The Bear's Virgin Darling (Honeypot Darlings Book 1) Read online

  Contents

  The Bear’s Virgin Darling

  Books

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  A Note for Readers

  Alien Dragon

  Beware of Dragons

  Red Says the Dragon

  About

  The Bear’s Virgin Darling

  Sophie Stern

  Copyright © 2016 by Sophie Stern

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design copyright © 2016 by Melody Simmons // ebookindiecovers.com

  Books

  Other stories by Sophie Stern

  Billionaire on Top

  Dragon Isle

  Stepdragon (Dragon Isle Book 0.5)

  My Lord and Dragon (Dragon Isle Book 1)

  The Dragon Fighter (Dragon Isle Book 2)

  A Dragon's Bite (Dragon Isle Book 3)

  Lost to the Dragon (Dragon Isle Book 4)

  Beware of Dragons (Dragon Isle Book 5)

  For my readers

  May you find your bears

  Chapter 1

  Hope

  Hope.

  That’s my name.

  My parents struggled for years to have a baby and then finally, they had me. They named me Hope to remind themselves that things can always get better. No matter how tough life gets, there’s always a way to make things better.

  Always.

  It doesn’t matter if you’re old or young or skilled or uneducated. No matter what you’re going through, you can get through it.

  As I grip the steering wheel of my beat-up Saturn so hard I think my hands might bleed, their words run through my mind.

  “Sorry, Mama,” I whisper. “There’s no hope this time.”

  The highway is empty and I’ve been driving for hours. I still have at least two to go until I reach beautiful, isolated, far-from-home Honeypot, Colorado.

  I don’t know a damn thing about the town except that it’s a 12-hour drive from my rink-a-dink hometown in Missouri and that I have a job interview with some ranch.

  Like I know anything about ranching.

  That doesn’t matter though. I learned this great skill in drama class called “fake it ‘til you make it,” and that’s exactly what I plan to do.

  Holbrook can kiss my ass and so can Jacob Clint. Did he really think I wouldn’t find out he was fucking my best friend?

  Did she?

  It’s been a month since I caught them fooling around, but the pain hasn’t dimmed. It took me a whole month to sell my stuff, give my landlord ample notice I was leaving, and set up this damn job interview.

  I applied for a few gigs closer to home, but when I saw the posting for a ranch hand in Colorado, I couldn’t resist applying. I’m still shocked they liked my application. I’m still shocked they called me.

  Granted, I could show up tomorrow and they might tell me to get lost, but it’s something new, something different, something brave.

  It’s something to keep my mind off how badly my heart hurts.

  I hope Jacob and Margaret are very happy together in hell.

  I press the gas pedal a little bit harder.

  I can’t wait to get to Nowhere, Colorado. Not too much further now. I blast my music and stare out the window, driving with one hand down the highway. My car is loaded with my life’s belongings. I sure as hell hope I get the job because if I don’t, I’m going to be stuck in Colorado with no house, no job, and no boyfriend.

  Soon my stomach growls and I stop for a quick burger at a fast food place just off the highway. The only two things at the exit are a gas station and a fast food chain, so I eat my run-of-the-mill burger in silence, stretch my legs, and fill up the tank. My thoughts alternate between being horrified Jacob was the best I could do and being horrified that I won’t get the job.

  I need the job.

  Unfortunately, my thoughts are so focused that I don’t realize when the speed limit drops from 75 to 55 just outside of Honeypot. The sirens in the rearview mirror give me the notice and I growl in frustration as I pull over.

  Dammit.

  A ticket is not what I need right now. I barely have enough money saved for a hotel room while I’m in Honeypot. If I don’t get the job, or if I have a bunch of unexpected expenses, I will definitely be living out of my car.

  This is a problem because my car is full of clothes, books, and trinkets I couldn’t leave behind.

  Taking a deep breath, I place my hands on the steering wheel and wait for the officer to run my plates. I’ve never had a ticket before, but I’ve been pulled over, and I remember the cop explaining that he had to call in the license plate before he even came to speak with me.

  After a few minutes, my heart finally begins to slow, and I realize that this was just an honest mistake. Besides, getting a ticket isn’t the worst thing that could happen to a girl like me. By the time the officer gets out of his car and walks toward mine, I’ve convinced myself that I’ll handle this like an adult.

  I definitely will not cry in front of this stranger. Maybe I’ve been through a lot, but crying in front of strangers is definitely a hard limit for me. Unfortunately, as I begin to roll my window down – yes, my car is so old that I have to roll the window down – I catch a glimpse of the cop and he’s no tubby police officer.

  No, this guy is tall, cut, and fit to be tied.

  Dammit.

  My mouth goes dry when he approaches and I’m very aware of the fact that I’ve been in a car all day and probably smell like stale French fries.

  “Hello, ma’am,” the officer greets me, standing outside my window. He places one hand on top of my car and peers in the window at me. I swallow loudly as I stare at his aviators.

