Page 20 of Flare (Bearpaw Ridge Firefighters #17)

Sleepless

Emily stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling as moonlight filtered through the curtains. Ward ’ s guest room bed was comfortable, and she felt beyond exhausted after everything that had happened today, but sleep refused to come.

Every time she dozed off, the sounds of the old house settling would jolt her awake, heart racing.

Midnight came and went. Emily rolled onto her side, trying to find a comfortable position, but her mind wouldn ’ t stop replaying the horrible scenes from the cabin.

The way Andrew had savaged the place… he must ’ ve rampaged through it in his bear shape. She shuddered as she remembered seeing him shift in his living room on her last day in Spokane.

Ward . The thought of him brought a small smile to her lips, despite everything.

She was grateful beyond words for his offer of shelter tonight. He hadn ’ t hesitated, hadn ’ t asked awkward questions or made her feel like a burden. He had simply taken her in, given her space, and made her feel protected without smothering her.

What kind of person did that for someone he barely knew? The kind of person who built things with his hands, who restored old houses and crafted beautiful furniture, who volunteered as a firefighter and lived in a home that was a work in progress, messy but comfortable.

The kind of man who was nothing like Andrew.

Andrew . Her smile faded as her mind flashed back to the horror of walking into her ransacked bedroom and finding that red rose on her pillow.

Such a seemingly romantic gesture twisted into something sinister—a warning, a threat, a proclamation that he could get to her anytime he wanted.

And now that she ’ d sent his files to Malia… who knew what he ’ d do next?

Looking back, she now saw Andrew ’ s extreme attentiveness as controlling behavior, especially his “ coincidental” appearances when she was out with friends, and his insistence that she set her phone to share her location with him.

And tomorrow, she ’ d be at the festival, working in the Cinnamon + Sugar booth, where anyone— Andrew —could see her if came.

Maybe I should text Maggie and tell her I ’ m not up to working tomorrow.

No. Emily sat up in bed. The anxiety that had been twisting her guts for hours suddenly gave way to a fierce anger that surprised her with its intensity.

No. She fucking wouldn ’ t let Andrew win!

She wouldn ’ t let him control her life anymore. If she hid now, if she let herself become a prisoner in Ward ’ s house—or worse, fled Bearpaw Ridge altogether—then she ’ d only be giving Andrew exactly what he wanted: control over her.

She remembered Maggie ’ s excitement as she ’ d talked about the festival, the pride in her voice when she described the special items she and her assistant baker Ava had been preparing for the Cinnamon + Sugar booth.

“ Lavender shortbread, blueberry-lavender scones with lavender honey, and iced tea with lilac-infused simple syrup,” Maggie had told her earlier in the week. “ Plus, I ’ m sure that my new vanilla bean and lavender macarons are going to blow people ’ s minds.”

Emily had spent hours this week practicing on the vintage cash register that Maggie insisted on using for the aesthetic. Of course, the booth would also have a tablet for cards and tap-to-pay.

She couldn ’ t let Maggie down, not when her friend had been so welcoming, offering her the cabin and a job without hesitation.

Besides, the festival would be teeming with people—hundreds of visitors from neighboring towns, plus most of Bearpaw Ridge ’ s residents.

What better place to be than in a crowded public space?

Andrew might be bold enough to break into an isolated cabin, but surely even he wouldn ’ t try anything in the middle of a busy festival, especially with the police station just a block away from Main Street?

Emily saw a sliver of light beneath her bedroom door. Ward was still up. Was he really keeping watch, guarding her through the night like some medieval knight?

A pang of guilt hit her. He had to work tomorrow too, and here he was, losing a night ’ s sleep because of her. But mixed with the guilt was an undeniable sense of relief and… something else.

Warmth pooled in her belly when she remembered how he ’ d kissed her last night. The thought of him watching over her all night was so sweet it made her want to crawl into his lap and kiss the hell out of him.

