There was a bed sitting on the front porch the next morning. Complete with sheets, pillows, and blankets.
Pippa stared narrow-eyed at it. It looked real, but she’d very much like to give it a hard poke with a sharp stick to make sure. And to make sure nothing dangerous was lurking inside, although where it would hide, she couldn’t tell.
She pulled out her phone, called up her texts with Sasha. There’s a bed on the front porch. I don’t know where it came from. She snapped a picture for proof.
Sash must have already been at work because she immediately sent back Oh my God, it’s like out of a fairy tale! Is there a pea in there?
Gingerly Pippa ran her hand over the spread, under the sheets, between the mattress and the box spring, waiting for something to bump into her hand. Nothing did.
It was just a bed.
No pea. Sorry. Really, why would there be? The characters in fairy tales had skin white as snow, lips red as a rose, hair as glossy as a raven’s wing. None of which applied to Pippa.
What about a Prince Charming? Sash sent. Did you get one of those?
For a moment Bear’s dark eyes flashed through Pippa’s mind. He wasn’t a prince, and he certainly wasn’t charming. No, he definitely fit the asshole wolf-shifter hero mold that Sash was so fond of.
There’s a box of food. Which is better than a prince. Pippa pawed through the items. It was mostly boxed and canned things, perfect for someone without a working fridge, along with some fruit that would do just fine sitting out.
Magic, something deep inside her whispered. Annie would have told her he was leaving this. Bear wasn’t going to leave this—he wanted her gone. So…
Magic, the thing whispered again.
Sasha sent back a frowny face because Pippa was raining on her fairy-tale fantasy. Although if it really were magic, maybe there would be a prince on the front porch tomorrow. Not that she needed a prince, and so far the magic was giving her what she needed.
Woodland helpers. Now that would be helpful. Little chipmunks cleaning out the cobwebs. Birds sewing curtains. The chicks could even get in on it.
Okay, she was taking this too far. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. She’d actually been decently warm last night since she’d figured out how to light the potbellied stove. The fire had been nothing but ash and embers when she woke up—Bear’s warning about fires had run sharply through her mind—but it had done its job. And she could do it again tonight and would sleep even better once she got the bed inside.
Tybalt, the little dear that he was, had come to cuddle with her anyway, not wanting her to get cold. He hadn’t let her pet him this morning though. She’d been so close. Maybe tomorrow he’d hold still long enough for her to stroke him. Just one good pet; that was all she wanted.
Once she’d gotten the house closer to livable, she was going to fix up the porch. Put a chair out here even. The view of the valley edge as it met the mountains was spectacular. The valley itself was covered with low grass, dotted with the occasional stand of trees, and then the mountains reared up, thick with trees and boulders and ridges.
It looked very much the same as when she was a kid. The adults would sit out here after dinner, finding some relief from the heat, while she and her sisters invented fantasy worlds to play in. The games were different each time, but that big oak tree was always their home in them.
She ought to take a picture and send it to Sasha. They’d always joked about the view from Pippa’s minuscule balcony, which looked out over the parking lot of the apartment complex. “Look at the sunset over those cars,” they’d say like they were camping in the mountains. Or like the view they had was the one in front of Pippa right now.
She wanted to hike to that boundary, see it up close, then go right into the mountains. Probably she couldn’t—that land must belong to someone else, maybe even the person living in the house nestled at the foot of the mountain. But she could dream in this lovely morning air. The light was a golden pink—not rose gold but much prettier—and the air smelled… She filled her lungs with that good, pure air. It smelled fresh, no other way to describe it.
Yes, she’d definitely have to get the porch fixed up. After the house and the chicken coop were in better shape though.
A familiar rumble came from down the road. She rolled her eyes even as she grinned a bit. Looked like Bear was going to try again. Except now she had her car, electricity, food, and a bed. Oh, and chickens. Her fortress against him was slowly being completed.
“You know, the tractor thing is really getting old,” she said by way of greeting as he pulled up.
He shrugged as he climbed down. His jeans hugged his thighs in ways that made her mouth dry, which she really didn’t appreciate. “I don’t know—isn’t it kind of our thing now?”
“Yes, you’re right. You come threaten me, I tell you to buzz off. That is exactly our thing.” She realized she wasn’t entirely annoyed as she said it.
“Maybe I’m thinking I might have to dig you out of the rubble when that house collapses on you.”
He was close enough that she could see the variations in the brown of his eyes, black flecks mixed with deep coffee stripes. Something about them made her feel odd, like her skin was too tight or tingly, or—
“You sleep on the porch now?” He gestured to the bed.
