Watcher: A raven paranormal romance (Crookshollow ravens Book 1) (11 page)

I
woke
up to something poking my eye.

Meow!

It was Chairman Meow. He showed his paw into my eye socket again, a favourite trick of his to get my attention. Obviously there was some urgent matter to attend to. “Go away,” I mumbled, pulling the covers up around my chin. I was so tired. I just wanted to sleep some more. Light peeked in from the bedroom window, casting a faint glow across the Chairman’s concerned face.

Light …
the sun was coming up. But that didn’t make sense. I got up well before the sun came up …

It was then I became dimly aware of the buzzing sound behind me.

I picked up my phone from where it was vibrating across the windowsill. I stared groggily at the time, not understanding. How could it be so late? My alarm hadn’t even gone …

Shit.

I’d forgotten to turn my phone off silent from last night. I’d slept through my alarm. It was 5:26am. I was late.

“Double shit!”

I leapt out of bed, catapulting Chairman Meow into the pile of laundry I’d stacked in the corner for when I could afford to go to the laundromat (yes, Ethan took the washing machine). I groped around, still half asleep, for something appropriate to wear. I scrambled through the shoebox that currently held my clean underwear, found an old pair of panties, but no bra.
Fuck.
I tugged on some socks.
No time for a bra.
I pulled on a wrinkled shirt and a pair of black jeans, jammed my hair up into a bun, and raced into the living room.

Cole wasn’t on the couch or in the bathroom. I didn’t have time to worry about him, though. I cracked open a tin of cat food and threw it on the floor, where Chairman Meow pounced on it eagerly. I raced downstairs, my mind frantically going over all my options.
The bread will be an hour late, but maybe I could run over to The Happy Baker and grab some of their loaves to tide me over. I’ll have to skip the cakes today, and—

I stopped short, my chest heaving. Cole was standing in the kitchen, hairnet firmly in place, and faded black apron tied around his waist. He’d plugged in my iPod, and was humming to himself as he shuffled around to my 80s playlist, pulling tray after tray of freshly baked bread and pies from the oven.

Holy shit. He’s done the work. He’s done
all
the work.

“So,” I folded my arms, trying to keep my hands from shaking. “You’re hooked on a feeling, are you?”

Cole whirled around, and gave me one of his patented killer grins. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

I peered over his shoulder at the rows of neatly-formed loaves rising in their pans. Tears formed at the corners of my eyes, and I rubbed my face, trying to pretend it was just sleep and not a surge of emotion I was trying to stave off. “I can’t believe you did this all by yourself. Why didn’t you come and get me?”

“I did, when I heard your phone buzzing, but you muttered something impolite, rolled over, and went back to sleep again.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“I’m sorry. I know I should have woken you. You just looked so peaceful, as though you hadn’t slept properly in months, so I decided to let you rest. Don’t worry,” he gestured to the fully-intact kitchen. “I haven’t burned anything yet,
and
I’ve kept most of the flour inside the bread this time.”

“How could you hear my alarm going off? It was on silent, that’s how come I didn’t hear it.”

“Bran have exceptional hearing.” Cole finished off another loaf and placed it in the pan. “Twenty–twenty vision, too. That’s how I could see that even in the dark, you drool when you sleep. It’s adorable. Hey, are you not wearing a bra?”

I turned away, furiously wiping away the tears in my eyes. “Thank you,” I whispered, dangerously close to choking up.
You have to get it together. This isn’t a big deal. So he did something nice for you. He’s a nice guy, underneath all that danger and cockiness. It doesn’t mean anything.

It can’t mean anything.

“No problem. Now stop blubbering, throw on one of those ugly hairnets, and come help me. And don’t you dare go upstairs to change your clothes. You’re going to have to take care of the cakes. I tried to ice one but it ended up looking like some strange modern-art piece.”

* * *

I
couldn’t believe
how many people showed up at the bakery. When I threw the doors open at 6am, there was already a small group waiting outside. Word about Finn’s dismissal must have spread like wildfire through the village.

Or, perhaps the bakery’s newfound popularity had nothing to do with the fact Finn was no longer behind the counter. Perhaps it had more to do with a certain sexy raven who was serving up coffee and cakes with a cheeky grin. Not only were the Knit ‘n’ Bitch club in for an “impromptu brunch meeting,” but the Crookshollow Floral Society had decided to hold their AGM at the table in front of the sweets cabinet, and the local historical walking group had popped in for a post-workout treat. The bakery looked like it was the set from an episode of
Last of the Summer Wine
.

I left Cole to deal to his adoring fans, and kept myself busy behind the counter refilling the displays, answering the phone (which was ringing off the hook with cake orders) and whipping up five batches of cookies. I could see just by the scone demand that we were probably going to sell out early today, too.

I pulled another tray of melting moments out of the oven and set them out on the cooking racks. I took down the cake stand that had once held a batch of lemon scones, (but now held only a few crumbs), and cleaned that before loading it up again. I was busy repositioning the stand on the counter, when a deep voice broke through my thoughts.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

I looked up, startled, and stared into the eyes of a dark-haired, leather-clad biker. His strong jaw and deep brown eyes reminded me of Cole, but he was older, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. Even though his smile was casual, his whole body seemed tense, a snake coiled before the strike. The way he kept his eyes glued to mine gave me an uneasy feeling, and his presence smacked of déjà vu
.
It was only two days ago that I was standing in the same spot and staring gape-mouthed at Cole.