Well, if she couldn ’ t sleep, she might as well keep him company. Emily reached for her robe—a soft, fleecy thing she ’ d bought at Wallace ’ s earlier in the week. She slipped it on over her sleep tee and quietly eased open her bedroom door.

The hallway was dark, but light shone from the living room. She moved toward it, her bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. Just before she reached the living room, she paused.

Ward sat exactly where she ’ d imagined him, in the leather armchair facing the front door. His chin was resting on his shirt, and he was dozing, a mug of coffee cooling on the side table next to him and a book in his lap.

For a moment, Emily just looked at him—the broad shoulders beneath his t-shirt, the powerful hands dusted with dark hairs on their backs and wrists, the serious set of his mouth.

She took a step into the living room. Ward ’ s head jerked up, and for a split second, she saw him tense—ready to defend, to protect—before his expression softened at the sight of her.

“ Hey, Emily,” he said, his voice rough. “ Everything okay?”

She clutched the neckline of her robe. “ I can ’ t sleep.”

“ Sorry to hear that.” Ward set his book aside and straightened. “ Can I get you anything? Water? Tea?”

“ I don ’ t want to be a bother,” she said, hesitating in the doorway.

“ You ’ re not,” he said simply, and she believed him. He stood. “ How about some hot chocolate?”

Emily smiled. “ That sounds perfect, actually.”

Ward grabbed his mug of lukewarm coffee and led the way through the arched opening to his half-finished kitchen.

“ Sorry about the state of things,” Ward said, pulling a saucepan from the wire shelving rack. “ Kitchen renovations were on hold while I was working on fixing up the Peterson ’ s place after it nearly burned down last Christmas.”

“ No need to apologize,” Emily said, leaning against the doorframe. “ I think it ’ s wonderful what you ’ re doing with this place. Most people would have demolished it and built a whole new house.”

Ward ’ s expression brightened at her words.

“ That ’ s what my real estate agent suggested.

Said it would probably be cheaper in the long run.

” He shook his head as he measured milk into the pan.

“ But there ’ s something about old houses—they have stories to tell. Seems wrong to erase all that history.”

“ My grandmother had a house like this,” she said, watching him stir the milk as it heated. “ I used to love visiting her. Her place felt… substantial, you know? Like it had seen generations come and go and was still standing strong.”

Ward nodded, his back to her as he reached for two mugs.

“ Exactly. This house was built in 1921. It survived the Roaring Twenties, the Great Depression, World War II, everything the decades could throw at it.” He worked efficiently as he spoke, heating the milk, then whisking in cocoa powder and sugar.

The rich aroma of chocolate filled the kitchen.

He emptied his mug, dumping the old coffee in the sink, then poured the hot cocoa into a pair of fresh mugs. He turned, offering her a steaming mug. “ Sorry, I don ’ t have any marshmallows.”

Their fingers brushed as she took the mug, and Emily felt a small jolt. Their eyes met for a long moment, and she thought he was going to kiss her.

Then he quickly turned to put the empty saucepan in the sink, filling it with water and a squirt of dish soap to soak.

Guess not . She tried to hide her disappointment by bringing the mug to her lips and taking a careful sip.

“ Oh, my God. This is amazing .”

Ward smiled, with a hint of shyness. “ Secret ingredient is a pinch of salt.”

They walked back to the living room. Emily deliberately sat on the sofa rather than taking the armchair across from it. After a brief hesitation, Ward joined her, his mug in his hand.

They sat side by side in comfortable silence for a while, sipping their hot drinks. Emily felt herself relaxing.

Then Ward glanced at her, frowning. “ I ’ ve been thinking. Are you sure working at the festival is a good idea?”

“ After yesterday, I decided I ’ m tired of running away and hiding,” Emily replied.

“ Besides, Main Street will be closed to traffic, and downtown will be packed with people. If Andrew is stupid enough to try something there…” She shrugged, trying to project more confidence than she felt.

