Goldie Locks and the Three Brothers Bear Page 2

  “This is my brother, Dylan Bear.” Hayden turned to his brother, who was still trying to piece together the puzzle. “Dylan, this is Miss Goldie Locks. You’re in her house. Apparently you fell asleep here last night or sometime this morning.”

  When the older Bear brother smiled, a dimple surfaced on either side of his mouth. “Nuh-uh.”

  Hayden nodded. “Afraid so, big brother.”

  I stepped into the conversation and held out my hand. “I’m Goldie. This is my house.”

  There was absolutely, positively, no current when we touched.

  “I’m in your house?” Dylan looked at me for answers. His eyes were nothing like his brother’s. They were a soft shade of blue that I saw when I hiked the mountain in the spring. The wildflowers in Amāre sprang forth in a tapestry of blue that covered the countryside and truly made Amāre one of the most beautiful, wonderful places to live. While his eyes were beautiful to look at, there was no danger of getting lost in them. “How’d I end up here?”

  I raised my shoulders to my ears. “You’d have to tell me. I came home from work and found your shoes outside my front door, and I eventually found you in my bedroom.”

  “Eventually?” His dimples reappeared.

  “Well, it looks like you tried each bed in my guest rooms before you decided you liked my bed the best.”

  “Wow,” he said shaking his head. “I don’t know what to say. It’s not like me—at all. I’m really sorry.”

  The brothers Bear wore sincerity well, and Dylan wore it best. There was no doubt he wasn’t someone that ended up in strange beds often, if ever. The guy was harmless. The fact that he was easy on the eyes didn’t hurt either.

  “I went out with the guys last night,” he said and turned to his brother. “It was Jack’s last hurrah before his honeymoon. So we went out after we closed down the winery.”

  I tilted my head and studied his profile. It couldn’t be. I angled myself to get a better look, and in the right shadow his silhouette came into view. No way. The small nose, jutted out chin and long neck. It was the same silhouette that appeared on my favorite bottle of honey wine. “Oh. My. Gosh. You’re Bear? As in Bear Trap Winery? That’s you?”

  Dylan raised his right palm. “Guilty as charged.” He turned to Burt. “We went out after work to wish Jack good luck on his new adventure.” Dylan looked at me. “After Jack harvested a bean field and the stocks on his crop paid off he hit some financial troubles. But then he worked with the SEC where he met Scarlett Hood.” He rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s an entirely other story. Suffice to say we took him out last night, and I…” Dylan shook his head. His hair wasn’t nearly as textured or blond as his brother’s. But the guy could sport a buzz cut better than most. “Anyway, I must have had one too many maple shots, and … uh…”

  “Ah, the savory sap,” I said. “I know its effects all too well.” The oldest Bear and purveyor of my favorite honey pot wine barely acknowledged my attempt to connect with him. Hayden, on the other hand, who had been oddly quiet, remerged and found a way to weave his microphone between me and his brother.

  “Listen, my editor just texted and I was wondering if we could go live with this interview.” He looked at me and then his brother and finally to Burt. “Unless of course, you’re going to file charges?”

  “That’s entirely up to Miss Locks,” Burt said.

  I was still gawking at Dylan’s profile when I realized that was my cue. “Oh, charges?” I rolled my shoulders forward and talked with my hands. “It’s not like he did anything other than make a mess of the hospital corners on my perfectly made beds, but,” I shook my head, “no, I’m not going to file charges. It was clearly a mistaken identity of homes.”

  Relief washed over Dylan’s face, and excitement sparked in Hayden’s eyes. “So? What do you think? Would you two be willing to go live on the radio?”

  This guy was annoyingly persistent and charming at the same time. I wasn’t sure if it was a turn-on or turn-off. I just knew that I wouldn’t get to any of my beds and much needed sleep if he didn’t get this story on the air.

  “What the heck,” I said. “You game?” I flashed a smile at Dylan.

  “Why not? It’s not every day I wind up in a beautiful woman’s house—let alone her bed.”

  I felt my body spike with heat. Wowza. Is Mr. Honey Pot flirting with me?

