Hunter Bear: BBW Bear Shifter Paranormal Romance (Enforcer Bears Book 2) Read online

  Hunter Bear

  Enforcer Bears #2

  By Zoe Chant

  Copyright Zoe Chant 2016

  All Rights Reserved

  Author’s Note

  This book stands alone. However, it’s part of Enforcer Bears, a series about the bear shifters of Linden Creek. If you’d like to read the series in order, the first book is Bear Cop.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One: Cleo

  Chapter Two: Steven

  Chapter Three: Cleo

  Chapter Four: Steven

  Chapter Five: Cleo

  Chapter Six: Steven

  Chapter Seven: Cleo

  Chapter Eight: Steven

  Chapter Nine: Cleo

  Chapter Ten: Steven

  Chapter Eleven: Cleo

  A note from Zoe Chant

  More Paranormal Romance by Zoe Chant

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  Chapter One

  Cleo

  “Here it is.”

  Cleo Waters sighed as she looked at the house in front of her. She’d known that it would need a lot of work, but in her mind, it had always remained the charming little house of her childhood.

  Her mother's parents had lived out here in the woods since before Cleo was born. When they had died several years ago, her parents had kept using the house as a vacation home. But now that her parents were getting older, they couldn’t deal with all the work the house needed.

  “Are you sure you’ll be OK?” her cousin Sidney asked. “I’ve got the entire weekend off. The library is closed until Tuesday because we’re getting new windows in. I could drive out tomorrow and help…”

  Sidney’s voice trailed off as she looked at the overgrown porch and the paint flaking from the wooden walls.

  “I’ll be fine.” Cleo forced herself to sound optimistic.

  In truth, she was a bit shocked by just how different this place looked. In her childhood, the house by the lake had been the home of a hundred happy memories of holidays with her grandparents. Now the place looked… abandoned. Dead.

  Like my heart, she thought, and then had to smile at herself.

  It would be all right. After all, this was what she had wanted, a month or two out here in the forests of Linden Creek. She needed solitude to recharge, and afterward, to rebuild her broken life.

  The little house was hers: her grandmother had left it to her. It meant that there was no rent to pay, and if she could restore it, she could rent it out to tourists later when she was ready to move on with her life.

  She grimaced when she spied a large envelope waiting on the porch, bearing the familiar logo of Jeremiah Higgins, the man who’d kept buying up houses in the area until almost the entire lake belonged to him.

  But I’m not selling. The house is mine now, and I’m staying until I can draw again.

  “Call me if you need anything. Or if you just want to talk,” Sidney said and took her hand. “I mean it, OK?”

  At the gentle squeeze, Cleo suddenly found herself overwhelmed by gratitude. Maybe she should have come back sooner. Somehow in the city it had been easy to forget that she had friends out here.

  “I promise, Sid. And—I really appreciate it. You know that, right?”

  Sidney smiled and then drew her into a sudden, firm hug. “I know. And I’m really glad you’re back. And if it gets too lonely out here…”

  Cleo laughed. “Actually I doubt I’ll have time to feel lonely. Look at all the work I’ve got lined up! But I’ll probably drive into town tomorrow to get more groceries. I’ll make sure to say hi.”

  “OK.” Sidney released her, still looking a little worried.

  Cleo couldn’t really fault her for that. The work that was waiting for her looked daunting. There was just so much to do… She wasn’t even sure where to start.

  At last, after she’d said goodbye to Sidney, she began by carrying her bags onto the porch. The driveway that used to be gravel in her childhood was now covered with moldy leaves and grass, and a few saplings had begun to take over what space they could find.

  Weeding. Another item for my list.

  Sidney had helped her out by transporting the tools that didn’t fit into Cleo’s own small car by using the library’s van. Now, next to the bags that held the clothes, books and drawing supplies Cleo had brought, there was also an impressive heap of tubs of paint, polish, sandpaper, brushes, a hundred different cleaning utensils, as well as the library’s old industrial strength vacuum.

  Cleo sighed again. This wasn’t where she had thought she’d end up. How strange to think that just a few months ago, she’d opened a successful art exhibition at the side of the man whom she’d loved.

  And now here she was, in the middle of nowhere, with a derelict old house in a forest, an ex who had broken her heart and left her, and so much sadness bottled up inside her that every time she took up a brush, she started to cry.

  “Well, there’ll be lots of painting here,” she said out loud, her voice echoing in the small clearing. “I’ll just get it all out of my system.”

  There was no answer but the wind rustling in the leaves. She took a deep breath, and then a reluctant smile appeared on her face.

  Maybe her old life had crashed and burned. Maybe her dreams would never come true now.

  But it felt good to be back where she had spent her holidays as a child. And it was good to have a task. One small step at a time.

  And the first step was to see just how bad it looked inside…

  ***

  Exhausted and sweaty, Cleo slumped into a kitchen chair.

  It wasn’t quite as bad as it had seemed from the outside. Her parents had taken good care of the place, back when they’d still come out here for a weekend every now and then. But it was very apparent that no one had been by in quite a long time. Everything was covered in dust. There were still boxes full of her grandparents’ things that her parents hadn’t known what to do with. At least Cleo hadn’t discovered any leaks, which was good because she didn’t feel up to fixing a roof all on her own, and she didn’t have a lot of money to spare now that she was without a job.

