Tracking the Bear (Blue Ridge Bears Book 1)(7)

I sighed and turned to fly back toward the bed and breakfast. I had a long day ahead, and at least another few days travel before I reached my next destination. There would be over two thousand miles to search, and only a few weeks in which to search it.

I reached my body as the sun rose. I opened my eyes and the weariness in my limbs nearly dragged me into unconsciousness. I groaned and levered myself into a sitting position. The eight hour drive didn’t seem as manageable from this side of the mortal plane.

“I need coffee,” I groaned, getting to my feet.

And Lucy. My bear chimed in unhelpfully. I scowled.

“Coffee first,” I muttered to it. “Lucy later.”

But even I didn’t agree with that set of priorities. I had to leave, though. I had to eliminate this threat. I had to make the world a safer place to live for my mate.

Lucy would wait.





Chapter Three


Lucy


I woke up with a crick in my neck and a renewed throbbing in my bad leg. I’d slept for about three hours in the back of my car, clutching the suitcase to my chest like a teddy bear in case someone tried to break in. I had no idea who would be desperate enough to steal the junk heap I called a car, but it was Fairchild.

I groaned and tried to roll over, nearly falling of the seat as I did. Three hours sleep was not enough, but my leg wasn’t going to take the cramped position for much longer. I opened the door to the backseat and crawled out onto the parking lot. Pete’s wasn’t going to open again until ten, and I’d need to be long gone by then if I wanted to make it to Columbus before dark.

I’d probably burned all bridges with Randy by calling him at four in the morning to quit my job at Pete’s Bar and Grill. It had seemed like the only reasonable thing to do at the time because the journey to and from Ohio would take a few days, not to mention the time spent trying to convince him to go back to school the following semester.

I didn’t know what could possibly motivate this sudden decision. Luke was only a semester away from graduation. He’d been so close to the end, why would he have just given up?

I stood and stretched, wincing a little as my back popped. I laid out my pans for the day. I needed to let my bank know I’d be out of state. The last thing I needed was to have them freeze my card when I stopped for gas.

I rummaged in the pockets of the jeans I’d worn the night before, drawing out my keys. I climbed into the front seat and leaned my head against the wheel. This trip was insane. If Luke refused I’d wasted days, and I’d lost any semblance of a life or home in Fairchild. As always though, I was stepping in to save my baby brother. If I had to be the grownup, so be it.

I started the car and backed out of the lot slowly. My car spluttered and wheezed but eventually I coaxed it up to highway speed on the road out of town. I spotted Mr. Lonesome’s bright red muscle car at the gas station on the way out of town and I realized with a pang that he was leaving. I’d likely never see him again. I had the fleeting urge to turn around. I could afford to get coffee and breakfast with him couldn’t I?

I shook my head. That was ridiculous. He was leaving. That was probably best. Now was not the time to go on a date. I had a brother to track down.

The morning was warm and humid, and I knew it would be an absolute misery to be in the car by noon. The windows, the ones that were intact, didn’t roll down. The air conditioning was a joke. Not even the radio worked. This trip was going to be a silent, sweaty affair. Damn Luke. What was he thinking?

The sun hung over the eastern horizon, bathing the cornfields on either side of the road in soft amber light. I managed to make it halfway to the interstate before my car started to make a truly horrendous noise. I couldn’t coax the car over fifty, and steam began to rise from beneath the hood.

“Shit!” I shouted, pounding the steering wheel. “Shit, shit, shit!”

I pulled off onto the narrow shoulder and put the car in park. I twisted the keys savagely out of the ignition and had to pound the driver’s side door to get it to open. The stupid thing stuck every other time I got in. I popped the hood and my heart sank when noxious smoke began to billow out from it.

I finally remembered my conversation with Millie in the parking lot right after closing. She’d said the engine could blow if I didn’t get it repaired. I screamed. There was no one around to hear me but the Johnson’s cows, and they weren’t paying me any mind. There was a lump of unshed tears in my throat, and it was suddenly hard to swallow.

Not only was I not going to Columbus, I was stranded, almost twenty miles from home. The tow truck would cost more than I wanted to pay, on top of the cost of a new car. I kicked the headlight with my good leg, only succeeding in sending a spike of agony through my foot.

“Damn it!” I shouted. I tilted my head back to the sky and screamed in frustration again. Why did this always happen? Why did I get more than my fair share when shit hit the fan?

I barely took note of the glint off a new car coming down the road. Maybe they’d stop to help but the only thing they could really do was call the tow truck or give me a ride back. I sunk to the ground next to the hood and pulled my knees up to my chest. Traitorous tears began to fall, and I buried my face in my hands, biting my lip to contain a sob. I needed to get a grip. I needed to call Millie and see if I could still salvage the situation somehow.

I could hear the car nearing and groaned aloud when it noticeably slowed. I didn’t need someone to witness my breakdown. I couldn’t summon the energy to push to my feet. I was so tired. I had barely slept, I was hungry, and my car was a smoking ruin. What was the point of getting up?