Bearing It All (3 page)

Ronan gaped at her as she closed the bathroom door. Me God, she was a cautious somebody. He hadna given her any reason to fear him. What had her in a major self-protection mode? Just what the bloody hell was going on in her life? What the feckin' hell had happened to her that had her mistrusting everyone and anything? She hadna been like that when they knew each other in Paris.

She's ours. We'll protect her.

Ronan opened the cabinet in his room where he kept his shoe care kit. “She is not ours and it is not our bloody job to protect her. I'll give her a meal and a warm place to sleep tonight.”

With us. She is too ours!

God, Ronan could almost hear his bear stomp his furry foot.

Ronan's eldest brother's bear was a little on the timid side at times. His youngest brother's was bossy as hell. But Ronan's bear could go from playful to stubborn in a heartbeat. “Dinna get in one of yer snits. I'm not looking fer a woman. Ye ken that.”

Ronan slid the stool to his big chair over in front of the hearth and sat. He quickly dipped her boots in the water then began brushing away the muck and mud. Using his shoe brush, he cleaned her boots as best he could. All the while, he wondered how she, of all people, ended up here, of all places? Effie. The witch had to have had a gnarled, pink-polished fingernail in this weird situation. He nodded as he set the cleaned boots on the other side of the burning fire. Coincidences like this didna just happen. They were arranged. And Effie was the Queen Witch at arranging things. He did a quick rinse of her socks and flight suit, removing her badge before he shoved the outfit into the dirty water.

She hadna lied about her being in the military, but she had failed to mention she was Major Anisa Brosseau of the French DPSD, whatever the hell that was. The card held no reference of the CIA, so why had she even mentioned it after she fell on his bear? He glanced at the bathroom door—the shower running behind it—and scowled. Just what kind of business were she and the French government up to here in an isolated part of the Scottish Highlands? And what did she mean when she mentioned going against everything she believed in?

Canna ye see? She's scared outta her wits. She's running from someone or something. And so are ye. Ye're running from yer secret desire fer yer own family. We need to take care of her. She dropped from the sky just fer us. She's our mate, ye obstinate human. Ours!

Living with this bear since he'd begun shifting when he was ten, Ronan kent there was no use arguing when it got into a challenging mood like this. How could Ronan have an attraction to a woman he hadna seen in years and wasna so sure he trusted? That was more Creighton's style. Hadna his eldest brother fallen for the American animal communicator as soon as she arrived at the lodge?

Ronan emptied the pan outside, off the end of the porch, and rung out the flight suit and socks. He studied the clouds again, hanging heavy with snow. Back inside he refilled the pot with water and soap to soak the clothes overnight. To drown out the sound and his sensual visual of her taking a shower, he turned on the battery-operated radio and spun the dial to the channel normally heavy with news and weather. Just how much snow were they expecting?

Meanwhile, he'd heat some of the cock-a-leekie soup Cook Edweena sent along in her boxes of provisions. She always went into a cooking and baking frenzy when he said he was coming up here fer a few days.

Ronan looked at the small amount in the pot and added more fer himself. He and his surprise guest might as well eat together, strike up a conversation. Not knowing how long ago she'd eaten, he made Anisa a sandwich from the cold ham and cheese, slicing one of the long homemade rolls of wheat bread Cook also sent along.

The bathroom door opened and he looked over his shoulder. Bloody hell, he nearly dropped to his knees. If her pebbled nipples and the gentle sway of her large breasts were any indication when she walked, she wore no bra under her gray, long-sleeved Lycra top. Her tight pants were black Lycra and everything about her was firm, toned, and a feckin' hellacious turn-on. He'd always been attracted to the fuller figure. She kept fiddling with her short dark curls; “scrunching” his sister-in-law Kenzie called it.

Anisa sat on one of the two barstools. “Please tell me whatever it is you're heating is for me.”

He set the sandwich in front of her, which she almost snatched from his hands and all but inhaled.

“Coffee?”

She nodded, her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's.

“Black?”

She took another bite and nodded again.