  I could probably still sell some of my old paintings, she thought as she eyed the old kitchen. But then I might run into Walter…

  They’d been together for years. They’d both worked at the same gallery. He’d already been successful as an artist when she started. She’d looked up to him.

  His attention felt so good. And then… Then he had his big break-through, and suddenly I’m no longer good enough.

  Could artists have a midlife crisis? Walter hadn’t gone and bought an expensive car. But as soon as his art attracted the attention of a big collector, Walter had abandoned ship as if he’d waited for that moment all along. He’d quit the gallery, sold the apartment Cleo had shared with him for two years, took the first flight out of the city and was now seen partying at all the important exhibitions and gallery openings in the world, as the newspapers continually reminded her.

  Most importantly, he’d abandoned Cleo. He hadn’t even had the decency to look guilty when he’d broken up with her.

  I guess I should be happy he didn’t just send me a text from the airport.

  Every time she thought of it, she felt new anger rise up.

  “I need to follow my dreams, Cleo. I know you’ll understand that,” he had said. He’d given her a condescending smile, already wearing a brand-new Armani suit and new designer glasses, his hair carefully combed and gelled to hide how it h
ad begun to thin at his temples. “Really, you would do the same.”

  Would she have done the same? She couldn’t say. She hated that he’d left her like that. She should be angry at what an asshole he’d been—and she was angry!

  But he’d also left her questioning herself. Would she take a chance like that? Would she throw her entire life away to grab at that chance of becoming a celebrity of the art world?

  No, she told herself, even as she stared at the sketchbook resting untouched on the table.

  Maybe it was easy for her to say so, because no one had offered her that chance. But if someone had—she couldn’t have abandoned Walter. She’d loved him. Or she had thought that it was love. Apparently he hadn’t thought the same.

  With a sigh, she reached for her sketchbook and a pen.

  She was exhausted. She hadn’t felt inspired to draw in months. But art wasn’t just about inspiration. Art often meant to simply force herself to sit down and start. Then, soon enough, often something would take over, an idea would spark, and—

  She clenched her teeth when she realized that the forms she had been tracing on the paper had taken on the unmistakable shape of Walter’s head.

  “There. That’s how much you mean to me,” she said out loud when she tore the page out of her sketchbook and ripped it in two.

  Phew. That felt good.

  She stared at the pieces in her hand. It seemed that even here, it wasn’t as easy to let go as she had hoped.

  “Maybe burning the bastard will help,” she murmured and walked over to the old fireplace. That hadn’t been used in a long while either, but it was clean. Whenever her parents had last been here, they must have swept out the cold ashes.

  Maybe she’d light a fire tonight. It wasn’t cold, but an evening in front of the fire, watching a sketch of Walter burn, seemed the best entertainment she could get out here.

  Taking a deep breath, she straightened. There was a basket with kindling on the mantelpiece, and she’d found a pile of dry firewood in the small shack behind the house earlier. Now all she needed was a glass of wine to keep her company for the burning of her past life and feelings, and then—

  Cleo frowned. There was something else on the mantelpiece, hidden almost completely beneath the basket of kindling. When she moved it to the side, she saw that it was a letter—and that was her name on it, in the familiar, somewhat shaky script of her grandmother.

  Cleo swallowed when sudden tears rose to her eyes.

  It had been years now. She’d accepted it long ago. She knew her Grandma wouldn’t want her to be sad. She’d been one of the happiest people Cleo had known, always supportive and as generous with her smiles as she was with her cookies. She’d loved the lake and the little house in the forest. She’d been the one to first teach Cleo how to paint, and encouraged her to pursue a career in the arts even when her parents were skeptical.

  Cleo smiled through the tears, looking up at the portrait of a bear drinking from a pond with a waterfall cascading down. Her grandmother had painted gorgeous landscapes, although she’d never sold one. She hadn’t liked the thought of letting strangers see her art—and yet, she’d been so proud when Cleo had her first small exhibitions in college.

  “I miss you, Grandma,” Cleo said softly as she took up the letter. “I wish you were here now. You’d make me feel better about Walter. Or feed me cookies until I forgot how to be sad.”

  Beneath her name, it said “Leave for Cleo to find.”

  Was that why her parents had not given her the letter? But why would her Grandma do such a thing? This made no sense. Her Grandma had written a will, leaving the house to Cleo. She’d been a resolute woman who had wanted everything well settled after her death. She’d never been one for mysteries or secrets. Then why this letter?

  Cleo stared at it as if it might bite her. Slowly, she returned to her chair. There were no other hints apart from that strange command.

  “Leave for Cleo to find… Did you know I would return here, Grandma?”

  Of course she did, Cleo chided herself. She left me the house. She wanted me to come back here. But did she suspect that it would take me so long…?

  She opened the envelope carefully. Inside, there was a folded sheet of paper. She prepared herself for a letter, still teary at this sudden find—but when she unfolded the sheet, she could not quite make sense of what she saw.

