Target: BillionBear: BBW Bear Shifter Paranormal Romance by Zoe Chant Read Free Book Online Page A

excellent for you. I’ll settle up here.”
    “See you later. Good luck,” he said.
    Jameson got outside and drew in a deep breath. He felt . . . restless. Maybe that was a result of flushing the meds down the toilet these past couple of days. How did he really know that that was a good idea? He no longer needed the painkillers, but maybe the other stuff would help his brain recover memories?
    He set out at a brisk walk down the street. Stretching his legs felt good, but that sense that he needed to . . . do a sweep caused him to turn his head slightly, scanning his periphery. It was strange, how instinct kept him from looking around obviously, but before he could put himself through the usual mental runaround, he caught sight of a reflection in the huge window of a bike sales and repair shop. The high hills on the other side of the street jutted along the top of the reflection, with regular bumps along it.
    Jameson drew nearer, and recognized those bumps: guys in dark colors, sitting on top of heavy motorcycles, looking down on the town. At that moment he registered the almost subliminal rumble of idling motorcycle engines, drifting on the slow sea air from above.
    Jameson got that weird feeling, as if a target had been painted on his back, and shook off the feeling irritably. Obviously he was imagining things because of that hole in his mind. Why would anyone be interested in him—assuming they even knew who or where he was?
    He forced his attention away as he passed the bike shop, and looked along the quiet street.
    The town was tiny. He liked that. He also liked the look of the buildings. Marlo had commented on their arrival about how shabby and rundown it was, but he liked the weatherworn structures—each different, but all with a kind of nineteenth-century flavor to them. He passed the grocery store, a bike shop, a barber shop, a hardware store with gold miner mannequins in the front window, advertising goods of a century previous, like washboards and lye soap and Makassar Oil.
    Next down, on the corner at the only other stoplight, was a store with a slightly different feel, called Flying Cranes. He glanced in the windows. Books. Ceramic items. ‘Pottery.’ Kesley had said that, hadn’t she?
    He peered inside, and caught sight of Kesley carrying a tray of ceramic teapots into the store.
    He paused to watch as she set the tray down on a counter, where a woman holding a tablet waited. She looked like a buyer, the way she pored over the trays of teapots and cups, occasionally making notes on the tablet.
    Jameson watched Kesley and the buyer talking, each nodding, or pointing at this or that example. He smiled, surprised to catch himself smiling. It was the way Kesley tilted her head a little, her bright-eyed, friendly look, the graceful play of her hands. He found he was even charmed by a splash of pink paint on her cheek, and other paint splotches on the apron she wore over her bulky shirt and cargo pants.
    Then the buyer turned away, pulling out her cell. Kesley raised her head—and their eyes met through the window. Jameson’s breath caught in his chest as her whole face brightened in a quick, inadvertent smile before it smoothed to mere politeness.
    She followed the buyer to the door. The latter barely glanced at Jameson as she passed him, talking on the phone, “Yes, I got the price down. They can deliver by the end of the month . . .” She vanished around the corner.
    “I didn’t expect to see you here,” Kesley said, question quirking her brows.
    Jameson was aware of that distant sound of revving engines getting closer. Instinctively he stepped between Kesley and the street, his mind caught between her sudden bright smile and wondering if it was too soon to ask her out.
    Then he registered the fast approach of motorcycles.
    Really fast.
    He turned his head to guard Kesley, and shock stilled him for a single heartbeat as he tried to register the low-bent rider heading straight toward him.
    Then two