  “Okay, all right, let’s get this thing started,” Hayden’s tone was clipped. He quickly texted something to his editor and pressed the red button on his media player. “This will relay the interview to the radio station. There’s a five second delay in case you accidentally curse or say something you shouldn’t.” He shot both me and Dylan a warning with his eyes. “So let’s have fun, but nothing that has to be delayed on the air, okay?”

  We both nodded.

  Hayden held up his hand and counted down to five with his fingers. When his fist closed, the red light on his media player rapidly blinked.

  “Good morning, Amāre, I’m here live with local resident and nurse, Miss Goldie Locks who returned home this morning to…” Hayden smiled in my direction. “Well, Goldie, why don’t you tell our listeners what happened?”

  He tilted the deformed mic toward me, and even though I knew we were on the radio, it felt like I was only talking to him. And talking to Hayden already seemed as natural to me as working an emergency room. It just fit. I looked into his brown eyes and smiled.

  “Well, Hayden, when I walked into my house this morning, I immediately knew something was wrong. But oddly,” I turned to Dylan. “I wasn’t scared.” I then glanced back to Hayden and coyly raised my eyebrow. “But I did think, ‘Who’s been sleeping in my bed?’”

  Hayden pumped his fist in the air, and I couldn’t help but giggle. He cocked his head toward his brother. “And for you, sir, what was it like to wake up in someone else’s house?”

  “Regretful that I caused any distress to Miss Locks,” Dylan said and coyly lowered his head. “I had a friend drive me home after I went to a work celebration. I must have mistaken her house for mine.” He glanced at me, his blue eyes pensive. “Goldie, please accept my apologies. Perhaps I can even make it up to you?”

  Hayden kept the microphone between us, and the red light on his recorder blinked as fast as my heart.

  I tilted my head and let my hair fall down my shoulder. I twisted a lock with my finger. “Make it up to me?” I said playfully for whoever was listening.

  “I’d like to take you out to dinner,” Dylan said in a honeyed voice. “And I promise I won’t end up in your bed unless you invite me.”

  Suddenly, the microphone fell, and the airwaves went silent.

  Chapter Three

  In the merry village of Amāre, love wasn’t just the town’s namesake. It seemed a way of life. So yesterday when my brother asked Goldie out to dinner, I wasn’t thrilled, but I also wasn’t going to be the reason their date didn’t happen. I mean what’s the harm in one date? It’s not like he’s taking her somewhere romantic. That wasn’t in Dylan’s wheelhouse.

  My iPhone buzzed with an incoming text. Hey, bro, thinkin of taking Goldie 2 The Magic Oven. U still have an in w/the owner?

  The Magic Oven? Dylan’s never taken a woman to The Magic Oven. What the hell? That’s my… I tapped my finger to my chest. My first date place. I looked around the newsroom, but no one seemed to notice my internal rant. I scratched the back of my head. The Magic Oven, huh? Oh, yeah, I’ve got an in with the owner, but I’m not so sure I’m going to call Hansel and ask him or his sister Gretel to reserve my favorite table or cook up a special batch of Raclette. I drew a deep breath. When I exhaled, I could practically taste their signature dish on my tongue.

  Just the thought of roasted, melted cheese made my mouth water. There was nothing more romantic than introducing a woman to an evening of Raclette with our own private fireplace and a wheel of cheese. No matter who I took to The Magic Oven the reaction was always the same—the ambiance and food evoked an i
nstant attraction. There hadn’t been a woman yet who wasn’t surprised and delighted when the cheese wheel was placed on the fire. We’d watch it cook until it reached the perfect softness, and then Hansel or Gretel would remove the fire-roasted cheese that would melt onto the top of freshly baked baguettes. It was a meal that made happily ever after a reality. I could only imagine Goldie sitting tableside by the fire. She would be the only woman whose golden hair and starlit eyes would generate more heat than the open flame. And the taste of her rose-tinted lips would be grander than the meal itself.

  I slammed my hand down on my desk. Bob didn’t even move from his perch or look down at me. Editors were used to temperamental reporters.

  “Magic Oven,” I mumbled under my breath. “Yeah, whatever.” I scrolled through my contacts and texted Dylan the link to Hansel’s private line. I hit “send” and heard the familiar “ding” indicating that my text had been sent. Great. Go knock yourself out, big brother. You’re on a roll. End up in beauty’s bed and now dinner. Whatever.