  It was a drawing. She frowned at the black lines that formed shapes she couldn’t quite make sense of. Was this a joke…?

  Then, suddenly, she realized what it was she held in her hands.

  She turned the paper. Now, the lines began to form paths and the small scribbles turned into tiny pictures.

  It’s a map!

  There was the house and the lake with the two tiny islands at the center. There was the creek where she’d often gone fishing with her Grandpa. There was the hill where in the winter, when it was covered in snow, they’d gone sledding.

  But there were other symbols that made no sense.

  The X marks the spot.

  Wasn’t that how treasure maps worked in pirate movies? There was an X. But her Grandpa was no pirate and they had no treasure. Furthermore, she didn’t recognize any of the landmarks her grandmother had drawn that led to the X.

  With a frustrated sound she put the map back down.

  “Well, that just makes absolutely no sense, Grandma! Why did you leave that to me?”

  She looked around. She could still remember the smell of cookies baking in the oven, her Grandma singing along to an old song on the radio while Cleo had drawn pictures with her crayons. Now the house felt empty and silent. No one answered her.

  Finally she shook her head and put the map back inside the envelope. It would have to be a mystery for another day. For now, she wanted to take a quick walk to the lake, and then maybe get another room uncluttered before it was time for dinner.

  ***

  The lake was just as she remembered. Everything was silent, except for the sound of wind in the trees and distant birdsong. Even the old boat was still tied up in the now rather ramshackle boat house.

  Cleo walked past the small pier from which they’d dived into the lake as children.

  The forest was not as dense here, and the shore stony. It was possible to make it halfway around the lake just by hopping from stone to stone. At least that was what they had tried to do as children, but they had never made it further than to the next inlet.

  The inlet! Cleo stopped when she suddenly realized that she’d seen it drawn on the map. It had been close to a symbol that had to be a waterfall.

  Memories came rushing back. Following the creek upstream would eventually lead to a small pond, and that pond in turn was filled by a small waterfall that came cascading down from the rocks.

  As children, they’d played at catching frogs in the pond. More often than not, it had ended with one of them toppling inside.

  Cleo grinned and wondered if Sidney still remembered how one day, she’d emerged from the water with a huge, brown toad sitting on top of her head. They’d had so much fun here. And now that Cleo had returned as an adult, the lake and the forest had not changed at all. How strange it felt to explore those old paths and remember how exciting their adventures had seemed as children.

  I’m the one who has changed, she thought as she began to follow the creek away from the lake. As a child, I always wanted to draw. But I also thought I’d have adventures. And I thought I’d always be happy when I was grown up.

  It hadn’t been that easy. She’d followed her dreams—but where had that led her? With her creativity run dry, her heart broken, and everything she believed in shattered.

  I trusted him, she thought, anger welling up once more. That’s what hurts the most. It’s not just that he broke my heart.

  He’d also broken the part of her that had known how to trust.

  I’m not making that mistake again. I don’t want to be cast aside for someone’s dream.

  She had once
thought that she was Walter’s dream… But clearly she’d been wrong.

  Then she snorted. Maybe there wouldn’t even be a chance to make such a mistake again. Maybe she wouldn’t ever find someone who’d love her, the awkward artist with too many pounds on her hips and the impossible dreams.

  I’m definitely not finding anyone out here in the forest.

  Maybe it should feel scary to face two months of loneliness—but it was exactly what she needed right now. And out here, with only the trees and the sound of the waterfall for company, she’d soon forget all about her old life. She didn’t want any more heartbreak and pain. All she wanted was to find that part of her again where her creativity had gone to hide.

  Then she walked out from beneath the trees, the small clearing with the pond opening up before her, and she gasped audibly.

  There was a naked man bathing beneath the waterfall.

  Cleo blinked, and stared, and blinked again.

  The naked man was still there. And he looked… amazing! That was the only word that came to mind.

  His skin was glistening with water. His shoulders were broad and his arms heavily muscled. His hair was a dark brown, nearly black from the water of the waterfall that kept pouring all over those strong shoulders, and Cleo couldn’t look away.

  It didn’t feel real. Surely it couldn’t be real. These things only happened in movies!

  The sun was gleaming on his tanned skin. There was a line of scars on his back, long, red scratches at a regular distance, as if some wild animal had mauled him once.

  Cleo couldn’t look away. She knew she should feel scared—a stranger, naked, all the way out here in the forest!

  But there was something else inside her that didn’t feel panic. It was as if suddenly, someone had flicked a switch, and the empty, dark part inside her had suddenly been filled with light.

  I want to draw him.

  That’s what she was feeling. Her fingers were itching for a pencil and her sketchbook.

  She had never seen anything like it before: the sunlight reflecting from the myriads of tiny drops of water in the air as the waterfall cascaded down onto his body from the rock above him. The way his muscles flexed as he moved, the strength of his body and the ease of his movements, the way everything seemed to have come together for one single moment to spell out perfection: sunlight, water, and the sheer, heart-stopping physicality of his hard, masculine body.