Things That Go Hump In The Night (53 page)

Visit my Amazon page to learn more about all my books!

My Bear Protector

By Christy Rivers

Chapter 1

I clutched the backpack to my chest as I stepped off of the Greyhound bus. It contained what remained of my worldly possessions: several days’ worth of clothes, a hairbrush, and a framed photograph of Nana and Papa’s 1956 wedding. I blinked in the harsh, fluorescent light of the station platform.

“Hailey Andrews?” a man on a bench piped up.

“Yes?” I said.

I watched him stand up, moving slowly like a tree bending in the wind. “Hi. I’m Mark. I’m here to take you to the ranch. Can I help you with your bags?”

I shrugged the straps of my backpack onto my shoulders. “This is it.”

Mark raised his grayish, bushy eyebrows. “That’s all you brought with you?” When he sensed that I was feeling a little embarrassed, he waved it off. “Okay, never mind then. My truck’s parked over there. Shall we?”

I followed Mark across the parking lot, marveling at the landscape as I went. I’d landed in a town called Lakeville, Montana, but I didn’t see any lakes. Instead, there was wide, open land of green and yellow shaded grass, as if the Greyhound station had simply fallen out of the sky. The only other signs of civilization besides the station were the highway running beside it and a single Budget Inn across the street.

Mark helped me into the cab of his truck, a white Ford with the Big Sky Ranch emblem on the side. Once we took off, he began to explain what to expect from my new job—my new
life
.

“Breakfast at four, lunch at eleven, dinner at six,” he rattled off. “I gotta admit that you have some big shoes to fill. Beatriz was a damn good cook, and the rest of the guys were sad to see her retire. But she kept a binder or something full of recipes. I bet the maid could help you find it—”

My attention began to wander as I watched the wilderness flick by the windows. I thought about the past few weeks, all the events that had brought me here. Mark kept going on and on about my other responsibilities at the ranch (“You will have to do the household grocery shopping.”), which faded in and out as I reminisced.

I covertly counted on my fingers how many days had passed since things reached a tipping point with Quentin.
Ten.

Ten days ago, when I was still a blonde city girl in a suburb outside of Philadelphia, Quentin had come home in a drunken rage for the millionth time. I’d locked myself in the bathroom, hoping he’d wear himself out and fall asleep. But he decided to run into the kitchen for the butcher knife and hack a hole through the door instead.

His words still haunted me.
Whore,
he’d called me.
Dirty whore.
He’d made a hole just big enough for his arm to come through, groping at me. A single blue eye peeked inside, unfocused yet burning. I was afraid it was the day he’d finally kill me.

Then, his arm went limp.
You’re not worth it,
he’d said with disgust.

“Miss Andrews?”

“Huh?”

I blinked, coming back to the present once again. Mark had just asked me a question. “Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“Do you know how to make chiles rellenos?” He sounded a little hopeful. I didn’t want to disappoint him, but I’d have to this time.

“No. I…I’m from the east coast,” I said, as if to explain.

“Ah,” Mark said with a sigh. “I see.”

* * *

It was nightfall by the time we reached the ranch. Mark pulled the truck into a long dirt lot. In the darkness, I could make out the vague white shape of the main house in the distance. I’d be staying in my own little guest house. Mark had told me that the rest of the ranch hands lived above the six-car garage, in dorm-like rooms.

I was brand new to Montana and ranching life, but I could already tell that the Hendersons, the owners of Big Sky Ranch were
loaded.
The six-car garage was one sign. The fact that they could keep live-in staff was another. In fact, that was the one thing I’d been looking for when I scoured online classifieds for two days before finding Big Sky’s listing. I needed someplace to work and hide at the same time.

Mark showed me to the guest house, a low, rectangular structure at the edge of the property. It looked like it might’ve been a garage at one point. A regular two-car one at least.

“Well…this is it,” he said a little awkwardly.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t forget. Breakfast is at—”

“Four,” I said with a small smile. “I know.”

“All right, then. Good night.”

“Good night.”

I waited for a moment to watch Mark trudge into the darkness, noting that he wasn’t going in the direction of the garage where the other ranch hands lived. Perhaps he had his own little room somewhere else.

I let myself into the guest house with the key Mark had given me. Then, I dropped my bag on the floor and groped along the wall for a light switch. I found it and flipped it on, blinking back spots as my eyes adjusted.