“No. I need to bring this inside.”
Pippa’s mouth dropped open when he moved to help her.
“What?” He raised that eyebrow. “You think I’d let you do it yourself? My mama would have my head if I did that.”
“But you’re trying to get me out.” She grabbed the end that would let her walk forward while he took the backward one. “One, two, three.”
Once she had it hoisted up, she was so glad Bear was here to help—it was heavy. They carried it into the main bedroom, which wasn’t next to the wall that had given up.
“Don’t sleep in the other rooms,” Bear said as he lowered his end. “I’m serious—that wall could come down.”
“That would solve all your problems though. And then you could dig me out with your big tractor.” She grinned at his scowl. He really was trying so hard to dislike her while also remaining a decent person. It was cute, the fight in him. “I went in yesterday—from the inside, the wall looks mostly okay. I think the collapse is on the outside.” She wasn’t explaining it well, but she knew what she meant.
“Oh, you’re a construction expert now?” But it wasn’t as sharp as it could have been.
She’d gone into the rooms, wanting to see if she might stay in one of them. The bigger room had been her parents’ when they’d visited—she hadn’t been able to remain in that one long. Somehow it was still their room even though it had been over a decade since they’d stayed in it.
The smaller room had been where she and her sisters had slept. They’d fought over who got to take the sleeping bags on the floor—no one had wanted the bed. Not adventurous enough.
That was the room she’d wanted to take, but there was a pretty decent hole in the wall that worried her. Not that she thought it was about to come down, but the main bedroom seemed safer.
Which she was standing in with… Bear Westfall. Her sworn enemy. Suddenly she felt awkward, which she didn’t want him to see. Time to pretend to be totally okay with him being here.
He’d taken off his hat—probably because his mama taught him to remove it inside—and was running a hand through his hair. Probably because his mama taught him to do that too. His hair was longer than she would have guessed and a brown as dark as it could be without tipping into black. She couldn’t stop staring as his fingers speared through the strands of hair. Something silvery on his knuckles winked at her. A scar maybe?
She should not be staring at him like this. The man wanted to kick her out of her refuge. But even so…
“I have coffee,” she said. His hair color made her think of it. “Since you asked last time.”
He paused with his hand still in his hair. “Are you inviting me in?”
She supposed she already had. “Yep. But just to prove that I’m fixing the place up and you won’t be able to dislodge me.”
There was a twinkle in his eyes. “Well then, I have to say yes.”
As she walked from the bedroom to the kitchen, she was painfully aware of all the ways the house wasn’t in the best condition. Like how the bedroom door wouldn’t close completely, the light switch in the hall that didn’t work, the peeling wallpaper in the living room, the actual hole in the wall in the kitchen. When she’d been cleaning it up, she’d been so proud of her progress, but having Bear see it made her work seem small. Insignificant.
Except he didn’t say anything as he followed her. She was giving him a lot of ammunition here, and he wasn’t taking it.
But he did take the coffee she offered with a murmured thanks. “Where’s your cat?”
“Tybalt isn’t very social. It’s not even that he doesn’t like new people—he doesn’t like anyone.” Although he had slept on her chest last night and allowed her three—three!—pets of his thick fur this morning. Once Tybalt had had his fill and slipped off, she’d dashed to the brooder to make sure the chicks were still there. The cat might have only allowed her to pet him as an apology for eating all her chicks.
The chicks were all fine, but the lid had been askew. She’d have to find a solution for that.
“Mmm.” Bear didn’t seem like a cat person based on that noise. He took a sip of his coffee, and Pippa was way too pleased with the enjoyment in his expression.
Excellent coffee prepared—points to me. A little thing, but coffee was also necessary for life, so she counted it as significant as starting the fire last night.
“Has the cat eaten all the chicks yet?” Bear asked dryly.
“No! He’s the best cat—he wouldn’t do that.” She chewed on her lower lip. “But… Ansel gave me a plastic bin to use as a brooder, and the lid—”
“You can’t close the lid all the way”—Bear set down his mug as he nodded—“but you want to keep the cat out. Let me see what I can do.”
Pippa took him into the living room where she’d put the brooder and the heat lamp. The lid was off, and Tybalt wasn’t in sight.
“Oh shoot.” She rushed over, relieved to hear cheeping. If Tybalt had gotten some, he hadn’t gotten them all. “One, two, three… They’re all here.”
“That cat’s sneaky,” Bear said. “The lid was on when we first came through.”