  I shook my head and glanced up at Bob. “You wanna catch a movie?” I skimmed my laptop for the online movie listings. “Oh, yeah. The Brothers Grimm have a new flick that starts tonight. It’s called The Two Brothers. Huh.” I zoomed in on the screen to read the synopsis. “The Two Brothers is about a rich, evil brother and a poor, good brother.” I leaned back in my chair. “Well, I’m sure the latter brother ends up victorious. He’s got to, right?” I glanced up at Bob, who was shaking his head.

  “Nah,” Bob said. “Doesn’t sound like one I’d want to see. They probably fight over something stupid and end up penniless. Nope, I like the Grimm Brothers’ lighter films like Looking For A Bride, or The True Bride, great movies where love prevails over evil. Love stories are always more satisfying.”

  I waved him away.

  “Why don’t you ask that woman you met while you were covering that gala?”

  “What woman? Which gala?” There were so many events I was sent to cover for the radio station that they all started to blur.

  “You know that Midnight gala—you met Cinders-something and her two sisters.”

  “Her name is Cinder Ella, and they’re her stepsisters,” I clarified.

  Bob shrugged. “What’s the difference? I thought you liked one of them.”

  “I liked Cinder, but she met a guy that night.” I leaned back in my chair. “She was in such a rush to get home by curfew that she lost her shoe. He found it, tracked her down.” I held up my index finger. “But not in a creepy way. He scoured the town with that stiletto until he found its rightful owner. And the rest is how we hope stories like that end.” I opened my hands like I was releasing a handful of pixie dust. “Happy. Cinder’s happy. And apparently he turned out to be a real prince of a guy, so I can’t fault her for that. When you find the one, you find the one.”

  I rocked back and forth in my chair until the suspension creaked like a rusty tin man. It was an annoying sound, but I’d do anything to get Goldie off my mind. “You know one of Cinder’s stepsisters wasn’t so bad.”

  “Ask her to the movies,” Bob said.

  I shook my head. “Nah. There’s no interaction in a movie. You go to a movie with someone you don’t care if you interact with.”

  Bob scoffed. “Nice to know that’s why you invited me.”

  “Ah, get over it. It’s a movie.” I rapped my hands against my desk. “But dinner.” I snapped. “That’s when you get to know someone.”

  “So take her to dinner.”

  Bob was my editor, poker buddy, counselor, and usually stand-in movie date. He wore many hats and wore them all well.

  “Why not? I could do dinner with … uh…” I thought back to the gala event. Cinder’s sister wasn’t nearly as striking, but her name wasn’t half-bad. What was it? I tapped my fingers on the keyboard to my laptop and did a quick internet search of Cinder’s recent engagement. Her two stepsisters stood beside her in the photo and looked about as happy as Cinder’s stepmother. I skimmed the photo cutline that listed the names. “Anastasia! That’s it. Her name’s Anastasia.”

  “Yeah, probably helpful to know the woman’s name before you ask her out,” Bob said with his head down and a red ballpoint pen in his hand.

  “That isn’t my copy you’re editing, is it?”

  He ignored me.

  “You know this is radio. As long as the anchors can read it, it doesn’t matter if I misspelled a word or forgot a comma or period.”

  He shook his head. “Keep telling yourself that, Hayden. Commas create a necessary pause and break for the anchor. It allows the story to flow forward the way it was intended to be read. Not like the way you write.”

  “What’s wrong with the way I write?”

  “If it weren’t for my commas and copy editing the anchor would never get a chance to come up for air. You’re the king of long, run-on sentences.”

  “Whatever. It’s not like I talk in long, run-on, rambling sentences that lead nowhere without a point. I’m usually pretty succinct, and besides, the audience loved yesterday’s feature I did on Goldie.” When I came up for air, Bob was shaking his head.

  “Actually, that was some solid reporting. You handled that interview well. And on the fly no less.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “I’m nothing if not quick on my feet.”

  “Well it didn’t hurt that Miss Locks was a natural on the air,” Bob said.

  “Yeah, she was something.”

  “Why don’t you ask her out?” Bob said.

