Timberman Werebear(12)

She caught it mid-air and shook it open as best she could while balancing the plate. It was a soft, black T-shirt that read Ashe Crew in bright pink letters.

“The girls made it for you last night. Apparently, they like you, and their opinions count for a hell of a lot around here.”

“Bruiser?” she asked as he turned to walk away again.

“What?”

“Where are we going?”

“Lumberjack Wars. We’re all competing. Hurry scurry now. We ain’t waitin’ on you for long.”

“Oh.” She stared at his back, which was roughly the width of the broad side of a barn. Okay, Lumberjack Wars.

She ate in haste and grabbed some skinny jeans and hiking boots to go with her shirt. She’d showered in a vacant trailer, 1010, last night, but her hair had dried in snarls thanks to the nightmares that roaring animal had given her. Face washed, teeth brushed, and hair swept into a messy bun, she dressed in her new shirt, then plumped her lips with some pink gloss and lengthened her dark lashes with mascara. Ready for the day, she bolted out the front door of her humble abode.

The Ashe Crew, as they apparently called themselves, were bustling here and there to various trucks like frenzied ants. Her eyes lit on Denison like a paperclip to a magnet. He was loading a giant cooler into the back of an old, beat-up green Bronco.

“Hey!” she called, jogging toward him.

Denison closed the back door and frowned. Right, still mad then. Straightening his shoulders, he hooked a hand on his hip and leaned against his ride. The curl of a tattoo showed under his stretched T-shirt. “Hey yourself. What are you doing?”

She lifted her chin and pulled at her shirt so he could read the lettering. “I’m going to cheer you on.”

His eyes narrowed as he read the pink lettering. Or perhaps he was just staring at her tits. Either way was fine with her.

“Shotgun,” she said.

“Wait, what? What are you doing?”

She marched past him and threw open the passenger’s side door. Brighton was leaning on the front nose of the car with an amused grin.

“Brighton has shotgun.”

“Brighton?” she asked. “You mind if I sit by your brother?”

Brighton lifted his hands, and his shoulders shook like he was laughing. He canted his head at Denison and pointed to a black truck Brooke and Tagan were loading.

“No,” Denison gritted out. “Shotgun is reserved for people who’ve earned it.” He looped an arm around her waist as she tried to crawl inside the Bronco.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she muttered, clutching onto the grab handle and hooking her shoes inside the doorframe. “Nobody’s riding with you now, and I’m not sitting in the back like you are my chauffeur.”

“Damn straight you aren’t. Go ride with Tagan.” He pulled harder, but she was spry.

“Stop being stubborn!”

He yanked her out of his car and spun her around to face him. His eyes flashed with something that wasn’t altogether anger, and she pounced.

“Let me ride with you,” she muttered, scrambling for purchase on the dry gravel he was dragging her across. “Or so help me, Denny, I’ll kiss you soundly right on the lips, and then where will you be?”

He let her loose and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll be unaffected.”

“I’m irresistible.”

He snorted a laugh and tried to hold his frown, but lost it as his lips turned up in a smile. Scrubbing his hands down his face, which he still hadn’t shaved, the sexy mountain man, he let off a sigh and let her go. “I think God sent you here to kill me, woman.”

She scrambled inside the Bronco and slammed the door, then tossed him a victory grin. She wasn’t for sure, because the words were muffled by the car, but she thought he said something along the lines of, “Freaking badger.”

When he went to open the driver’s side door, she hit the automatic lock button just as he pulled the lever. Oh, he looked so annoyed, but underneath was that hint of a smile she used to breathe for. Heck, from the way her heart was fluttering around in her chest like bat wings, maybe she still breathed for it now.

“You gonna annoy me all day long?” he asked, trying to look severe as he turned the engine.

“I’ve decide something,” she said, ignoring his question. “I’m going to make you forgive me.”

“Danielle,” he warned.

“No, hear me out. I know I messed up. Bad. But you aren’t the only one who got hurt, Denny. The only way I can feel okay about us being friends again is if I make it up to you. So today, I’m going to be your beer wench.” She patted her purse and grinned. “Anytime you want a beer, I’m your girl.”