Lumberjack Werebear (Saw Bears Book 1) by T. S. Joyce Read Free Book Online

over, and he wouldn’t have to travel to kill her attacker.
    “I knew he was getting out,” she said, “but couldn’t make a move until Brooke was out of the city and away from it all. His death couldn’t blow back on her, you understand?”
    He did. His mother was a momma bear and protector, down to the core, and an intelligent hunter. That man had conjured the wrath of an apex predator the second he marked Brooke’s neck. Jail had only prolonged his life.
    “Has she painted anything yet?” Mom asked.
    “Yeah, but I think she’s worse off than ever. There are two dozen paintings of her attacker’s face she must’ve done this morning.”
    “Good.”
    “Good? They aren’t exactly the pretty star paintings she talks about wanting to get back to. They’re full of pain and grit and…” Fuck, his bear was doubling him over the wheel just thinking about it.
    “But she’s painting. She hasn’t been able to do that in three months. When someone like Brooke loses their creative outlet, all of that energy doesn’t just leave her. It’s still there, trapped and turning poisonous by the day. If she needs to paint her anger, fine. At least it’s a start. This is something she needs. She needs to work through this, or it could ruin her, Tagan. Not just her ability to make a living, but it could ruin her creativity. Turn it black and untrustworthy. Even from his grave, that criminal could take away her livelihood. Tagan,” she said, voice stony. “Don’t let that happen.”
    The line went dead.
    Tagan flipped the phone onto the passenger’s seat and scrubbed his free hand over his two-day stubble. He could barely keep his crew from tearing each other’s throats out when Jed was away, and now Brooke’s happiness rested on his shoulders? What if he screwed this up? What if she ended up hating him because of it? What if he pushed too hard, and she lost her love of painting completely?
    He knew exactly how important muses were. He’d been raised by an artist, after all. The urge that lived inside of Brooke, the one that told her she must create , was just as important as her talent to do so.
    He hit the gas as he blasted past a green sign that informed him Saratoga was twenty-five miles away.
    Whatever he had to do to help Brooke get her life back, he’d do it.

Chapter Six
    Brooke eyed the fabric swatches in the home improvement aisle at the general store on the main drag in town. It only sold two shades of blackout curtains, sky blue and sunny yellow.
    She’d had big plans to sleep in this morning after the late night she’d kept, but the blaring sunlight in her bedroom had other ideas. Her eyelids were probably sunburned from her attempt to ignore it. And then, out of frustration, she’d woken up and did something awful. Painted something awful. Lots of somethings.
    She’d never actually felt pain when she was painting before, but this morning, she’d almost made herself sick with the images of her attacker that flowed from her paintbrush and onto those canvases.
    She snatched a couple of packaged curtains in blue and tossed them into the cart. She made to speed off toward the art supplies section but pulled the cart to a stop and stared thoughtfully at a shelf of bathmats. A gold one kind of matched the baby-diarrhea-colored bathtub. She grabbed that and took another look down the aisle. It was kind of fun shopping for her trailer, now that she was going to stay for a while. A kitchen mat, a towel set for the bathroom, a miniature whicker trashcan, and a pair of soap dispensers later, Brooke was looking forward to decorating her little place. It had already been furnished when she came, but the little personal touches were missing. And the more she found enjoyment out of picking out those personal touches, the more 1010 felt like a home away from home.
    With her bags in hand, she stepped out of the general store and waved to an older man in coveralls who waved back. Without her asking, he grabbed the