The house was humble but cozy. It was what some of my realtor friends would’ve called “open concept,” which solidified my theory that it had been a garage at one point. The front door opened right into the bedroom and living area. From a single glance, I could tell the furniture was quality, name-brand stuff, probably castoffs from the main house. There was a kitchen against the far wall, which comprised of a refrigerator, basin sink, and very old stove.

I went around the room, touching the walls and opening the cabinets. I found various leftovers of its former occupant, Beatriz: cans of hominy, neatly folded linens, an old pair of boots. There was a second door in the back of the kitchen that fed into the closet-sized bathroom.

But besides all of that, there was one thing I noted that was a bit odd. The entire guest house had one window, a narrow one at eye level above the sink. Beatriz had lined the sill with dry seashells, and I imagined her enjoying her unobstructed view of the mountainside as she did her dishes every evening. But I wasn’t concerned of being able to see out.

I just didn’t want anybody to see
in.

I swept the seashells onto a dustpan and set them in the corner for the time being. I had to think for a few moments before I finally decided to grab the cans of hominy and line them up on the windowsill. They fit nicely into the narrow space, like snug puzzle pieces, and they’d make seeing through that window impossible. I’d think of a more permanent solution later, but for now it was good enough.

I didn’t know how exhausted I was until I sat down on the bed. A bus trip from Philadelphia to Montana was long enough as it is, but I’d made a few stops to switch lines as an added precaution. I blinked warily at a digital clock on the nightstand, which told me it wasn’t nine yet. To me, it felt like it was past midnight.

I made sure to set an alarm for three a.m. before tucking myself under the clean, dry sheets.
I’m actually sleeping in a bed tonight,
I marveled as I closed my eyes.

Philadelphia felt like a lifetime ago. But it had only been ten days.

Chapter 2

The alarm went off the moment I closed my eyes, it seemed. I scrambled out of bed, imagining how angry a dozen ranch hands would be if their breakfast wasn’t ready. I brushed my teeth, washed my face, put on some jeans and a tee shirt, and made my way toward the main house.

I nearly tripped in the dirt on my way there. When I looked down at my feet, I noticed something strange. I bent down to touch my hand against the impressions in the ground.

Bear tracks,
my mind whispered. I suppressed a shiver as I wondered how I knew that, being a perpetual lifelong suburbanite. I’d never seen a bear before, let alone bear tracks, but there was no other possibility. I touched my fingers to the print, which was as large as my hand.

Something rustled in the distance, and I glanced up. All I could see was the serene, flat land of the ranch and the whitewashed house in the distance. I rose and continued on, promising myself that I’d bring up my concerns to Mark when I saw him.

The main house itself was a mansion in its own right, housing the owner’s family as well as some other staff. As I understood it, they had their own personal cook to make their meals. I wondered if I’d ever meet them as I let myself in through the kitchen door.

The lights were harsh against my barely-awake eyes, but it definitely woke me up. I started a pot of coffee and got to work, skimming the pantry for ingredients. Back in Philadelphia, my favorite challenge had been to cook up new dishes just from what was available at home. It had been my best talent as a personal chef.

A wistful feeling flickered through me, making me miss Philadelphia and everything about it. I shut the pantry door with a snap and turned away.
No.
I had to keep my head down. I wasn’t Hailey Thornton, personal chef, anymore. I was Hailey Andrews, the humble and naïve ranch cook. I hunted for the binder Mark had told me about and found it in a cabinet.

By the time the first ranch hand came bursting into the kitchen, I had steaming platters of eggs, sausages, and biscuits ready to go. The men were a rainbow of different ethnicities, ages, and sizes. The oldest was perhaps even older than Mark, white-haired and weathered, while the youngest seemed like he was still in high school. They talked amongst themselves, only eyeing me curiously every once in a while as they loaded their plates with food.

I stood by awkwardly, trying to blend in with the yellow wallpaper, when the oldest man approached me.

“You make these?” he said, fixing me with a beady stare.

It took a moment for me to realize he was asking me a question. “Um…yes?”

The man blinked a few times. “They’re all right.”

Various approving grunts resounded throughout the kitchen. I felt that I’d just been accepted into the fold.

Then, just as quickly as they’d come, they scraped off their plates and left in a flurry of flannel and denim, ready to tackle a busy day with full stomachs. The last one to leave was a scruffy, dark-haired man.