Pippa picked up a little red chick. “Maybe Tybalt just wanted to look at them.” The chick looked around with quick, bright eyes. She kissed the top of its soft head because it was just so cute. “He was curious.”
Bear snorted as he examined the plastic lid. “Right. And when he chomps down on one, it’ll just be because he’s curious about how they taste. Give me a minute and I can fix this for you.”
He disappeared outside. Pippa took the time to check over all the chicks and give them some love. When he came back with the lid, it had a massive hole cut out of it.
“That doesn’t look more secure.” In fact, it looked downright broken. “If you think this stunt will make me leave—”
He held it up so she could see there was chicken wire covering the hole. He’d screwed it down to the lid so that air could flow through but Tybalt couldn’t get to the chicks.
“Oh.” It was so clever, and he was so handy to do it so quickly. Had he brought tools with him? “Thank you.”
Really, it was more like magic how he’d done it. Maybe this place did have some kind of strange power and it was working on him too.
She locked the lid into place, the chicks peeping and scattering in the brooder. “Perfect.” And it really was. It was so sweet of him to do, but he wasn’t sweet. At least not where she was concerned. Still, the warm sensation stuck in her chest wouldn’t subside.
Bear watched her silently. And then, “You been checking their butts?”
Her cheeks heated. “Yes, Ansel showed me how.” Her chicken dreams hadn’t included wiping their little bottoms to prevent pasty butt, but she wouldn’t shy away from doing it if it was necessary.
“Mmm.” That skeptical noise of his worked its way under her skin. It made her want to be louder, more insistent to counter it, her usual way of dealing with life.
“They’re going to be the healthiest chickens ever,” she said. “I check them every few minutes. I know not to give scratch yet, to check their poop, to make sure they have probiotic and electrolytes in the water. And they’ve got names. Good chicken names. Petunia, Marigold, Dahlia, and Pansy. I’ve got this.”
His eyebrow slowly went up. She itched to push it back down—it was doing weird things to her pulse.
“Did Ansel show you how to make them drink when they’re dehydrated?”
“Um, I’d use an eyedropper. Or a syringe.” She could see it, the poor tiny chick clutched in her hand, a bead of water at the tip of the dropper. She’d place it at the little beak, and the chick would gratefully drink it up. She’d save it with her skilled nursing.
“You can,” Bear said, “but there’s an easier way. I’ll show you.” He scooped up a gray-and-cream chick that Ansel had promised would one day grow into a silver-laced wyandotte.
His hand was so big it swallowed up the chick, only its head sticking up out of the embrace of Bear’s fingers. But he was so gentle too, moving the chick slowly. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, and Pippa felt that in the pit of her stomach.
He tipped the chick’s head toward the waterer, dipping the beak once, twice. As he pulled the chick back, a drop of water was suspended in the open beak. Pippa could see a tiny tongue. And then the chick swallowed it down.
“Oh.” She put her hands to her cheeks. “She drank it.”
A pleased smile spread over Bear’s face, which transformed him so radically Pippa had to fight the urge to catch her breath. He released the chick, which ran off for the safety of her friends.
“If you dip the beak in water,” he explained, “they’ll drink every time. You can also put some marbles or shiny beads in the water to encourage them to drink.”
It was like magic again, smaller, simpler, but more delightful. The chick cuddled in his hands, the careful way he’d lowered it, the bead of water suspended in the beak like that. The purest kind of magic.
“That’s amazing.” She smiled at him and realized they were staring into each other’s eyes. And somehow were closer than she meant to be. Her nerves shimmered. “I’ll have to show Ansel when he comes to look at the coop.”
It came out too loudly, which always happened when she was nervous. Being too loud had actually gotten her fired from a job working the customer-service line for a failing department store. After months of being yelled at over the phone, her nerves jangled every time she heard a ringtone. And that came out in her voice, and the customers complained about that too, and she was fired.
Bear didn’t wince or in any way indicate he found her too loud. Instead, he inhaled in the oddest way. She didn’t know how to classify it. “I can check the damn coop for you. Don’t need Ansel to come out all this way.”
He was growling, but it wasn’t angry. It was more the rumble of a waking bear, the kind that made you want to rumple his hair, although that would be dangerous. With a real bear, not this kind of Bear.
What might he do if she reached out and touched him? They were enemies, yes, but he was here fixing her brooder, offering to fix her chicken coop. What exactly was going on between them?
Because she wanted to discover the answer to that, she said, “Sure. Let’s go look at the coop.”
Bear went through the chicken coop, tugging on the wire covering the windows, checking the perches. Sadly, it was in decent condition. She’d be able to move her chickens in here, no trouble.
