The Right to Bear Arms: BBW Military Paranormal Romance (Wild Operatives, #1) Read online

  The Right to Bear Arms

  By Vivienne Savage

  All material contained herein is Copyright © Vivienne Savage 2015. All rights reserved.

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  Proofread by J. Bird

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Saved by the Dragon – sneak peek

  Chapter One

  ~Daniela~

  The black bear appeared in my yard for the first time one late Friday night.

  I had just awakened from a nightmare around half past three. The recurring bad dream of my home on fire left me too unsettled to remain in bed for long, so I slid from beneath the blanket and pulled a light robe over my nude body. I preferred sleeping au naturel, with nothing between me and the silk sheets.

  After stepping downstairs to fetch a glass of cool water, I peered through the sliding glass doors for a look into the moonlit rear yard. My landlord, as of six months ago, owned enough acreage for a forest preserve. With my house situated at the very edge of the woodland growth, I was often treated to an array of beautiful creatures. It made me feel like a Latina Snow White.

  It was a completely different atmosphere than my last home in the suburbs. I thought I’d hate the hour long commute to work each day, but it gave me time to unwind behind the wheel, sip coffee, and sing to the morning radio. On the way home, I chatted with my mom, usually trying to convince her I was all right on my own. She didn’t trust that Michael would leave me alone.

  Officially, I was ending my first month as a single woman after eleven years of an unhappy, emotionally and physically abusive marriage. Michael judged every aspect of my existence, from the style of my hair to the weight I gained during our marriage. Nothing made him happy, and in the end, when he lost his job and came home drunk, he fell asleep with a lit cigarette in his hand and cost us our home.

  My parents saw the signs, and when we turned to them for a place to live, they forbid Michael to come into their home. He raged and swore at them, cursed at me, and finally pushed me over the edge until I accepted their ultimatum. A month later, I filed for divorce.

  I was alone since then with my share of the insurance claim, starting fresh with the life I deserved in a little rural town in Texas named Quickdraw. I sighed and sipped my water. That was when I noticed the dark shape in my brand new hammock.

  “What the hell?” I flipped on the porch light, casting a yellow glow over the formerly dark yard. A bear lay in the hammock, sprawled on its back, so deeply asleep that the light didn’t even disturb it.

  The sight was so ridiculous that I spent the first minute giggling crazily after I turned out the light. Russ, my neighbor down the lane, had warned me when I moved in that all kinds of predatory creatures came out of the woods and to be careful if I had any pets. I didn’t. Not anymore. Mimi, my Sphynx kitten, had died in the fire.

  I slept easier after seeing the bear and imagined that if my ex came tiptoeing through my yard, he’d have Yogi to deal with for his transgressions. Following a night of more peaceful dreams, I showered and squeezed into a pair of yoga pants with a sports bra and oversized t-shirt. My hair, curly and black, fell in damp ringlets down my back. I shook them out with one hand and stepped outside onto my porch with my unopened mail, a book, and a steaming mug of coffee.

  The kiss of a morning breeze touched my cheeks and rustled my dark hair, waking me before I even had the first sip of my drink. I dropped into a patio chair and grunted when I saw the bill collection notices for Michael Rodriguez. I set those aside, making the snail mail trash pile. Taking comfort in the chirping birds, my eyes swept over the yard and noticed... the bear hadn’t moved. In my head, I decided the laziness made him a boy. He lay there, so still in the hammock that I thought he was dead. Squinting, I could see the steady rise and fall of his chest. Was he ill? Should I call animal control? What if they shot him?

  I gulped down a few hot mouthfuls of coffee as if it were liquid courage before rushing inside to fetch steak leftovers from the fridge. I warmed them up in the microwave just enough to knock off the cold then tossed them in a pan before returning outside. My furry friend hadn’t left yet. He groggily raised his head to look at me with his big brown eyes. Friendly eyes. Docile eyes. In and out with each steady breath, I steeled my nerves and slowly proceeded forward with my offering. He watched me as closely as I watched him, maybe feeling the same amount of fear. I approached in two step increments, judged his reaction to the human encroaching on his space, then continued closer. Once I was about twenty yards from the bear, I placed the pan on the grass. My heart had never beat so fast, not even when Michael terrorized me in my own home. My ex-husband had been a monster, but this wild animal could take me as a threat and kill me within seconds.

  “Would you like a nice, delicious breakfast?” I asked him in my calmest voice, as if I were speaking to a puppy. I saw him drop from the hammock, and as he moved closer, I distanced until I was inside. I watched him from the other side of the glass doors until he finished his meal and walked away.

  Early Monday morning, I found him in the hammock again but awake, seeming to wait for me to emerge from the house to see him. Scared out of my wits again, I brought leftover taco casserole this time.

  Something about his chocolate brown stare assured me I was safe. He didn’t rush me or make an aggressive move, never coming closer than the place where I set his food. This time, I settled tentatively in the patio chair and watched him eat out of the pan. Michael had never appreciated my cooking so much as this wild animal.

  I grinned and enjoyed his distant company until at last he ambled off into the woods and disappeared from my sight.

  My newfound friend made visiting my lawn a habit. Each night, I cooked more than necessary and set aside a portion. Each morning, he waited for me in the hammock where he watched me approach with eerily intelligent eyes. Our daily ritual became something I needed, until I no longer remembered when the animal transitioned from being a bear to simply ‘my bear.’

  “Daniela, it’s a wild animal. Hasn’t anyone told you that you shouldn’t be feeding them?”