  He’s so tall he almost has to bend in half to peek into my car. Suddenly, I wish I was wearing a low-cut shirt to give him a show. He smiles brightly, his perfectly white teeth shining in the evening sunset. And oh, is he filling out that uniform in all the right places.

  “Fuck me,” I say out loud, and I immediately cover my mouth with my hand and start shaking my head. Shit! Shit. Shit. Shit. I did not mean to say that out loud. “I’m sorry,” I mumble, and look away, completely embarrassed. I can’t believe I just said that to a stranger.

  To my surprise, the police officer doesn’t get upset, though. He just chuckles.

  “New to the area?” He says, and I nod, but don’t say anything. “Well, do you know why I pulled you over?”

  This is the part where I feign innocence. This is the part where I cry damsel, where I say that I just got out of a bad relationship and I’m trying to get a fresh start. This is the part where I say I didn’t know any better, where I missed the sign.

  Only when he lowers his glasses and I see his deep brown eyes, I know I can’t lie to this cop.

  Something tells me he’ll know whether I’m telling the truth or not.<
br />
  Something tells me he doesn’t do lies.

  “I was speeding,” I blurt out, and again, cover my mouth. What is with my bluntness around this guy?

  He nods, and asks for my registration and driver’s license. I hand both over to him, cringing the entire time. He flips over my license and eyes my registration, then he asks me the question I’ve been dreading.

  “And where are you headed, ma’am?”

  I point to the exit that’s just up ahead, number 234.

  “Honeypot,” I say. “I have a job interview tomorrow.”

  “Is that so, miss?” He looks surprised, and I wonder why. I’m guessing not too many new people come to Honeypot. It’s basically in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by dense forests. The last exit was about ten miles back, so I’d say it’s pretty isolated.

  “It’s not full of murderers, is it?” I ask him on a whim, wondering what secrets I’ll discover in the tiny town. “Because if you say it is, I’ll turn right on back around.”

  He chuckles and shakes his head. “No murderers. No need to worry about that. Now, you just hold tight.” He heads back to his car and does something. I sit still, not bothering to play with my phone or pretend to listen to music. I don’t have anyone to text and I doubt I get cell service out here, anyway.

  Lucky for me, dating Jacob really ruined my friendships, so I don’t have anyone to care that I’m gone. There’s no one to miss me, no one to call. Everyone hated him and when I was with him, I became this unrecognizable bitch. It was my own fault, but the truth still hurts.

  Finally, the officer returns and gives me a ticket. He looks at me, all business, and tells me to slow down.

  “Yeah,” I say, taking it glumly. I shove it in my glove compartment, along with my registration. My license goes back in my wallet. “I’ll do that.”

  “Best of luck in Honeypot,” he says, trying to be friendly. I can tell he’s the kind of cop who takes pride in his work, who doesn’t give out tickets just to be mean. Still, it’s annoying he chose me to target for his ticket-writing today.

  “Yeah. Thanks. I hear the Blair Ranch is beautiful,” I say, trying my best to stay calm. Don’t cry, Hope. Don’t think about how much this ticket is going to cost you, Hope. “Hopefully it’ll be everything it’s rumored to be.”

  “The Blair Ranch?” He cocks his head, suddenly interested. His body is turned, like he’s going to walk back to his car, but he pauses, waiting to hear more.

  “Yeah, I have an interview there tomorrow,” I say. I try not to meet his eyes. Those dark brown, beautiful, gorgeous, could-get-lost-in-them eyes are just too much. This guy must be drowning in pussy because he’s seriously hot. “I’m hoping I’ll get it,” I add, motioning toward the back of my car. “Obviously.”

  He looks in the backseat, seemingly noticing the boxes for the first time.

  “Is that so?” He says. I can’t tell if he’s curious, amused, or annoyed. This guy is completely unreadable to me, which is fine. I’m not looking for a relationship. I’m only looking for a job and possibly a new vibrator if this town has a sex store, which I’m guessing it doesn’t, based on its current population size.

  “Yeah, well, who knows how many people they interviewed?” I shrug. I really shouldn’t get my hopes up. “But the guy wanted to see me in person, so I guess that’s good, right?”

  Why the hell am I talking so much? This poor cop doesn’t need to hear my life story or how nervous I am about the interview.

  “Do you know Mr. Blair?” I ask. I’ve only ever talked with the guy through email. He could be a cranky old codger for all I know.

  The cop nods. “I know him,” he says. “Wyatt is a good man.”

  “No, my interview isn’t with Wyatt. It’s with Carter,” I say, remembering the unique name. Carter Blair. I wonder what Carter is like. Maybe he’ll be one of those friendly old guys who wants to tell me stories about the war or who just wants someone to read him the newspaper at breakfast. There’s always the chance he’ll be an asshole, old and crabby, but I’m trying to keep my hopes up as much as possible.

  The cop laughs, and I look back up, meeting his eyes that time.

  “Trust me,” he says. “You might be meeting with Carter, but Wyatt is the one you need to impress.”