The coop was set away from the house, under the shade of a sycamore, with a fenced run for the chickens. The coop itself had been painted purple once upon a time, although it was now faded to a grayish lilac.
Even farther out was the goat barn, set under an even bigger oak. Bear prayed Pippa didn’t figure out what the barn was for; he wouldn’t put it past her to get goats as well.
“Do you have chickens?” She was peering into the coop, probably afraid of all the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling.
“A few. My sister mostly deals with them.” He saw a nail that needed to be hammered down. Pippa would be upset if her chickens hurt themselves on it.
“Lark?”
He looked at her over his shoulder. The light was streaming through her curls, speckling the dark strands, almost like a starry sky. “Ansel sang like a bird, huh?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “I asked if you had any family here. He mentioned you had some siblings who worked on your ranch too. And that your parents retired to Texas.”
Bear wondered what Ansel had said about Sayer. Thorne and Lark would be easy enough to introduce, but the Sayer situation was complicated. He also wondered if Pippa knew who lived in the house at the base of the mountain, the house you could see from her front porch.
She was looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to confirm that yes, he did have siblings.
“Lark takes care of the chickens.” He went back to studying the coop.
Pippa kept looking at him like that.
He sighed. “And Thorne and I run the ranch together. Lark helps with the marketing, but her main job is with Prime One Feeds.”
“Oh.” Pippa straightened up. “They were all over the feedstore.”
“Yep.” He tugged on one of the ceiling beams that looked wonky. Solid enough. Might need to be replaced after a rain or an earthquake though. “Biggest feed company on the West Coast. You’ll probably see Lark in the store. Better get familiar with their stuff.”
She chewed on that. He sensed she had more questions, and he braced himself for them.
“I’m only going to be working in the back,” she said. “Doing inventory, stocking shelves. I’m not good at customer-facing stuff.”
She sounded as if she were repeating someone else’s criticism. A criticism she’d heard a lot.
“Yeah, I suck at that stuff too.” Bear hated how she’d said that. And was relieved she hadn’t asked about Sayer. “I’m not allowed to answer customer emails. Or look at our Instagram.”
That perked her up. “You have an Instagram?”
“Not me.” He couldn’t think of anything worse than putting pictures of himself on the internet. He didn’t even have Facebook. “It’s for the ranch. Lark says it’s good branding.”
“Hmm. So it’s not all pictures of you in your cowboy getup eye-fucking the camera?”
He choked on nothing. “What? No. No, no, no.” He gave a full-body shudder. “We’re selling beef.”
Her mouth curved mischievously. “Yeah, exactly. Oh, come on,” she said at his death stare. “You have to know how you look. With the hat and the jeans and the whole thing.” She gestured to her cheekbones, which looked nothing like his. Hers were broad but defined, a nice frame for her smile.
“These are work clothes.” He didn’t know what else he was supposed to wear when he was out in the pastures. But she made it sound like he was doing something when he put them on each morning.
And then it hit him, a beat too late because he’d been thinking about her cheekbones and not what she really meant: she was attracted to him.
He ran his tongue along the back of his teeth as he watched her, silhouetted in the door. Dust motes danced in the sunbeams streaming past her.
“What?” she asked defensively. Her voice had risen a notch or two.
“You think I have a thing.” He practically caressed that last word. He didn’t elaborate on what kind of thing—he let his tone tell her she was really into it. A cowboy thing probably.
Her wide-eyed expression told him he’d hit exactly the nerve he’d wanted to. “I don’t.” Her voice rang through the coop, and she took a step back. “I mean, I do, but not like that. Like I like it or anything.”
She was practically shouting by then, which made him want to laugh. Looked like that was her tell—she couldn’t control the volume when she was upset.
“Sure,” he said, dripping disbelief. “You’ve noticed it, me—can’t look away—but you don’t like it.”
Pippa quite deliberately turned her head away. “Are we done here?” Sadly, her volume was back to normal. Then her gaze slid toward him.
Again, he wanted to laugh. Even when she was trying to be sly, there was something so open about her. She just couldn’t do it.
If he were the asshole he ought to be, he could use it against her. Somehow seduce her into leaving this house—maybe love her, leave her, break her heart enough to send her running.
The thought made his stomach turn. No, he wasn’t anywhere near the asshole he ought to be, because he’d never do it. He’d tease her about it for sure, maybe even imagine what it would be like to act on it—kiss down that sweet neck of hers, for example, or see if those long legs were as curvy as he thought—but that was it.
Thorne would be so pissed if he knew.