“Thanks for breakfast,” he said, smiling as he dropped his plate into the sink. “What’s your name?”

“Hailey,” I said. Then, I added, “Andrews.”

“Tucker Bell.”

I shook his hand, noting how rough and callused it was. But his grip was dry, soft, and friendly. I averted my eyes, trying not to seem eager to make friends.

“Breakfast was so good, I can’t wait to see what’s for lunch,” Tucker said. He inclined his head and gave me a small wave before trailing after the others.

I waited a few beats after the door closed before walking over to the bay window. The sun had finally risen, and the ranch hands cast long shadows on the grounds as they bisected the property. Tucker turned around and waved one more time at me, like he knew I was watching.

I felt my stomach clench.
Oh, this is bad,
I thought to myself.

* * *

After cleaning up the kitchen, I figured I’d have a lot of time on my hands. Breakfast was served at four, but lunchtime wasn’t until eleven. I felt bad for the ranch hands out there, driving out the cattle, or whatever it was they did, while having to wait so long for their next meal.

I decided to take a walk around the edge of the property when I ran into Mark. He was on the long gravel driveway with two men in cowboy hats, talking business, I supposed.

I said hello to him, and he waved me over.

“This is our new cook, by the way,” he said. “Hailey, say hello to Pete and Dave. Mr. Henderson’s nephews.”

“Hi,” I said, shaking their hands.

Pete and Dave were obviously brothers, with the same sandy brown hair and freckling over near-identical noses. Pete was slightly taller, while Dave had a thicker beard. Both were obviously higher-ups in ranch business, judging from how soft their hands were. I answered their questions politely, then remembered the reason why I’d wanted to see Mark in the first place.

“Do we get bears out here?” I asked.

Mark’s eyebrows shot up. “Bears?”

Pete chuckled and pulled his hands out of his pockets. “We do have ‘em in Montana, but they live
way
out in the wilderness. It’s rare to see them so close to civilization.”

I scrunched my mouth together. Apparently, our definitions of the word “civilization” were a bit different, but I got the message. Bears were not the norm.

“Well,” I continued, “I thought I saw a bear’s footprint this morning. I almost tripped over it. It was
huge
.”

Mark regarded me warily. “You sure it was a bear track?”

“Wolves are a little more common around these parts,” Pete added.

I held my hands out in front of me. “It was about that big. I couldn’t imagine what else could’ve made a footprint that large. I saw it just outside my house.”

Pete and Dave laughed again. I felt one of them land a heavy clap onto my shoulder.

“Don’t worry, little lady. We’ll check it out for ya,” Dave said.

I tried to smile appreciatively, then turned my attention back to Mark. “Well, I better get going. I just thought I should tell you. For the cows’ sakes.”

“Cattle,” Mark corrected me, but he seemed as concerned as I was.

I walked away, feeling like I’d made myself a little useful. I tossed my head back to look up at the sky, which was endlessly blue and cloudless. The sun was still low, and there were still a few hours to go until lunch. I found the fence that lined the edge of the property and began to follow it, wondering how many yards of wood and wire it had taken to make it.

I stopped at a broken spot in the fence. At the same time, I heard the unmistakable sound of wheels rolling through dirt and grass. I turned around just in time to watch a golf cart approaching quickly from the distance.

Tucker was driving it. His face broke out into a big grin when he saw me. “Hey, you! Hailey, right?”

“Right,” I said with a twitchy smile.

The short, red-headed man sitting next to Tucker stood up when the golf cart rolled to a stop. “Hi there. I’m Kyle.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said as I shook his hand. He had calloused palms just like Tucker’s.

Tucker hitched himself out of the driver’s seat. He spoke to me as he retrieved tools out of the back of the golf cart. “What are you doing out here by yourself?” he asked.

“I was taking a walk. Trying to become acquainted with the place.” I folded my hands behind my back and stepped to the side. “I guess you’re here to mend the fence?”

“You got that right. You’re just about as smart as you look,” Tucker said.

I laughed, unsure of whether to take it as a compliment or an insult. Then, Tucker grinned, and I kept laughing.

“I guess I’ll get out of your way, then,” I said.

“No!” Tucker said. “Stay. Keep us company.”

I looked over my shoulder, trying to seem like there was someplace I had to be. But in truth, there really wasn’t. “Ah…well, I guess.”

