dreaded crossing over for a look, but I did it anyway. Someone had scratched the word ‘BITCH’ into my passenger door in capital letters.

Closer inspection revealed the dash had already been defaced with a particular ‘C’ word I didn’t want in my vocabulary. My driver and passenger side windows were also on the seats along with pooled rain. Someone had bashed those out.

“Who would do this?” Tears burned my eyes and my throat tightened. I knew exactly who. Mike. My driveway swam in my vision, blurred by tears and dizziness. Passing around the front of my car revealed the last of the damage. I stepped on fragments of glass from the shattered headlights.

I couldn’t drive to work like this. A sob tore from my throat as I slammed one fist into the hood of my car. If insurance didn’t cover all of the damages to the electrical system, I’d be forced to buy a new car.

“Breathe, darlin’.” Strong arms surrounded me while I struggled to get enough air in my lungs. “Slow it down and breathe, Daniela.”

While I struggled to get it under control, Russ made a call to the local police department. Someone came out and took a statement. After I told them about my ex-husband and how he must have come last night while I was away on a date, the cop said he’d follow up on that and keep me updated on any news.

Russell offered to stay with me, but respected my wish to be alone. I called in sick to work when Monday came and spent it beneath the blankets in bed. I didn’t want to see anyone, and I didn’t want anyone to see me.

***

I
didn’t venture out of the house until the second day after my car was vandalized. With a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other, I retreated to the backyard where I hoped the sunshine would pull me out of my funk. Before settling in the hammock, I placed my cell phone and drink on the wrought iron table beside it.

The shade trees helped set the perfect atmosphere for a lazy afternoon. Between my spiced chai, the chirping birds, and my raunchy romance about a sexy FBI agent, my mood lifted enough for me to be able to shyly send a text message to Russ.

In hindsight, I felt awful about sending him away so fast and rushing into my house to have a pity party. It wasn’t his fault my psychotic ex-husband keyed my car, but I hadn’t wanted him to see me fall apart.

Hi, Russ,
I sent to him. I waited a few minutes, listening to the chirping birds. When he didn’t respond an hour later, my worsening anxiety forced me to send another message.
I’m sorry for chasing you away and ignoring you. I miss you.

“He’s probably at work in a fitness class or something,” I muttered. I tossed the phone back onto the table and returned to my book. Things steamed up, forcing the agent to choose between the professionalism of the job and mutual attraction with the woman in his charge. He tried to keep her at a distance, only to fail as she pressed and pursued him by bringing attention to his arousal.

By the time they finally kissed, I was so engrossed in the book that the world around me ceased to matter.

“Always reading that romanticized feminist bullshit. Don’t you know real men don’t act like that?” Mike’s voice came from behind me and sent my heart into a wild rhythm. I hadn’t heard him approach.

My thoughts turned immediately to the shotgun Russell had been training me to use, and the fact that it was in my bedroom closet. I got up and put the hammock between us.

“Aren’t you glad to see me? I came way out here to this shithole for you.”

“Get out of here, Mike, or I’ll call the cops. I know what you did to my car.”

“Did what to your car? Oh, you mean that pile of shit in your driveway right now? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He made a feint to the left, spun, and caught me on the other side as I made a run for my deck. “Why are you trying to run from me, Daniela? Don’t you miss me?” He nudged me up against the tree and trapped me with his body. I smelled the alcohol on his breath.

“I hate you.”

“You miss me. You know, when the divorce papers came, I couldn’t believe you had the balls to file on me... but I knew you’d never make it on your own. Admit it, chica. You’re not happy here. You want to come home to a real man.”

“I’m happier here than I’ve ever been with you,” I spat at him.

“Who were you fucking Friday night?”

Mike wouldn’t ever own up to damaging my car, but I knew it was him, and I knew he did it because I wasn’t home. I shivered and glanced to the side, wondering if my voice would carry to Russ’ house. Would he hear me if I screamed? Unlikely. Was he even home? The unanswered text messages told me no.

“It’s none of your business where I was.”

“Was it that big fucker with the shotgun? Were you fucking him? I told you, this pussy is mine and—”

Mike reached below my waist as if he meant to cup me between the legs. I didn’t give him a chance to make contact with me. My hand flew out into his nose, a perfect palm-heel strike that caught him off guard. I had Russ to thank for his lessons. After my ex stumbled back, holding his face, I took off across the yard. I ran without looking back over my shoulder, pushing myself to get distance between us. I would have never looked back if not for the roar.

“Ah, fuck, fuck!” Mike screamed.

I whirled around and lost my footing. Without a chance of regaining my balance, I stumbled back and sat hard on the ground. My bear had returned, except this time he wasn’t the placid creature I’d come to admire. He was a growling beast that charged forward through the underbrush, all teeth and ferocious claws.