“Can I help you?” I asked, trying to keep myself poised.

“I heard you have a new assistant in here,” the biker said. “I’d like to speak to him.”

Cole? My body froze. The old biddies asking about my sexy new counter boy were one thing, but if this guy was asking for Cole by name … it had to be connected to Cole’s escape from his master.

“Um, I—” I flicked my eyes over to where Cole was standing. He was in the middle of packaging up a small cheesecake for a grinning single mum, but his eyes kept flicking over toward me and the tall biker. Cole finished the transaction, then sauntered over to us, his eyes blazing.

“Go away.” Cole hissed across the counter, as he filled a bag of melting moments for a customer.

The biker shook his head. “I have to talk to you.”

“You can’t
be
here. They will be following you, especially after what happened. You’ll lead them right to me.”

“So you heard about Harry? Shocking stuff. Don’t worry, I was careful. Come on,” the man shrugged his shoulder toward the back of the shop.

“Come on where?”

“There must be a kitchen or storage cupboard back there? We need to talk.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Cole glowered. “And if you keep harassing me, Belinda is going to pound your arse with her awesome karate skills. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have croissants to put out.”

“Cole, you’re being ridiculous—”

“We’re done here.” Cole turned away from the biker and started cleaning the counter with rough, furious strokes. The biker stared at him for a few minutes, opening his mouth as if he wanted to say more. But then he shrugged, as if the entire exchange meant nothing to him, and walked out, slamming the door shut behind him so hard the frame rattled.

“Who was that?” I asked, leaning against the counter while I waited for my heart rate to return to normal.

“Nobody important,” Cole barked, in a tone that clearly implied the opposite. He started to toss fresh croissants into a wicker basket with all the enthusiasm of a rugby player.

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. He was a Bran, wasn’t he? Does this mean your master knows where you are?” Cole didn’t look up. He kept slamming croissants into the basket. “Cole, look at me. This is important. Is the bakery in danger?”

Cole’s back stiffened. He set down the basket and turned to look at me, his eyes flicking over my face as if he was seeing me for the first time.

“You’re right, Belinda,” Cole said, his eyes flashing. “I need you to be calm. But it’s entirely possible we’re not safe here any longer.”

“We?”

“If they’ve seen me here, than they’ve seen you, too. And that means you could be a target. Victor Morchard is just the kind of man to try to get to me through you.” He balled his hands into fists and kicked the counter so hard the coffee machine rattled. “Fuck!”

I cringed. Two woman waiting for their coffees gasped and bent their heads to whisper to each other. I grabbed Cole by the arm and dragged him into the kitchen, in case he scared any more customers.

“Cole, it’s OK. We’ll figure something out—”

“This is all my fault.” he moaned. “I shouldn’t have stayed here. I put you in danger. This is so much worse than I feared.”

“Hey, you warned me, and I asked you to stay. I knew what I was getting into.”

“No, Belinda. You don’t. You really don’t.”

“Well, OK.” I placed a hand tentatively on his shoulder. “Maybe I don’t, but you do. So we’re not safe anymore. We need to go somewhere we
are
safe. You need to come up with a plan. So, what’s the plan, Cole? What are you going to do?”

Cole remained silent for a few moments, and then the corner of his lip curled up into a grin. “I think you might have given me the answer. We’re going out tonight. But this time, it’s all business. Do you have your friend Alex’s number?”

I nodded.

“Call her and ask her if we can visit that fiancé of hers tonight. Tell her you met someone who desperately needs to talk to him. I don’t suppose you have a car?”

I shook my head. “What do you think Ethan used to haul all my stuff away with? But don’t worry, we can get Alex and Ryan to come here and pick us up. They’ll be happy—”

Cole shook his head. “No, it’s too dangerous. I don’t want them getting caught up in anything, too. We’ll go to them. Don’t worry, we’ll take my bike.”

“But you don’t have your bike.”

“No, but I know where it is.”

* * *

W
e sold
out of food by 3:30pm, a record for me. On any other day, I’d be elated, but ever since that other biker had shown up, I couldn’t focus on my work. It was all too scary. If Cole’s master had found him here, what would he do? Who was that man who came into the bakery? Was that Victor Morchard? Why did he look so much like Cole? Why was he trying to get Cole to go away and talk to him – surely, if he was as angry as Cole implied, he just would have killed him on sight? Cole didn’t look as though he were afraid of the biker, just angry at him.

I tried to question Cole about it, but he brushed me off. “It will take a long time to explain,” he said, as he took dripping dishes out of the sink and placed them in the rack to dry. “I’ll answer all your questions tonight. In the meantime, let’s just focus on getting the work done.”

Alex had returned my text at lunchtime and said she and Ryan would be happy to see us for supper that evening. “Is everything OK?” she messaged. “Who’s this guy?”

“You’ll meet him tonight. He’s wonderful. I don’t think he’s another Ethan. But maybe you can help me judge?”

I could barely focus on the baking, but eventually we managed to get all the slices made and the cakes decorated for the next day. We barely talked, except when Cole had questions about the recipes. He seemed twitchy, nervous. He looked up at the door every few seconds, his face puckered with concern. Chairman Meow came loping down the stairs, and Cole leapt so high into the air he practically hung from the rafters.