Page 20 of Bear In A Bookstore
Finally finding the paper, she dialed the number written there.
The line connected. “Hello?”
“Hey, um, remember when you said you’d button up the security at my house so tight that a missile would take out a fox if it sneezed too close to the property line?”
There was a pregnant pause, then finally, “Kora?”
“Yes. So, what about a really angry deer picking a fight with my clothesline and, uh, losing?”
Desi groaned. “Did you say a deer?”
“Yep . . . with really big antlers . . . wrapped around my clothesline pole with laundry stuck to his head.”
Desi sighed in disbelief. “Not again. What’s your address, Kora?”
She rattled it off, not realizing he’d ended the call until the phone started beeping in her ear. Not again? What had he meant by that?
Riveted to the sight out her window, she watched with heavy anticipation until a black truck pulled into her driveway. Watching to be sure it was Desi, she went to the door as he stepped out, then pointed from her front porch to the clothesline on the side of the house outside her office window.
He had a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, hiding his expression. But her heart flipped anyway at the sight of him in worn jeans and a white Henley. Debating whether to follow him or go back and watch from the window, she decided on following and hurried to catch up.
Desi was approaching the deer by the time she rounded the house.
Hands on his hips, he assessed the animal for a moment. “All right, Frank. This is getting old.”
“He . . . has a name?”
Desi nodded and slowly approached the animal. It watched him with wide, wild eyes while it struggled.
“Frank loves to pick fights with clotheslines, especially if ladies underthings are involved. He has an obsession with lacy, silky things.”
Sounds like a man, she thought cheekily.
The deer went suddenly still. Its eyes rolled back and tongue dropped from the side of its mouth.
Desi clapped his hands loudly to see if the deer responded, but it didn’t. Its chest filled and deflated as it breathed heavily, indicating it was still alive. Desi cracked his knuckles and flexed his hands, then curled his fingers and rolled his shoulders.
He opened the fingers on his right hand, one by one. Kora’s mouth dropped as his fingers changed, the skin fading into thick fur, the nails into long, arched claws. Splaying all five fingers, he used his human hand to loosen sections of the line from the deer’s neck and slipped a bear claw beneath to sever the rope. He repeated this until the deer flopped bonelessly into Desi’s arms. With a grunt, he lowered the animal to the ground, making it look effortless, and quickly began removing laundry from its antlers.
He made a small pile. Remarkably, the deer was carrying around more than she’d thought.
Bath towel. Hand towel. Washcloth. Huh, he’d grabbed a full set. She quickly gathered them up.
Red sock. A man’s tie. Desi glanced over his shoulder with a raise of his brows as he held up the tie. Dropping it to the ground, he plucked the next item and turned fully toward her.
Her cheeks heated as he grabbed the fabric with both hands and spread them wide . . . wider, displaying the very generous pair of underwear. He raised both brows this time.
Her cheeks heated. “Those aren’t mine.”
Letting them drop, he scratched his jaw and held up the nightie.
“Also, not mine.”
A pale pink bra dangling off his pointer finger next. It was a lacy little thing, with underwires and a pretty bow in the center. Biting the inside of her lip, she pondered denying ownership, but she’d paid a lot for that damn bra.
Snatching it from his finger, she tucked it inside the towel. He held up the matching thong and she reached for that, too, but Desi pulled it away.
“Frank has good taste.” The side of his mouth twitched, and she could see the wheels turning in his mind.