“Daniela! Do something before it kills me!”

Even if I’d wanted to help, what could I do? I was frozen, too petrified to move. The experts claimed the safest way to end an encounter with a wild bear was to play dead. I hoped they were right.

I heard something ripping, more screams, and the pounding of feet on the ground. Michael must have escaped and left me there to die. I laid there quiet and still, tears streaming down my face. My dad had been right all along. With no hope of making it off the ground and into my house, I laid on the grass with my eyes tightly shut and prayed.

Something warm and dry touched my face, then the heated, warm bulk of a heavily furred body dropped onto the grass beside me. I opened my eyes to find myself face to face with my bear. My heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, I didn’t know whether to scream, cry, or pass out. I ended up holding my breath and waiting for a death by mauling.

“Please don’t kill me.”

The bear responded with a huff of warm air across my cheek, still and nonthreatening. Going as slow as I could, I sat up, hoping and praying the wild animal beside me remained passive. His deep brown eyes never left me as he twisted around and dropped his large head in my lap.

“Hi,” I whispered softly. Unable to believe my luck, I stroked my palm down his dark fur. His unbelievably warm coat was coarser than expected. “Were you trying to help me?”

I didn’t expect an answer from him, but his intelligent eyes reminded me of rich, warm cocoa. It jarred a memory in my mind.

“If I go inside to get you a snack, will you stay here?”

I had a friend in college who later went on to veterinary school. She told me animals could feel love and tenderness more than they could understand the spoken word. My attempt to convey my affection for him appeared to work; the bear removed his head from my thigh and wandered to my hammock. When I returned with my offerings of pecans and cold salmon from the fridge, I discovered my visitor had made himself at home.

“Thank you for running him away. I bet he won’t come back again after that scare.” If not for my four-legged defender, I would have called the police and reported Michael, but I was afraid he’d weave some story about a dangerous animal to them, too. People in these parts tended to shoot first and ask questions later when an animal was involved in a dispute.

I didn’t know the first thing about bears beyond what Google told me regarding their diet. Cautiously, I extended the glass bowl of pecans toward him with one hand and a plate of fish with the other. He leaned over and ate directly out of the bowl.

“They’re all yours. Go ahead,” I coaxed him when he stopped to peer up at me. “I worried about you. I worried so much when you didn’t come back.” Why did it feel like he could understand me?

In my mind, I drew a half a dozen outlandish conclusions, but out of them all, only one made sense. Maybe he was a pet someone had raised from a cub and released again. If that was the case, his behavior would make sense and explain why he sought human interaction. Because I’d fed him, he took Michael’s aggression as a threat and protected me.

That had to be it.

My bear didn’t leave until after dinner. I cooked in the kitchen while he lounged outside, then I split the helpings and offered half in a mixing bowl. Thirty minutes after he trundled away out of sight, my cell phone rang with a call from Russ.

“Daniela? Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“What made you think something was wrong?”

“I... well, I laid down to read on the sofa when I came back from the gym and fell asleep all afternoon, you know. Funny thing. Woke up to a couple of messages you sent hours ago and just had this bad feeling.”

I nudged the phone between my ear and shoulder to hold it in place while I filled the dishwasher. “Nope. Everything’s fine now.” Fine because of my bear. A sudden rush of emotion brought stinging tears to my eyes. I held back the sniffle and smiled. “Missed you.”

“If you’d like me to... If you’re feeling up to company this evening, just say the word.”

“Word,” I whispered into the phone.

“I’ll see you soon.”

The phone rang again after I hung up. My sister’s name popped up in the caller ID window along with a selfie I took last year during a visit to Austin to see her. I made the three-hour drive as often as I could.

“Hey, sis. Feeling better today?” I didn’t answer her calls yesterday and only replied to a text with a vague inference that I was ill.

“No,” I replied before launching into a summary of the recent events, beginning with my return home Saturday and ending with my rescue by bear.

“Are you kidding me? You’re not going to call the cops on that asshole because you’re afraid they’re going to shoot some rabid bear? Daniela, it could have eaten you!”

Normally I was the one to talk sense into my younger sister, but the role reversal was sobering. “But he didn’t. I swear, it was like... like he understood me.”

“Sweetie, forget about the damn bear. You need to report Mike to the police so they can arrest his stalker ass.”

I knew she was right, but I couldn’t do it. Michael would spin his lies, and by the time he finished talking, the cops would think he’d rescued me from a deadly mauling and saved
me
. I didn’t want to leave it up to chance; I couldn’t risk my fuzzy friend’s life.