“Yeah,” he said, “we’re done. The coop’s not about to fall down, not like that house. The offer of a place to stay is still open.”
She shook her head. “Thanks for checking the coop. And please stop trying to kick me out.”
That was the only thing he couldn’t promise her.
He brushed his palms together to get off the dust. “You know, you could have a good claim on her estate.” He followed her out of the coop into the morning sunshine. “Not this house, because that sale’s already gone through, but there must be some money. Something to help you out.”
She looked at him over her shoulder. “I’m not supposed to talk about this with you.”
That stopped him dead. “What? We’ve been talking about it. Says who?”
“My lawyer.” She couldn’t help the sassy lilt to her voice, although she was struggling to keep her expression dead sober.
Bear didn’t have to try to make his expression serious—he felt struck stone dumb. “When the hell did you get a lawyer?”
“Yesterday. At the feedstore.”
“There’re no lawyers…” Bear ran through the trucks he’d seen in the feed-and-seed parking lot yesterday. One stood out in particular. “Son of a bitch.”
“No, Vince was actually very nice.”
Bear had no doubt that he was, especially since Vince had been waiting for a chance to get back at Thorne for years. Not that he was going to explain that situation to her.
“Does Vince know that this place is falling apart? That it’s goddamn irresponsible to encourage you to continue to stay here?” She was going to get hurt in this house, not that Vince probably cared.
“I can’t say anything.” Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. She was way too pleased with herself. Probably because she knew she could screw him and his family good if she had a lawyer. She didn’t even have to win the case to ruin their plans. “Attorney-client privilege, an ongoing lawsuit— I’m sure you understand.”
What Bear understood was that he’d like to strangle Vince when he saw him next. Or maybe Thorne for starting the stupid grudge in the first place. He’d see Thorne sooner than Vince, that was for sure.
The word lawsuit sent his blood pressure into the red. “You’ve already filed suit?”
She put a finger to her lips. He couldn’t swear to it, but it looked like she kissed the tip. His blood pressure spiked again but for entirely different reasons.
It struck him as the worst kind of luck that she’d claimed this house. If she’d simply been staying with Ansel, if Bear had met her at the feed and seed one day… He could tell her she could kiss him instead of her own finger, see what happened.
Instead, he had to kick her out of this place. And bring the family curse down on his head, whatever that meant.
“Fine.” His reply was short—he was mostly pissed at himself now. “I’m still going to encourage you to leave. For your own safety,” he said at her sassy look. “And the coop is fine. In a few weeks, the chicks can go in. You’re welcome.”
She was going to sue him, and he was helping her with a chicken coop. If it wouldn’t look weird, he’d punch himself in the head right here and now. What an idiot he was.
Her expression softened, her eyes going liquid. She was so damn pretty in the morning light; his heart kicked. “I…” She licked her lips.
He leaned forward, not wanting to miss a single word. This was going to be good, he could just tell.
Her chest rose on a sharp inhale. “I—”
A car came tearing up the driveway, gravel spitting out from the tires. Pippa spun away from him to see what was happening.
“Son of a bitch,” Bear muttered to himself. “Who the hell is that?”
Pippa shielded her eyes as she squinted into the sunlight. “I think it’s my sister.”
“You have a sister?”
“Three of them actually. Oh, I hope it’s not Con. She’ll be insufferable. She’s the oldest.” As she jogged toward the car, her face broke out into a grin. “It’s Lulu. Lulu! Lulu!” She waved wildly.
Three sisters. Three more people who could potentially contest the Westfall claim to this land. And one of them was actually here.
This was almost as bad as the lawsuit. Maybe worse.
The woman who got out of the car was pretty—Bear could see that, although she wasn’t nearly as captivating as Pippa. There was something in her expression that put him off, like she knew she was pretty and charming and was more than prepared to use that to get her way.
Or maybe he was imagining things. Still, this new sister was bad news for him and his family. For a moment he was tempted to sling the both of them over his shoulders, hog-tie them together, and drive them all the way down the hill and drop them… somewhere safe. Somewhere they couldn’t escape.
The other two sisters’ houses would be a good place to start. Assuming they didn’t show up in Cabrillo either. Christ, he shouldn’t have thought of that—he was going to will that into happening if he wasn’t careful.
Was this the family curse she warned him about?
“Pippa!” Lulu practically fell into Pippa’s arms. “I’m so glad I found you!”
“What’s wrong?” The concern on Pippa’s face tore at Bear. She’d already been through a lot, and now her sister was coming to her with trouble.
But then Lulu’s words made Bear’s blood run cold:
“I need a place to stay.”