He smiled and poured her a cup, sliding it across the counter with his finger lest she chew on his hand, too. After reaching fer two bowls from the shelves over the counter between the sink and the stove, he poured the soup, giving her the larger portion. “When was the last time ye ate?”

“
Déjeuner hier
…er…lunch yesterday. Sorry.” She gulped her coffee. “When I'm very tired, I often revert to my mother tongue.” She leaned over the soup and inhaled. “Smells divine. What is it?”

“Cock-a-leekie soup.” Ronan sat beside her on the other stool. Christ, she did smell like strawberries.

Her dark eyebrows wrinkled as she spooned up items in the thick broth. “Looks like chicken, leeks, and…and prunes?”

“Aye. Bloody good.” He dug in. “Cook Edweena at the lodge is an expert at making it.”

She took a tentative spoonful and moaned. “Oh,
c'est bon.
”

The music on the radio stopped. “The weather fer our part of the Highlands is cold, wind, and snow up to a giant's arse.” The announcer snickered at his own joke. “Temperatures will drop tonight. Bring yer firewood inside and make sure ye go easy on those generators so ye dinna run out of petrol. Here's a strange bit o' world news fer ya. Seems a Major Anisa Brosseau of the French DPSD, one of the intelligence agencies reporting directly to the Minister of Defense, has defected. The French, always one to favor alphabet soup,” the announcer all but sneered, “claims the DPSD handles counterintelligence, counterterrorism, and counter-subversion concerning national defense. Major Brosseau was part of the international coalition against terrorism, or ICAT.” The announcer chuffed a laugh. “Looks like this is one cat that got away. The CIA has labeled her a terrorist, armed and dangerous. Tracking gear in her stolen airplane shows she's flown into Scotland's airspace. Be on the lookout, folks. This sounds like someone we all need to arm ourselves against.” Ronan snapped off the radio and glared at her.

Her blue-eyed gaze rose to meet his. “That's me he's talking about, but only part of that report is true. I did not defect. I am not a terrorist. What I've done wrong, I've done to protect my life, not to benefit in any financial way or to harm France's national security.”

She's ours. Scots protect what's theirs.

Oh hell, his bear wouldna have any rest if he didna do something to keep her safe. Surprisingly, Ronan was of the same mind. There was a deep honesty in her expression and in her spunky nature. To say nothing of this grown Anisa being the same young woman he'd fallen so hard for seven years ago. He rested his elbows on the bar. “Do I have to worry about you putting a bullet in me head while I sleep?”

She gasped. “No. Of course not!”

“Is there any tracking gear on ye? In yer flight suit, yer helmet, yer boots? Do ye have a phone or laptop? Any way they can track where ye are? What about yer badge? Will ye ever need these things again? Can I throw them away somewhere?”

“The boots are the only footwear I have with me, but everything else in my uniform can go. I left my cellphone and laptop behind. What computer files I copied, I put on new portable drives I bought.” Her azure eyes searched his face. “Why are you helping me?”

“Because I don't want the French government or the CIA—whatever the fook they've got to do with this—stomping over me property. Once I do what I have to do, we're going to talk and ye're going to tell me the feckin' truth about what ye've been up to. With this being on the news, I better report in at home and let everyone know I'm okay. Me mum will have all kinds of wild horror stories fabricated in her mind.”

He went over to the old short-wave radio and turned it on, moving the dials until the squealing and cracking stopped. He gave his call numbers and those of the station at the lodge.

“Ronan?” A female's voice came over the speaker. “Are ye all right, son? I've been so worried with all the news, so I have.”

“Yes, Mum, I'm fine. We're supposed to get a big snowstorm the next few days and I thought I better check in before the snow gets so heavy, the radio waves willna get through. Did Kenzie deliver yet? She's been on me mind.”

“Nay, but she's ready. Getting bigger every day. Ronan, did ye see or hear an airplane crash? It's some kind of terrorist. A female. Can ye imagine?”

“Nay, I saw no airplane. I'm fine.” The static increased. “Is me favorite lassie about? Let me talk to her before I turn this thing off and bring in more firewood.” After teasing Colleen for a couple minutes, he signed off. “I dinna ken who's more excited about this bairn coming. The parents or the big sister. Colleen has even picked out the name for the wee bairn. Well, I've your things to dispose of.”