  “My brother already beat me to it.” The truth flew out of my mouth, and I wasn’t on the air where I could hit the delay switch. Damn.

  “Oh,” Bob slowly nodded. “So that’s what’s got you in such a foul mood, Grumpy.”

  I held up my index finger. “I’m not Grumpy or Sleepy or any of those reckless wonders that own that bar.”

  When Bob laughed his years of smoking a pipe revealed itself in his wheeze. I knew it wasn’t a healthy sound, but it nonetheless made me grin.

  “The best way to get over a woman is to take another woman out to dinner,” Bob said.

  “I don’t think that’s how the expression goes.”

  Bob smiled. “Go have fun. Be young. Court someone new.”

  I stared at the photo of Anastasia on the computer screen. From a distance, she looked dateable. What the hell. I picked up the phone on my desk and called down to the photo department who had snapped and posted the picture to our online photo gallery. The call was picked up before it had a chance to ring.

  “Bear, whose number you need now?”

  A sideways smile slid on my face. “Listen, Red, how do you know I need someone’s number? And I thought you were off on your honeymoon.”

  Her laughter was throaty and sexy as hell. “First, it’s Scarlett, not Red. Second, I leave for my honeymoon straight after work, so don’t get me fired before then. And third, you only call down to the photo department when you spot some princess you claim you’ve got to call for some story when, really, we both know you’re just fishing for a date.”

  Scarlett was someone I had tried to take out, but she literally already knew my number. Besides, anytime I got close to her she either hid behind her wavy, red hair or tried to disappear behind that ridiculous gray hoodie she always wore. Besides that, now she was taken.

  “Don’t hate the player,” I said.

  She laughed again. “Whose number am I risking my job for now, Bear?”

  “Anastasia. She’s one of Cinder Ella’s stepsisters. I met her at the midnight ball.”

  “Oh, well, isn’t this interesting,” Scarlett said.

  I pressed my ear into the receiver. “What?”

  “A local baker just called for the exact same number, hmmm,” she said.

  “A baker?” I rolled my eyes. “I’m not worried about some baker. Give up the digits, Scarlett, and no one gets hurt.”

  Again, her laughter. “Got a pen?”

  “Don’t I always?”
I jotted down the series of seven numbers that began and ended with three. “Thanks, Red.”

  The call had barely disconnected when I used the company phone to dial out. Residents of Amāre were friendly folk, but having the local radio station pop up on caller ID practically guaranteed to get someone to pick up the phone.

  “Hello? This is Anastasia.”

  Her voice wasn’t as lyrical as Goldie’s or as sexy as Scarlett’s, but it wasn’t bad. “Anastasia, hello. It’s Hayden Bear from KBRU Radio. I met you at the midnight ball…” I paused so she could make the connection.

  “Of course, you’re one of the Bear brothers, right?”

  I grinned. “Yup. I’m the middle Bear.”

  “How are you?” Her voice was warming to me. I stared at her picture on my laptop screen. This could be fun.

  “Well, I’m good. I was wondering if you’d like to go out to dinner?”

  “Tonight?” There was a shift in the conversation.

  “If tonight’s too soon, we could…” Damn, maybe this other guy beat me to it.

  “No, no it’s not that. I was just expecting this baker … you know, tonight would be wonderful.”

  I slowly nodded. A baker? Who the heck is this guy? “That’d be fantastic,” I said. Fake it ‘til you make it. “I know it’s kind of last minute, but….” I’ve got to do something to get Goldie out of my head.

  “No, tonight’s perfect. I could use a night out,” she said. “How about The Magic Oven? I hear it’s amazing.”

  My shoulders dropped, and so did my spirits. “Yeah, it’s a great little restaurant—I even know the owners.”

  “Perfect!” Her voice shifted into high gear and giddy.

  “The Magic Oven it is. I’ll pick you up at seven.” I hung up the phone and stared at the receiver. What the hell did I just get myself into?

  Chapter Four

  Nestled on a little bluff on the mountainside of Amāre, a ginger-colored cottage with frosted window panes and smoke filtering from the chimney welcomed travelers from far and wide. The door to The Magic Oven opened, and a beautiful, young woman emerged. She welcomed Dylan and me into her home that doubled as a restaurant.