Husband Fur Hire (Bears Fur Hire #1)(8)

Cole charged, but Ian was ready for him now and pissed as all get-out that he was so badly injured going into this. He batted him down and lunged. Engaging, they both snarled and snapped and bit and clawed, ripping into each other in a battle to the death.

It didn’t last long after that. Ian was quick—a skilled killer. Just the snap of his neck, and Cole was done. As Ian paced a tight circle around the body to make sure the wolf’s chest didn’t rise again, a deluge of emotion washed through him. Anger that Cole had talked so freely about hurting Elyse and the little girl. Pity that Cole had tried to save himself with love but had been unsalvageable. Regret that he was the one who had to end a life. Relief that it was done.

Ian forced himself back into his human skin. He wished he could explore these woods as a bear, but there was work to do. He had to bury the dead, or he couldn’t live with the lives he had to take. He had to break through still frozen ground to dig a grave, and he had to make it back to his plane before the wild wolves came out hunting for the night.

But before all of that, he had to make a couple of calls from the satellite phone he’d brought.

The first went to voicemail, as it always did, because his * brother, Tobias, didn’t ever bother to pick up his calls. He left a message—a short, sweet, to-the-point warning. Hopefully Tobias would check it at some point.

On the second call, his brother Jenner answered. “What?”

“Hey to you, too.” A soft, impatient rumble filled the line so Ian told him, “I just killed a McCall on order.”

“So?”

“So Miller made a threat against you and Tobias. Just thought I should warn you.”

Jenner made a single clicking sound across the line. “I’m offended you think Miller and his pack of pups is anything to warn us about.”

Looking down at the freely bleeding gashes that covered his ribcage, then the giant red smears in the snow near his feet, Ian huffed a quick breath of steam and nodded. “Stupid me. How is everything else”—the line went dead—“going?”

Fantastic. As always, a pleasurable experience talking with his brother.

Ian chucked the phone into his bag and hooked his hands on his hips as he looked down at the dead wolf. At least Cole’s brothers had cared enough to make a threat against him.

The McCalls were bat-shit crazy, but they were loyal.

At least Cole died knowing that someone in the world had his back.

Ian winced and dragged his gaze away from the limp gray and cream-colored wolf. He redressed slowly, careful of his gaping side. It would heal soon enough, but it hurt like hell right now, and sure as anything, the heavy iron scent of his blood would bring in the predators.

A little more effort, and this would be behind him. He could call Clayton, tell him it was done, and hope that was the last enforcer job he got this season.

The hunt was over, and now he could get back to his life.

Eat, sleep, fly, deliver, prepare for next winter, and above it all…forget about Elyse Abram.





Chapter Four


Elyse cocked her eyebrow at the seventy-five-year-old mountain man doing his best to convince her he would make the perfect homesteader husband. Even if she could ignore his foul odor, she couldn’t ignore the three pain pills he’d popped in the last fifteen minutes or the deep limp he blamed on a bum back.

She wasn’t going to do this again, choose someone who wouldn’t pull their weight. The entire point of her putting an ad out for a helpmate was so that she didn’t have to run this place alone. She wasn’t looking to be pampered, but she wasn’t tacking on more work than this man was worth, either.

A strong back. That was the first requirement she’d listed in the ad, so why had she interviewed three lame men now? Because apparently the only ones who took a husband-for-hire advertisement seriously in modern times were drunkards, moochers, and men old enough to fart dust who were tired of living alone. One of them had even called her his “retirement plan.” Hell nope.

“Thanks for coming by, Mr. Daltry. I’ll be sure to keep you in mind when I make my final decision.”

He was murmuring incomprehensibly as he listed all of his finer qualities, too fast for her to understand, but she was pretty sure she heard him say, “I only drink on weekdays” as she led him gently to the door.

And when she finally closed it on him and his truck engine roared to life, she rested her forehead on the rough wood of her door and sighed. Seven months since Cole had left, four months since his brother, Miller, had informed her that he’d died in the backcountry from a bear attack, and now it felt like she would never feel normal again. Tears stung her eyes as she pulled the newspaper off the table by the door. She had the damned thing memorized, but re-read it anyway. She had a couple of months left of warm weather, but she was so far behind on stocking up for winter, she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. Perhaps if she re-worded the advertisement again.



Husband for Hire

Good Alaskan man wanted. Must have strong back. Hunter preferable and bonus points for good marksmanship. Must not be prone to cabin fever and must be self-entertaining. Works well under stress for long hours. Good hygiene. Romantics need not apply.



Any longer and she’d have to pay for a bigger ad, and she was low on money as it was.

A knock sounded on the door, and she tried not to groan out loud. The damned barrier wasn’t sealed well, and old man Daltry would hear her. Perhaps he’d left his pain pills on the chair he’d sat in, or perhaps he was back because he’d just remembered some fascinating tidbit that would be sure to change her mind.