Sweet-Talking Cowbear - Liv Brywood Page 0,1

Raven rolled up the window before pulling out onto Main Street.

Amber stood on the sidewalk, watching her go. A strange woman, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. As long as she could verify something about this person, Amber would hire her. She didn’t have much of a choice.

When she returned to the bakery, she started in on a new batch of sweets. She measured the ingredients for chocolate cookies stuffed with peppermint into one of her stand mixers and put it to work. The scent of peppermint and chocolate hit the air instantly. She inhaled, loving the way it blended with the other smells.

“I really should enjoy this,” she said. “I’ve got a ton of orders. Business is great. I’ll get it done.”

While she waited for the dough to form, she pulled the job application out of her pocket. She glanced at the information. Two old employers were listed, but her address line was blank. Super weird. Had she just moved into town?

After putting the cookies into the oven, she called the number listed next to Raven’s last employer. She got a busy signal. Weird. Didn’t everyone have call waiting these days?

The next number was a dead end too. It had been disconnected. Which happened, but it still made Amber uneasy. Sure, she was desperate for help, but desperate enough to risk giving someone she didn’t know the keys to the bakery? If she’d had other applications, she’d choose someone else. But she didn’t.

“Where’s our favorite girl?” a low, sexy voice called from the doorway to the kitchen.

Her heart fluttered when she spotted Shane. At 6’3”, he was the hottest cowboy she’d ever met in Huckleberry Valley. His smile melted a soft, warm place she’d long neglected. His perpetual five-o-clock shadow, spring-green eyes, and adorable dimple stole her breath every time he walked into a room. He also happened to be her best friend, so she struggled not to glance at the bulge in his tight jeans. He wore a blue plaid, long-sleeved shirt, but no jacket. He was a bear shifter who never got cold, unlike her.

I don’t get cold, her inner bear grumbled.

Shh! she silently warned the beast.

“Mommy!” Joey, Amber’s seven-year-old son, came out from behind Shane’s legs. “Can I have a cookie? I want a cookie. Can I? Can I?”

“Okay.” She laughed. “But only one. I don’t want you spoiling your lunch.”

“What’s on the menu?” Shane asked.

“Um,” she stammered as her nipples tightened. “Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?”

“Is that a question or a request?” Shane asked in that sultry tone that made her wonder if he was flirting with her.

“I’m sorry. I’m so backed up with cookie orders, I haven’t had time to even think about lunch.” She waved her hand around the kitchen. “I still have ten orders to fill today and the dishes are piling up and—”

“Hey.” Shane gently grasped her shoulders. “Look at me.”

She did, and instantly regretted it. The steamy look in his eyes unnerved her. He looked like he wanted to eat her for lunch, which was impossible. They’d never been romantic. In fact, he’d seemed to do everything in his power not to touch her like that.

“I’ll take care of lunch,” he said.

“Okay. I mean, thank you. I feel like a terrible mother for forgetting.” She glanced at Joey, who was stuffing a gingerbread cookie into his little mouth. He seemed oblivious to their conversation.

“How many times do I have to tell you? You’re not a bad mother. You’re working your butt off, and you need help. Let me get Joey fed, then I’ll pitch in until the orders are done.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m off for the next two days before I do another twenty-four-hour shift. The life of a paramedic.” He chuckled as he lifted a clean apron off a hook and pulled it over his head. He tied it at the waist. Not for the first time, she wondered what he’d look like wearing only an apron.

“How was yesterday?” she asked.

“Discouraging.” He sighed. “Last night we had two calls in the trailer park. Meth overdoses. One made it. The other didn’t. It just… sucks.”

“I’m sorry.” She gently rubbed his upper arm. “It must be hard to see that, day in and day out.”

“Most of the time, I love my job. I’ve helped save a lot of people. I don’t mind the calls for things like heart attacks, strokes, lacerations, but it’s those drug calls…” He shook his head. “It’s the same people too. I’ve saved them over and over, but they