Lumberjack Werebear (Saw Bears Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

nice, shortened version there, but that won’t help you deal with this, and it won’t help me understand.” He patted the bed and settled a pillow, then lay beside it, hands hooked behind his head. “I’ve got all night.”
    With a long, steadying sigh, she lay beside him on the pillow he’d fluffed for her and stared at the sagging ceiling. “I was a painter. I had shows in galleries and made a living off my art. People wanted to be near me and speak with me about how I created and why. I had everything. Friends, a supportive family, a mentor who was with me every step of the way. My apartment wasn’t the nicest, but it was home, and soon, I was going to have enough money saved up to buy a condo I’d been eyeing. My life was perfect.”
    “Nobody’s life is perfect.”
    “Mine was.” She saw it now, that perfect life dancing just out of her reach. Days filled with outings to appease her creative side, and nights spent in her studio, working out everything she wanted to say with oils or acrylics. When she became too comfortable with one, she switched.
    Stacks of blank canvases, waiting for her to put a story on them. Waiting to be hung in the galleries who were happy to provide space and good lighting for her when she had enough to sell. Champagne and pictures for local newspapers, and Meredith always there when her nerves got the best of her.
    “I like to take the stairs instead of the elevator. Elevators have always scared me. Probably because when I was younger, my mom and I got stuck on one for a few hours. I was a creature of habit, always leaving around the same time to go to the gym or to go pick up food. A man stopped me and asked me for a light in one of the wells one night, but I didn’t think anything of it. I told him I didn’t smoke and went on my way. The next day, he was there again, but instead of a light, he wanted my purse this time.” Thickness clogged her throat as she thought about how mad the man had been when she fumbled. “I tried to hand my purse to him, but it was a small one with a wrist strap, and when it didn’t slide off, I yanked to try and loosen it. Only, it came out of the man’s hand instead. He hit me.” She pitched her voice to nothing but a whisper. “I thought he would kill me, but he only laughed when I pleaded with him not to. He gave me the mark because he wanted me to remember what he’d done and how helpless I really am. He made the mark with a pocket knife. I don’t wear the bandage because it hurts, Tagan. I wear it so I don’t see how pathetic I am in the mirror every day.”
    “What’s his name?”
    “Doesn’t matter.”
    “Does to me.” His voice sounded grittier than she’d heard before, and when he spoke, the air in the room felt heavy, harder to breathe.
    She wanted to give him what he demanded, really, but thinking about saying that monster’s name out loud felt like conjuring the devil himself. “I can’t.”
    His body went rigid beside her. “You aren’t pathetic, Brooke. And you aren’t weak.”
    “You thought I was. I could tell when you saw me scream at that mouse.”
    “I was wrong. You’re maybe the bravest woman I’ve ever met.”
    Those words. Oh, what they did to her heart. A layer of loneliness slipped from her, making her feel raw and exposed, but hopeful, too.
    “What happened to your paintings?” He rested his arm by her side and squeezed her hand gently with his.
    Flutters filled her stomach as he left his warm hand on top of hers. The callouses on his palm rubbed against the smoothness of her hand. They really were from two different worlds, but everything in her sang that Tagan knew heartache, too. He was a kindred spirit who would understand, if only she could be brave enough to explain.
    “I can’t paint anymore. Every time I try, it comes out dark. Different. Unsellable. The bright parts of me that created before were snuffed out. I guess…I guess I came out here because I thought I could connect to the