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

her, close enough to touch and lowered his voice. “I know it cost you to start painting again, especially like that. I’m proud you’re facing your demons, Brooke.”
    “You don’t think…” How could she ask his opinion without seeming needy? How did she tell him his thoughts on her work meant more than the art critic’s write-ups in her local newspaper? How could she stand here, looking at this almost stranger, and tell him his views on those paintings, the ones she planned on never showing anyone, meant the world to her? “Do you think I’m crazy now?”
    “Because of what I saw in those paintings? No. I think you’re hurt, and I think that asshole deserved to be painted like you did. I didn’t like the subject of them, but anyone with eyes in their head can see you are an artist, and a good one at that. Keep painting that man, or paint stars or horses or jack-a-lopes, I don’t care. I just think it’s good that you’re painting.”
    Pride surged through her, spreading outward from her middle until she was warmed with it. He got it. This man who worked with his hands all day. This man who was caked in dirt, contrasting against the clean, white linoleum tiles beneath their feet. This rough-around-the-edges, tatted-up country boy understood her in a way no one ever had before, and perhaps in a way no one ever would again.
    “It means a lot that you said that,” she admitted quietly. Without thinking, she reached forward and brushed a spot of dried mud off his forearm. His muscles bunched and tensed, startling her, and when she glanced up, he looked just as rocked as she felt. Holding her breath, she rested the palm of her hand against his arm and left it there, daring him to jerk away from her. He didn’t. Instead, he pulled her other hand to his lips, and brushed a light kiss across her knuckles. His eyes were so intense, they almost seemed to change colors in the fluorescent lighting. His lips were soft against her skin as he lingered there. “We’re friends,” he said, dropping her hands gently to her sides. “Touch me like that, and I’ll want more.” It sounded like a threat the way he said it.
    Without another word, he pushed his cart forward and left her there, knees unsteady and warmth pooling between her legs.
    She stared at the small mountain of bacon in her cart with wide eyes and rubbed her tingling knuckles where he’d kissed them.
    He made it sound like a bad thing, him wanting more, but to her, it sounded just right.
    ****
    Brooke parked in front of her trailer and stared out the side window in disbelief. Bruiser leaned against the fence near the front entry sign watching Denison glide over a gravelly clearing behind a white, jacked-up monster truck. Haydan, Drew, and Kellen were hootin’ and hollerin’ from the bed of the truck while Connor was driving donuts on what looked like an old, oversize basketball court.
    “Is Denison skiing?” she asked as she approached.
    “They found a pair in the storage closet in the office,” Bruiser said, bending at the waist until he rested his weight onto the rickety, splintered fence.
    From here, she could make out the skis on Denison’s feet as he held onto a rope. Sparks were flying from the backs of the skis. “Aren’t they worried about starting a fire?”
    “Nah, it’s too wet. Won’t catch.”
    She giggled as Denison wobbled.
    “Straighten out, you pussy!” Haydan yelled, then they all burst out laughing as Connor jerked the wheel, and Denison flew sideways, losing control.
    He landed hard in the grass, but none of them even waited to see if he was okay before Drew was out of the truck and pulling the skis off Denison’s feet. “My turn,” he declared.
    By the time all of the men had a turn, Brooke was nearly crying with laughter. As she wheezed and doubled over, Bruiser clapped her on the back and boomed a laugh right along with her.
    “Idiots,” he said, wiping moisture from the outside corners of his eyes.
    “They’re