“ Maggie said the police will be patrolling. And they ’ re all shifters, right? ”

Ward didn ’ t look happy. He blew out a breath. “ I ’ m going to run over to Wallace ’ s Home & Ranch Supply for those security cameras first thing tomorrow, but then I ’ ll be here for the rest of the day. If you need anything , just call or text me.”

“ I ’ m sure everything will be fine with Maggie and Violet in the booth with me,” Emily assured him, though she felt a renewed stab of anxiety. To distract herself—and him, too—she asked, “ What are you working on right now?”

Ward ’ s expression eased. “ I promised Eddy Ornelas I ’ d make a custom table in time for his great-niece Yasmin ’ s wedding.”

Emily smiled and took another sip of her cocoa. “ Tell me about it.”

“ It ’ s a live-edge table, made from a black walnut tree I salvaged from the ranch last summer. It fell during a big thunderstorm last July after standing for over a hundred years. In fact, it ’ s probably the same age as this house.”

“That sounds gorgeous. I’m sure Mr. Ornelas’ great-niece will love it.” She smiled at him, looking up at him through her lashes and imagining him working on the table, muscles bulging under his tight t-shirt.

God, he was so sexy. And kind. And thoughtful. And refreshingly humble, after Andrew ’ s arrogance, which she ’ d mistaken for confidence when they first met.

Moving slowly, Ward put his arm around her. She smiled, leaned shamelessly against his side, and felt herself relax into his warmth.

“ I almost hated to cut into it,” he continued, “ but I thought the best way to honor it was to turn it into something that could stick around a while. Every knot, every scar in that slab—it ’ s all a record of the life it lived.

Droughts. Windstorms. A century of Bearpaw Ridge weather.

I like that it ’ s not perfect. But it ’ s real. ”

Emily chuckled and drank more cocoa. “ Kind of like you?” she teased.

Ward blinked, then laughed. “ I really hope I ’ m not that gnarled-looking yet.”

“ Give it a hundred years,” she joked. “ You ’ re still young.” I wonder how long shifters live?

They seemed to age at the same rate as regular humans, if the Swansons were anything to go by. Elle and Justin and Maggie ’ s dad all looked good for their age, but they didn ’ t appear to be unnaturally young.

Ward laughed again and returned to describing his project.

“ There are a few holes, but I ’ m planning to fill them with clear epoxy resin.

It ’ ll lock in all the character without losing the integrity of the piece.

Those gaps and voids—they tell a story…” He continued to talk about the designs he was contemplating for the table ’ s legs.

The warmth of the hot chocolate, the soft glow of the living room lamp, and Ward ’ s deep, steady voice created a cocoon of comfort that was impossible to resist.

She curled up against him, and let her head rest on his shoulder as she listened to the soothing rumble of his voice. It didn ’ t take long before her eyelids grew heavy and she began yawning.

Ward gathered her in closer. Emily knew she should sit up and return to her room. But she was so tired, and he was so warm, and she felt so safe right now…

“ I should let you get some sleep,” Ward murmured, but made no move to dislodge her.

“ Mmm,” was all Emily could manage in response, her eyes drifting closed.

Later—she wasn ’ t sure how much later—she had a vague awareness of being lifted, of powerful arms cradling her against a broad chest. Then she was being carried, heard the soft click of a door, and then he lowered her gently onto the bed, covering her with the quilt.

The last thing she remembered clearly was the feeling of Ward ’ s lips brushing against her temple in a feather-light kiss. “ Sleep well,” he whispered.

It felt like only an instant later when her phone alarm went off, blaring music. Emily blinked awake, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings before the events of the previous day came rushing back.

Despite her late night, she felt surprisingly rested. More than that, she felt determined. She had promised Maggie she ’ d help with the festival, and help she would.

The delicious fragrance of fresh coffee drifted into the room. Emily threw back the covers and got out of bed. It was time to face the day… whatever happened.