Against The Odds

First its kids stealing paint, now it’s some nosy salesman asshole. Why the hell can’t people just leave me be?

The guy turned. His eyes got bigger the closer Bear got. “I was just checking to see if anyone was home. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Skipping the concrete block step, Bear launched himself onto the porch. “This is private property, and you’re trespassing.”

The guy backed up a step and put up his hands. “I—I’ve got a car. A ’72 Camaro. I heard you do custom paint.”

Oh, shit. His temper whimpered, and tail between its legs, slunk back from where it came, leaving Bear alone with his mess. “Oh. I do business out of the barn. I don’t like people in my personal stuff.” When he held out a hand to shake, the guy flinched back. “I’m Bear Steele. Tell me about your car.”

“Um. I just remembered. I’ve got an appointment in town.” The guy sidled to the broken slats of the railing at the edge of the porch and past Bear, without turning his back. “I’ll need to stop by...some other time.” He scurried down the cinderblock step.

“Wait.” Bear reached in his back pocket for his wallet.

The guy froze, his eyes huge.

What, does he think, I’m going to shoot him? Bear pulled out a business card and handed it down, not wanting to spook the guy by getting closer. “I’m sorry to scare you. Give me a call sometime. I’d love to see that Camaro.”

“Um. Yeah. Sure. Sometime.” He scuttled to the sedan, slammed the door, fired the engine and hit the gas.

Dirt sprayed from the tires, and Bear watched the car disappear in the trees. He hiked to the truck to retrieve his groceries, swearing the whole way.

When the hell was he going to learn to control his temper? Hadn’t it made him lose enough?

* * *

BEAR STOOD WAITING in the hall outside what he’d started thinking of as The Interrogation Room of the hospital. He’d gotten here first on purpose. He leaned, one motorcycle boot propped against the wall, hands in his front pockets. Waiting.

The dream came to him every night, and now his angel appeared twice a week in his waking time, too. He had to talk to her. Had to find out if this meant something, or if it was just one more of fate’s cruel jokes.

But he knew he intimidated her, and after what she’d been through, she was skittish to begin with. He practiced a smile and tried to relax. A bit rusty maybe, but he knew from practicing in the mirror this morning that it made him look less...brooding.

He heard the elevator door ding, followed by Bryan’s high-pitched voice. He and Mark, the scarred guy, came around the corner.

Mark kept walking, but Bryan stopped in front of Bear. “You know, I get hater vibes from you. Do you and I have issues?”

The elevator dinged again.

Crap. That’s all he needed—to be in a touchy-feely discussion when Hope showed up. “Hard to believe, dude, but you star in your own life. Not mine.” Bear glanced from Bryan’s pursed lips, then back down the hall. “I told you. I’ve got nothing against gay. You don’t believe me? Not my problem.”

Bryan let out an exasperated sigh and rushed into the room.

Her white-blond hair caught his eye first. Even when he was ready, her face still held him for the space of several heartbeats. She was beautiful. And not because of his dream, either. Her ice-blue eyes held secrets that her open face belied. She was all business, even in khakis and a denim short-sleeved shirt. But her lips...her lips were pure sex. They made him want to bow his head and worship them.

Noticing him notice, she looked down and kept walking.

Before she could brush by him, he reached out, and touched her arm. She shied back, the lines of her body full of alarm.

“Wait. Please. I just wanted to talk to you for a second. I’m Bear—”

“I know your name.”

“I just wanted to tell you...you don’t have to be afraid. I can’t help how I look, but that’s not who I am.”

She looked up at him, head cocked. But her eyes softened. “Okay.”

How do people do this chitchat thing? He put his foot back on the floor, and his hands back in his pockets. “Um. How’s that adventure thing working out for you?”

A tiny self-satisfied smile softened her mouth. “Nailed the interview. I start today.”

“Nice. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” She took a step toward the door.

“Wait.” He took a hand from his pocket, reached out, but didn’t touch her. “Were you serious about wanting to be more adventurous?”

She looked at him as if he was a vacuum cleaner salesman on her front porch. “S-sure.”

“Then how’d you like to go for a motorcycle ride?” He pulled his mouth up into what he hoped was a benign smile. “I’ve ridden a hundred thousand miles without an accident. I promise I’m safe.”

“I don’t even know you.” She slapped a hand over her mouth, as if shocked at her own abruptness.

“I get that, but—”

“I mean, you don’t ever talk, in group.” Those ice-blue eyes probed his face, looking for a crack to get into. “How can you expect people to feel comfortable around you, if you just sit and glare at us?”

He could give a crap if anyone was comfortable around him. Except her. “Oh.”

“Excuse me.” She brushed by him.

The Rani woman came around the corner, talking to the big woman in the shapeless dress, who walked head down, hair hiding her face.

He ducked into the room. What now, Slick?

It was pretty clear that he wouldn’t get closer to Hope without giving something up. But talking about himself in a group like this? He’d feel as though he was on a Dr. Phil show. No way. Not happening. He grabbed an empty chair and scooted it back from the circle.

Then slid it back in.

He sat, crickets playing “Dueling Banjos” in his stomach as the last two settled into the remaining chairs.

“Happy Monday, everyone,” Bina said. “Who would like to share first this morning?” She patted the soap opera lady’s hand. “Brenda? How about you?”

She just shook her head.

“Brenda, this is a safe space. Feel free to keep it to whatever you’re comfortable sharing.”

The woman pulled at her dress, trying to make it even looser. “I’m not from around here. My husband, Phil, got transferred to Vandenberg six months ago.”

“He’s in the air force?” Mark asked.