He reached for his heavy coat and hat, grabbed the kettle holding her socks and flight suit, and threw in her badge and helmet. “Do ye have anything else that might contain a GPS chip? What about that black contraption ye were flying?”

“I went over every inch of it—inside and out—to locate and remove all radar and GPS detectors. Since I'd designed where they were to go, I knew where most were. I did find three more someone else had inserted. Besides, drones are made to fly under radar. That's part of the beauty of their utility.”

She glanced at the items in the pan. “What are you going to do with these things? Just tossing them in the woods somewhere won't do the trick. They'll have to be destroyed and buried deep.” She moved to stand in front of him, her eyes huge and full of concern. “I didn't mean to bring trouble to you. I was just trying to escape what I knew was death or a torturous lifetime in jail for me.”

“Hold the door open so I can carry this stuff out. Throw another log on the fire. Instead of using the dryer, hang your clothes on hangers once they're washed. If a storm blows in, we'll need all the petrol I've brought for the generator.”

He'd rather be bringing in firewood, but the need to hide anything that might point to Anisa's identity or location had to be destroyed first. As soon as he reached the area where he'd dumped the first pan of bog water, he emptied the pan again to make it lighter.

Behind the cabin was a supply shed. Flashlight in hand, he unlocked it and searched the shelves fer containers of what he needed. He grabbed two liter-sized containers of sodium hydroxide and hydrofluoric acid and carried them back to where he'd set the tub. He placed them in the pot with her helmet and other items, and strode with determination for the bog.

Just his damn luck. A woman drops from the sky and she's a defector or a spy or someone who's gone against her government in some way. A woman he'd once cared for. He'd come up to his private cabin for a week of unwinding, of letting his bear run. To give his other half a treat of total freedom. What did he get? This feckin' mess.

Ronan kneeled along the bog's edge, wishing he'd worn jeans as he mixed the two acids in the pot, but not before pulling a knife from his jacket pocket to cut out the lining of Anisa's helmet. He found a couple of weird-looking wired apparatuses. They were easy to snap apart in the freezing temperatures. Once the acids hit the fabric of her flight suit and badge, he stirred with thick branches that soon disappeared, too. Her helmet would be a challenge.

Shift. Let me tear it to pieces so the acids work quicker.

Ronan was too cold to argue. Shifting in his clothes would only rip them to bits, so he quickly undressed and gave his bear full rein to change shape. A shimmer of iridescent transposing cosmic waves, a whirlwind of mind and soul continuum, and he shifted from man to bear.

Once Anisa's things were dissolved, the bear found a large rock to roll against the decaying pan until it fell in the bog. He grabbed a broken tree limb and pushed it farther into the thick muddy mixture. In a couple of minutes, everything was immersed.

We need to hide we were here.
Ronan's bear dragged a few twigs and leaves to where they'd worked. He also tossed a few stones around.

Good job. Let's shift back so I can carry in wood fer a few days.
Cosmic waves shimmered again. Bones cracked as they changed shape. The bear's snout flattened. His ears moved and his fur retracted. Naked, on his hands and knees, Ronan gasped, as his human-sized heart worked to a beat fer his size, and winced as body systems began functioning to keep a human alive. Although the mutation took less than a minute, a time of discomfort existed with the acute awareness of his newly shifted being. And damn he was cold.

Ronan quickly dressed and ran for the woodpile on the side of the cabin. He filled one side of the porch with chopped wood before he carried an armful inside. He expected to find Anisa asleep on the sofa, but gentle snoring came from his big comfy chair. She had a blanket he kept across the back of the sofa wrapped around her. Evidently, she'd been waiting up for him to return and fell asleep.

Before bringing in more wood and waking her in the process, he'd better make her a warm spot on the sofa. Gathering a pillow and some blankets from a closet, he quickly fixed her a bed. He scooped her warm body into his arms and murmured words of security to her when she stirred. Once he laid her on the sofa, he covered her. She moaned about everyone watching her and then drifted back into a deep slumber.