  “Any tips?” I ask him hopefully. Suddenly, getting a ticket doesn’t seem like the worst possible thing to happen to me today. Maybe the cop has some great insight I can use to ace my interview.

  “Don’t put up with his crap,” the officer says. He doesn’t even have to think about it. “Stand your ground with him no matter what he says.”

  “I thought I was supposed to kiss my new boss’ ass,” I tell him. “Isn’t that the secret to getting hired?”

  “Not with the Blair brothers,” he tells me. “With them, you need to be firm. Show them they can’t boss you around. And a low-cut shirt won’t hurt. Have a good day, miss.” He tips his hat and leaves.

  My jaw is on the floor, but for the first time this entire trip, I can see myself actually landing this job.

  Be firm?

  I can do that.

  Don’t let them boss me around?

  I can do that.

  Wear a low-cut shirt?

  I can definitely do that.

  Honeypot, here I come.

  Chapter 2

  Hope

  There’s a tiny motel just off the exit. It looks questionable at best. The blinking Vacancy sign is missing a few letters and the outside of the building has seen better days. The entire parking lot is dark, although the lights are on in the motel. While I consider myself to be a go-getter, I’m not an idiot.

  The last place I want to stay is a murder motel.

  Honeypot is actually a few miles down the road, so I decide to see if I can find a place in town to stay. It’s past supper time and my body has seemingly forgotten I just had that burger a couple of hours ago. I’m starving. I drive quickly down the road, following the signs for Honeypot, but I’m careful to obey the exact speed limit. There’s no need for repeat mistakes.

  Not tonight.

  When I finally see the lights at the edge of town, they’re overshadowed by the neon glow of a diner. Finally: some real food. I park my car and hop out, stretching my arms over my head as I look around.

  From the parking lot, I can spot another tiny motel, a church, and a supermarket. There are quite a few trees and the whole town has this 50s-style feel to it. Who knows what else is in this tiny place? If my interview goes poorly tomorrow, I’ll have plenty of time to explore. Maybe there will be a bookstore or library I can hang out in.

  Ugh. The interview.

  I shouldn’t be as nervous as I am. My work history is pretty strong and all of my references are excellent. My resume is glowing and if there’s one question this guy is going to ask me, it’s probably why I bothered applying for a job in the country if my degree is in English Literature.

  My stomach growls, drawing me back to the present, and I turn back to the diner. The parking lot is fairly full, but I’m hoping there will be a seat left. The door jingles when I push it open and I hear laughter and joking and voices. A jukebox is playing in the corner.

  When I step inside, the diner goes completely silent. Aside from the music, everyone stops talking and just looks at me. My mouth goes dry. Did I interrupt a private event? That would be just my luck, wouldn’t it? First a ticket: now crashing a party. What was I going to do next? Steal candy from a baby?

  My eyes roam the room as I lick my lips, wondering what to say or do. There must be 20 different people staring at me. No one looks mean or angry. They just seem curious, like they weren’t expecting an out-of-towner.

  Like they weren’t expecting me.

  Suddenly a friendly looking young woman appears from the back and waves her hand at the diners.

  “Carry on, folks,” she says. “Let’s not be rude.” As if nothing had happened, the room grows loud once more and everyone turns back to what the
y were doing. How did she do that? This woman is pure magic: that much is for certain.

  “Um, hi,” I say, turning to her, and she smiles.

  “Can I help you, honey? You want something to eat, or do you just need directions?”

  “Food would be good,” I manage to say, and she motions for me to take a seat at the counter. I slip onto the metal barstool. It’s got a red vinyl cushion on the top that’s seen better days, but I love the vibe of the restaurant. It’s completely classic.

  The woman appears on the other side of the counter with a glass of water and a menu.

  “Take your time deciding,” she says. “Just let me know when you’re ready.” Her ponytail bounces as she walks away and I’m immediately put at ease. Something about this woman feels comfortable and homey. She reminds me of a big sister or a really fun babysitter. If she were older, she’d remind me of a super-cool aunt, but she can’t be more than a few years older than me.

  She grabs a coffee pot and begins making her way throughout the diner, refilling mugs and chatting with customers. How long has she worked here? She seems to know her way around the place. When the woman moves, she glides. She can’t be more than 30, I imagine. She’s cute and curvy and seems really friendly.

  Maybe Honeypot won’t be so bad after all.

  A few minutes later, I’m ready to order, and when she catches my eye from across the room, I nod to let her know I’m all set.

  “What’ll it be, darling?” She says, and I’m reminded of every movie I’ve ever seen where the sweet diner waitress is secretly a single mother who works really hard and manages to fall in love. I like this girl already. No matter what her story is or what secrets she might be hiding, I hope she gets her happy ending.

  “Is it too late for waffles?” I ask, but she just chuckles.

  “It’s never too late for waffles, hon.” She takes my menu and laughs again, pointing at a nearby table where four bearded men are eating stacks of waffles. They look over at us, but I quickly turn away, blushing.