I went and sat down in the golf cart as the men got to work. Both Tucker and Kyle wore thick work gloves as they unwound a huge spool of wire.

“So, where ya from?” Kyle asked.

Philadelphia,
my mind automatically uttered, but I couldn’t tell the truth. I had to lay low. Luckily, I’d made up an entirely false-but-realistic past during my long ride to Montana.

“Columbus,” I said, using a carefully measured, bored tone of voice. My best friend in high school had a grandmother who lived in Columbus, so I knew a little bit about the city.

“Gee,” Kyle said. “Well, I don’t blame you for leaving, then.”

I opened my mouth, wanting to defend the city, when Tucker came to my rescue.

“Hey, some people might say the same about Lakeville,” he said. Then, he turned to me and smiled. “What made you leave Columbus, Hailey?”

I shrugged but my heart began to race, despite the many hours I’d spent mentally rehearsing my answer. “Just wanted to make my way out west,” I said.

Tucker stopped working and leaned on his tool, which looked something like a giant pair of pliers. “Me, too. But it’s easy to stick around once you get here, especially working for a family like the Hendersons. You have your place, you get fed, and you get paid. There aren’t many gigs like this one.” He paused to wipe some of the sweat off of his forehead and resumed working.

He stopped again, just quickly enough to unbutton his shirt. I realized he was naked under it after he pulled his arms out of his sleeves.

I averted my gaze just as the sun beat down on his glistening, muscular back. “Hey, how about I make some lemonade?” I said.

Tucker and Kyle paused.

“I mean, I’d like to be polite and refuse—” Kyle began.

“—but it’s so
hot
out,” Tucker finished for him.

I smiled. “Okay, then. I’ll be right back.”

I ambled across the grounds, trying to shake off the image of Tucker without his shirt. But I couldn’t help it, there was just something about him. I fanned myself as I walked back into the kitchen, thinking that I could use a cold glass of lemonade, too.

“Are you the new cook?”

“Huh?”

I turned around. There was a woman I’d never seen before sitting at the kitchen table. She was slim and blonde, dressed tastefully in black leggings and a loose, chiffon blouse.

“Hi,” I said awkwardly, “I’m Hailey.” When the woman didn’t respond, I stuck out my hand and added, “You must be Mrs. Henderson?”

The woman raised her eyebrows. “No. I’m Anita, their personal chef. And I was
shocked
by the state of the kitchen when I came down to make breakfast earlier this morning.”

I looked behind me at the kitchen counter. The dishes from breakfast were still drying in the rack, but otherwise it was spotless.

“Uh…”

Anita rose from the table and crossed the room, motioning me to join her at the stove. “Look
there
.”

I had to squint to see what she meant. I’d made sure to wipe down the stove after all the ranch hands left, but there were some streaks of grease I had missed.

She pointed behind herself to the dishes. “And why are those dishes still there? They should be hand dried and put away in the cabinets.”

“I thought air drying them would be better,” I said. It was how I’d always been taught in my food safety certification classes.

Anita sniffed. “And the floor isn’t swept,” she continued sharply. She put her hands on her hips. “I’m not a
maid,
I’m a
personal chef
. I don’t have time to clean up after you when I have a family to feed.”

I flailed around for an answer. “I’m sorry,” I said, but only because it was too awkward to just stand there in silence while she glared at me.

To add insult to injury, Anita cast a disdainful eye over my clothes. She was clearly an image-conscious person, something that I couldn’t afford to be anymore. I’d left all my designer clothes back in Philadelphia, and today I wore a simple cream tee over worn jeans, which was all part of my lay-low strategy.

“I guess I could clean it all up now,” I said.

Anita smiled, but it didn’t warm her face at all. “That would be great, hon.”

I began with the floor and grabbed a broom out of the hallway closet. Anita watched me with arms folded over chest until she was apparently convinced that I could clean adequately. Then, she told me to “keep it up” and walked out. By the time I had the stove scrubbed spotlessly clean, it was time to prepare lunch.

I hoped Tucker and Kyle wouldn’t be too mad that I never brought their lemonade.

I went back to Beatriz’s recipe binder and flipped through. I could tell she was a very organized person, because the pages were divided by breakfast, lunch, and dinner tabs, each one labeled carefully in her neat, steady hand. I could also tell that she was influenced by Mexican and South American cuisines, which was something I wasn’t too familiar with. Luckily, her recipes were very exact and clear.