Read Online Bearly Hanging On (Alpha Werebear Shifter Paranormal Romance) (The Jamesburg Shifters Book 6) by Lynn Red - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lynn Red
Tags: vampire romance, paranormal romance, alpha male, Shifter, PNR, werebear, werewolf romance, werebear romance, alpha wolf, cute romance, magical romance, hilarious romance
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too long. Got too distracted by Jamie. Lost three days I didn't have. Now I'm running out of time. Politics isn't going to work, asking for help isn't going to work. I guess I've got to get back in the game, just one last time. If I can squeeze by this year, I can start earlier on the next. I can grow enough to get by without—
Ryan's fingers had started to unconsciously spin the pen back and forth across the knuckles without him even noticing what he was doing. "Sleight of hand," he said with a grin. "Second nature."
He spread the fingers of his hand out wide, and before his very eyes, the pen vanished, only to reappear in his pocket. A second later, with the flick of his left wrist, it was back on his knuckles, and he was spinning it like nothing had happened.
"Parlor tricks ain't gonna feed this family," his uncle, who had silently entered the room seconds before, said, breaking Ryan's focus. "Unless you're Criss Angel, anyway."
The big bear snickered, but his uncle's face was tight and drawn. "It's bad out there," he said. "Real bad. Lottie and Sam, they don't have food - hell, they don't have oil for their furnace." He pronounced oil in a way that it rhymed with earl. "We can chop wood all day long, but without a pipe line and a refinery, I'm not sure how you're going to get oil for 'em to use."
Sam and Lottie were a pair of mongoose, close in age to Boston and his wife, but in far worse health. He needed oxygen, but refused, instead wearing some sort of odd contraption he'd made himself, to "keep his nose open," as he put it. Lottie was just frail with age, nothing more or less.
"You're right," Ryan said.
"Well, I know, else I wouldn'a said nothin'," Boston said, sliding into the chair facing Ryan's desk. "Just a question of what we're gunna do about it."
Ryan shook his head, staring straight at his uncle. "You're not doing anything," he said. "Not this time." His voice was stern and solid. "I mean it."
Boston winced like he'd been shot in the pecker with a really hard spit wad.
"I know you're the young one with all the pride and what-have-you, but I've been around this world more'n a few times, sprout."
Ryan hated when his uncle called him sprout, mostly since it usually came with a patronizing pat on the head. Luckily, it was hard to do that from six feet away and separated by a desk. But Ryan just kept staring. His jaws were clenched, the way he always did when he was deep in thought.
"Where the hell were you, anyway?" Boston asked, breaking the short-lived silence. "Moo-maw was worried after you. I guess maybe I was too, a little."
"It was nothing," Ryan said, looking down at the desk, pretending to go over the ledger. "I just had something to do." To further remove the possibility of expanding on his answer, Ryan lifted his mug to his lips, for a long drink.
His uncle let a long, slow, whistling sound escape between his teeth. "Makin' it with some fine young thing?"
Ryan's long sip of tea was cut short by a sputter, a cough, and a fine mist of Bigelow's Earl Gray filling the air. The best part was that most of it hit his uncle, who licked his lips and smiled. "Oh, don't get all upset. I'll leave your business to you, I was just joshin' you a little." He licked his lips again. "Pretty good tea."
"Want some?" Ryan reached for the Keurig he kept plugged in on his desk, and a handful of tea bags. Bears like their tea strong.
Wiping his face with his sleeve, Boston nodded. "Love some. Strong?"
Ryan chuckled, dropping all five tea bags into another of his novelty mugs - this one the type with a woman in a swimsuit which appeared when hot liquid filled the mug and disappeared as it was drained.
The Keurig moaned, popped, and steamed, and a few seconds later, one bear handed the other a steaming mug of murky brown liquid that smelled sufficiently strong to either raise the dead or peel the paint off a school bus. Boston took a long sip, sighed heavily, and then set the mug back on the table before
Ryan's fingers had started to unconsciously spin the pen back and forth across the knuckles without him even noticing what he was doing. "Sleight of hand," he said with a grin. "Second nature."
He spread the fingers of his hand out wide, and before his very eyes, the pen vanished, only to reappear in his pocket. A second later, with the flick of his left wrist, it was back on his knuckles, and he was spinning it like nothing had happened.
"Parlor tricks ain't gonna feed this family," his uncle, who had silently entered the room seconds before, said, breaking Ryan's focus. "Unless you're Criss Angel, anyway."
The big bear snickered, but his uncle's face was tight and drawn. "It's bad out there," he said. "Real bad. Lottie and Sam, they don't have food - hell, they don't have oil for their furnace." He pronounced oil in a way that it rhymed with earl. "We can chop wood all day long, but without a pipe line and a refinery, I'm not sure how you're going to get oil for 'em to use."
Sam and Lottie were a pair of mongoose, close in age to Boston and his wife, but in far worse health. He needed oxygen, but refused, instead wearing some sort of odd contraption he'd made himself, to "keep his nose open," as he put it. Lottie was just frail with age, nothing more or less.
"You're right," Ryan said.
"Well, I know, else I wouldn'a said nothin'," Boston said, sliding into the chair facing Ryan's desk. "Just a question of what we're gunna do about it."
Ryan shook his head, staring straight at his uncle. "You're not doing anything," he said. "Not this time." His voice was stern and solid. "I mean it."
Boston winced like he'd been shot in the pecker with a really hard spit wad.
"I know you're the young one with all the pride and what-have-you, but I've been around this world more'n a few times, sprout."
Ryan hated when his uncle called him sprout, mostly since it usually came with a patronizing pat on the head. Luckily, it was hard to do that from six feet away and separated by a desk. But Ryan just kept staring. His jaws were clenched, the way he always did when he was deep in thought.
"Where the hell were you, anyway?" Boston asked, breaking the short-lived silence. "Moo-maw was worried after you. I guess maybe I was too, a little."
"It was nothing," Ryan said, looking down at the desk, pretending to go over the ledger. "I just had something to do." To further remove the possibility of expanding on his answer, Ryan lifted his mug to his lips, for a long drink.
His uncle let a long, slow, whistling sound escape between his teeth. "Makin' it with some fine young thing?"
Ryan's long sip of tea was cut short by a sputter, a cough, and a fine mist of Bigelow's Earl Gray filling the air. The best part was that most of it hit his uncle, who licked his lips and smiled. "Oh, don't get all upset. I'll leave your business to you, I was just joshin' you a little." He licked his lips again. "Pretty good tea."
"Want some?" Ryan reached for the Keurig he kept plugged in on his desk, and a handful of tea bags. Bears like their tea strong.
Wiping his face with his sleeve, Boston nodded. "Love some. Strong?"
Ryan chuckled, dropping all five tea bags into another of his novelty mugs - this one the type with a woman in a swimsuit which appeared when hot liquid filled the mug and disappeared as it was drained.
The Keurig moaned, popped, and steamed, and a few seconds later, one bear handed the other a steaming mug of murky brown liquid that smelled sufficiently strong to either raise the dead or peel the paint off a school bus. Boston took a long sip, sighed heavily, and then set the mug back on the table before
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