Bearly Hanging On (The Jamesburg Shifters #6)(18)

"You're right," Ryan said.

"Well, I know, else I wouldn'a said nothin'," Boston said, sliding into the chair facing Ryan's desk. "Just a question of what we're gunna do about it."

Ryan shook his head, staring straight at his uncle. "You're not doing anything," he said. "Not this time." His voice was stern and solid. "I mean it."

Boston winced like he'd been shot in the pecker with a really hard spit wad.

"I know you're the young one with all the pride and what-have-you, but I've been around this world more'n a few times, sprout."

Ryan hated when his uncle called him sprout, mostly since it usually came with a patronizing pat on the head. Luckily, it was hard to do that from six feet away and separated by a desk. But Ryan just kept staring. His jaws were clenched, the way he always did when he was deep in thought.

"Where the hell were you, anyway?" Boston asked, breaking the short-lived silence. "Moo-maw was worried after you. I guess maybe I was too, a little."

"It was nothing," Ryan said, looking down at the desk, pretending to go over the ledger. "I just had something to do." To further remove the possibility of expanding on his answer, Ryan lifted his mug to his lips, for a long drink.

His uncle let a long, slow, whistling sound escape between his teeth. "Makin' it with some fine young thing?"

Ryan's long sip of tea was cut short by a sputter, a cough, and a fine mist of Bigelow's Earl Gray filling the air. The best part was that most of it hit his uncle, who licked his lips and smiled. "Oh, don't get all upset. I'll leave your business to you, I was just joshin' you a little." He licked his lips again. "Pretty good tea."

"Want some?" Ryan reached for the Keurig he kept plugged in on his desk, and a handful of tea bags. Bears like their tea strong.

Wiping his face with his sleeve, Boston nodded. "Love some. Strong?"

Ryan chuckled, dropping all five tea bags into another of his novelty mugs - this one the type with a woman in a swimsuit which appeared when hot liquid filled the mug and disappeared as it was drained.

The Keurig moaned, popped, and steamed, and a few seconds later, one bear handed the other a steaming mug of murky brown liquid that smelled sufficiently strong to either raise the dead or peel the paint off a school bus. Boston took a long sip, sighed heavily, and then set the mug back on the table before crossing his hands over his paunch of a stomach.

"Do you respect wood?" Ryan asked, leaning forward.

Boston arched an eyebrow. "Is this one of your weird meditations?"

"No, it’s a Curb Your Enthusiasm reference. Larry's wife put a drink on a table without a coaster, and it left a ring. Real shame too, since it was such a nice table." He stared over the top of his reading glasses in a way that couldn't possibly be less intimidating if he were wearing a clown nose. He looked at the rack of coasters on the desk top, and then back to his uncle.

"Huh? Oh. You could've just told me to use a coaster, you big jackass."

Clacking the coaster down more loudly than absolutely necessary, Boston took another drink and put the mug on top. "Better?"

A peaceful smile crossed Ryan's face. "Much. Now, we need to talk."

"What's that there? List of stuff we need?"

They'd been planning winters like this since Ryan's aunt and uncle moved in. At first, when there were only a few families, it was easy. Over the years, though, as the size of the compound increased, so did the demands - and the complexity - of meeting them. And with winter coming earlier and earlier, it seemed like they were always dancing on the edge of disaster.

Without saying a word, Ryan turned the book in his uncle's direction and pushed it across the table. "Left column is what we need, right is what we have."

Another whistle escaped Boston's pursed lips. "Those numbers don't add up."

"Sure don't." Ryan took the glasses off and placed them back in the desk. He immediately looked about a thousand times scarier. "And I can't come up with much of any way to make them add up, except by getting a hell of a lot more than we have. And for that—”

"For that, we need a hell of a lot more money," Boston said.

"Yeah. And for that, we need—"

"Okay, let's cut the Who’s On First routine," Boston said with a laugh. "What are you planning? I'm pretty sure I already know the answer, but what the hell, you may as well tell me anyway."

"I don't know," Ryan said, smiling broadly.

"Then what are you so happy for?"

Closing his eyes and interlacing his fingers behind his head, Ryan raised his eyebrows without opening his eyes. He stretched his long legs out in front of himself and sighed. "Because for the first time in a long time - and this mood isn't going to last, so relish it - I have the feeling everything's going to work out. Don't ask me why, but there it is."

A look of confusion, and then one of understanding, crossed old Boston's lined face. "So I wasn't all that wrong, then?"

"Hmm?"

"About you makin' it with the fine young thing?"

Ryan's answer was a chuckle. "Maybe... not entirely wrong. Go get some rest. I'll come up with something."