She needed to get a grip.
He was just a man.
A very large, very grumpy man with a criminal record and a tendency to stare at her like she was a puzzle he couldn’t solve.
“Need help with the kayak?” he asked, gesturing toward where it lay on her lawn.
“I’ve got it.”
“I can see that.” His tone was dry. “You’ve really mastered the art of getting crushed by it.”
“Funny.” She rolled her shoulders, wincing at the ache forming in the middle of her back. “I’m just having an off day.”
“Which is why you shouldn’t be lifting it alone.”
“Are you always this bossy, or is it just a special gift you save for me?”
The corner of his mouth quirked. “You bring it out in me.”
Something fluttered in her chest—annoyance, probably. Definitely annoyance. Not the warm, unwelcome heat that spread through her belly when he looked at her like that.
“Yeah, well.” She looked away from him, her gaze drifting across the street. A kid stood on the porch—tall, hoodie up, earbuds in—watching them with undisguised curiosity. “We’ve got an audience.”
Bear’s expression shuttered. “That’s my son. Logan.” He raised his voice. “Logan! Come meet my friend from the ranch.”
The boy stiffened, then slowly descended the porch steps. He crossed the street at a shuffle, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He had Bear’s height and build, but none of the confidence. Up close, Greta could see the dark circles under his eyes, the hollow cheeks of a kid who hadn’t been eating enough.
“Logan, this is Greta Dougherty. She hangs out at the ranch sometimes and runs the local K9 search and rescue team.”
“Hey.” The boy’s voice was already low. In a few more years, he’d sound just like his dad with that deep rumble. “Nice to meet you.” The words were polite, but his eyes remained fixed on the ground, and he radiated teenage misery.
“You too, Logan. Welcome to Solace.”
“Logan will be starting at the high school in a few days,” Bear added, his voice too loud, too forced.
Greta nodded, unsure what to say. She’d never been good with kids—especially teenagers. They reminded her too much of herself at that age, all jagged edges and sharp words.
“Cool,” she managed. “That’s where I went. It’s a decent school. Small, but the teachers are pretty good.”
Logan’s eyes flicked up to hers for a second. “Yeah. Great.”
Bear shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable with the silence that followed. “You should finish unpacking, buddy. Maybe start with your bedroom.”
Logan’s face hardened. “I’m not your ‘buddy, and I’m not five. You don’t need to send me to my room so you can eye-fuck your neighbor.”
“Jesus, Logan?—”
“I’m going inside.” The kid’s voice cracked with fury as he turned and stalked back across the street. The door slammed with enough force to rattle the windows in their frames.
Greta winced. “Well, that went well.”
Bear stared at the closed door, his broad shoulders hunching as he deflated. The giant looked suddenly smaller, diminished by a few sharp words from a fifteen-year-old kid.
Dammit, she wasn’t good at this, either. Comforting people. Being soft. She’d spent too many years building walls around herself to know how to dismantle them for others. She should walk away. This wasn’t her problem. She had her own disasters to manage—a sister who’d been missing for fifteen years, a business to run, a life that was already too complicated to add a grouchy ex-con and his angry teenager.
But she stepped closer anyway and rested a hand on his hard arm.
Jesus, the man really was built like a mountain.
