Boarlander Beast Boar (Boarlander Bears #4)(6)

“Nah. Bad genetics I guess.”

“H-how did you find out?”

Mason pulled forward another car-length and rested his arm on the open window. “Because I failed to breed my mate, and then I failed with two sows after her. Three strikes, and you’re a barrow.”

Her voice dipped to a devastated whisper. “But why do they call you The Barrow?”

Mason gave her a glance over his shoulder that clenched her stomach. His eyes had darkened to a soft, chocolate brown, but were now full of ghosts. “Because I was supposed to be alpha over all my people. No more questions, Beck. I’m not a fan of revisiting my past.”

And with that, Mason turned around, closed down, and hit the volume on the radio to drown out any further conversation. Beck rubbed her palm where she’d touched his warm arm. It was still tingling and hot for reasons she couldn’t explain.

And as she looked down at her planner with the chaotic scribbles, she knew this wasn’t just a job anymore. It was personal now. Mason had been through enough. He was a real person with deep, hidden aches. She couldn’t do anything for his past, or his childless future, but she could fight for reprieve from the muck that had been raining down on him and the other shifters in Damon’s mountains.





Chapter Three


Outside the window, the buildings, streets, and protesters had given way to backroads and pine wilderness. Beck had been on the phone for a half hour working, but now she was caught up and the quiet was starting to get to her. Mason hadn’t even eaten his food, so there was no crinkle of paper, no slurp of strawberry shake to fill the emptiness. He’d even turned down the radio, probably to let her talk on her cell easier.

“Are you always the strong silent type?” she asked.

“It’s part of the job description. I’m paid to drive, not carry on conversation.”

“I have a car of my own, you know. It’s just in the shop. Cracked engine block and bad belt and a bunch of other things I’m pretty sure the mechanic just made up. Ripey’s Auto Repair should be called Rip-Off’s Auto Repair. My Explorer was just making a funny sound, so I took it in and, all the sudden, it wasn’t safe to drive and has a billion things wrong with it. And he’s charging me an astronomical amount. The mechanic says it’ll be another two weeks before I get it back, so I had to take a shuttle service to Saratoga, but the driver said he wouldn’t take me any farther than town because the mountains were haunted.”

Mason kept his eyes on the road, didn’t respond in any way. Determined to get back to the chatty Mason she’d talked to earlier, she gathered all her paperwork in the back seat into the right folders, then unbuckled and crawled ungracefully into the front seat. Beck pulled the belt over her lap and clicked it into place. “I thought I was sterile, too. I had a big cyst on my ovaries when I was sixteen and had to have surgery, so only one side works, and even before that I had a condition that makes my cycles patchy at best.”

Mason tossed her a quick, bland look, so she said, “Right. Too much information.”

A few more minutes of quiet drifted by, and she had to stifle the urge to open the window just to hear the wind.

“I’m divorced,” she blurted out.

“Then why are you wearing that big ol’ sparkler on your ring finger?” he asked as he pulled off onto a muddy dirt road.

“Because it’s kind of new.” She cleared her throat. “Actually, that’s a lie. I’ve been divorced for over a year, and before that we were separated for two. And when we were married…well…he didn’t come home much.”

Mason pulled to a stop right before an old, creaky bridge, cut the engine, and got out. Oookaay. She startled when he appeared at her window and pulled open the door. Without a word, he yanked off her heels, unbuckled her, and scooped her up, then carried her to a wooden bench beside the bridge that overlooked a gently rolling river. “I’m hungry,” he grunted.

“Oh, you don’t like people eating in your new, fancy truck?”

“If I cared about that, I wouldn’t have let you sit on my seats in your muddy clothes.”

She looked down at her stained pants. Well, he had a point. Mason jogged back to the truck and returned with the bags of their food. His burgers and fries had to be cold by now, but when he sat down beside her and dug in, he didn’t seem to mind. He gulped a bite and relaxed, one long leg stretched out on the soft earth. “You look young to be divorced.”

Beck poured dressing over her salad and grimaced. “Divorces happen all the time now, don’t you know? It doesn’t care about age. I’m twenty-seven.”

“How old is your boy?”

“Five,” she said through a smile. She loved thinking about Ryder.

Mason’s eyes were glued to the curve of her lips. Self-conscious under his gaze, she turned her attention back to stirring up her salad. “His daddy is no good, but Ryder is everything bright in my life. I had him when I was twenty-two. He wasn’t planned, nor did I plan on anything long-term with Robbie, but we got married because that’s what our parents said we were supposed to do.”

“Ryder is a good name.”

“You want to see a picture of him?”

Mason’s lips turned up in a slight smile, the happy expression there and gone in an instant. “Sure.”