  “Why the hell not?” I demanded. “It’s been two weeks, Papa. If he was going to hurt me, he would have by now.”

  My father sighed into the phone line. “You’re wasting food. Let the untamed, dangerous animal forage for his own meals, sweetheart, before he becomes too used to people. Do you know what happens when wild animals become used to eating from people?”

  I didn’t answer him. “I’ll be careful, Papa, promise. Look, I have to go; I’m pulling in for gas.” He was right, but I didn’t care. This was something that was completely mine, and I enjoyed the company. It had become th
e one selfish thing I wanted.

  The gas station was an older one without a debit card reader by the pumps. Forced to go inside to pay with cash first, I meandered to the ancient fridge and grabbed a cream soda before checking out at the cashier.

  “Afternoon, Mrs. Rodriguez,” a friendly voice spoke up behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see a broad chest beneath a striped button down shirt. Unconsciously, my eyes scanned down over Wranglers and dusty brown cowboy boots. They fit the body they adorned quite well, alluding to the muscular physique beneath. Once I swung my eyes back up over his muscular chest, I tilted my head to look up into a pair of warm brown eyes. Russell, the homeowner from down the road, lived alone with a massive German shepherd he’d brought back with him from the war in Afghanistan. The sexy Army vet was one flex away from bursting his shirt sleeves every time I saw him. His jeans didn’t fit him like a second skin, but he wore them right, fitted appropriately to his tall frame without sagging.

  “Actually, it’s Reyes again now,” I told Russell with a tired smile. “But really, Daniela is fine.”

  “My mistake, ma’am.”

  “Daniela,” I corrected him again, laughing. He was such a sweet man. When the UPS guy dropped off a package for him at my house once, I drove my car down to the end of the lane to bring it to him. He’d answered the door in boxers and given me the thrill of my life. Thirty seconds of conversation on his porch while his face lit up red as a tomato, made the couple minutes of my time worth it. I grinned the entire drive back home that day, daydreaming about his tight pecs and healthy summer browned skin. He didn’t have a tan line on him.

  “Habit.” Russell grinned back this time. If he wanted to be more of a country stereotype, he only needed the Stetson on his head and a Marlboro between his lips.

  The gas clerk cleared her throat to lure my attention back to the fact that I was at the front of the line. I passed her a twenty with a quick request to put the change for my soda on pump three.

  “Anyway, it’s been nice running into you, Russell.”

  “All my friends call me Russ,” he corrected me this time. “Drive safe, Daniela. I hope you’re on the way in. There’s supposed to be one helluva storm tonight.”

  “I’ll be home in a few minutes,” I assured him.

  The Texas weather wasn’t so friendly lately, and I hoped my bear would be okay, that he had shelter wherever he lived in the woods. Dismal clouds swept in from the east as I hurried outside to pump the gas.

  A few scattered raindrops pelted my windshield along the way home. The one thing I loathed was that my ex got our truck in the divorce settlement. I walked away with the older sedan. It made driving down the unpaved country roads a chore during the rainy weather, when the ground became a sea of orange clay and muck.

  I made it home as the heavier rain began, just in time to see a lanky figure leaving the truck parked in my driveway.

  Shit. Michael was here.

  “What are you doing here, Mike?” I demanded hotly while springing from my car to confront him. He wasn’t my husband anymore, and I had nothing to fear from him. He couldn’t hurt me now, I told myself again and again.

  My ex-husband had three years of age on me. We met at college a few weeks after I moved into the dorms when I was too young and doe-eyed to see through his charismatic act. Mike had dazzled me with his good looks, popularity, and position on our school’s sports team. Eventually, I fell for his game off the field, and we got married less than a year later. I believed every promise, and we tried to build a family after my graduation.

  The first time he hit me was after I miscarried our son. The hospital bills made money run tight for the two of us, so I had made a dozen excuses for his short temper by shouldering the blame. I’d told myself I was so lucky to have a handsome, hard-working husband who would let me stay at home to recover, and that his stress was my fault. Years later, I finally saw past his good looks and realized he wasn’t the man I married. I didn’t deserve his abuse and he didn’t deserve me.

  I’d probably still be with him if our house hadn’t burned down.

  “Hola, Daniela.” He always spoke Spanish when he wanted something or was trying to butter me up. Back in the beginning of our relationship, I had loved his rich baritone and the sweet nothings he whispered in our families’ native language. Mike’s friends once joked that he could sweet talk the panties off a nun. “Vine a hablar—”

  “No,” I cut him off. “I have nothing to say to you, and you can talk to my damned front door if you think I’m listening to anything you say.”

  He flashed me a grin that reminded me of how I swooned in college. He’d made me feel so special then. “Don’t pretend you don’t miss me, Daniela. It’s raining. Let’s go inside and talk about—” The weather was ruining his perfectly gelled hair. Deep down, I knew his tidy appearance was probably for his new girlfriend and not for me.

  “I said no.”

  ~Russ~

  Rough weather was blowing in from the Gulf, yet another one of those storms that tended to knock down all the trees and leave branches scattered over my yard. I didn’t look forward to the work, but Trigger and I were bound to have some busy days ahead of us.

  If not for the forecast predicting a 90 percent chance of rain, I would have left my dog to roam outside in the fresh air. Trigger would be waiting for me by the door by the time I got home to my cabin at the edge of the woods.

  With the radio turned to my favorite country station, I cruised down the uneven dirt road. Some guy I didn’t recognize stood in the driveway beside Ms. Reyes, gesturing with his hands and angling his body aggressively toward her.

  I couldn’t pass by her house in good faith without knowing she’d be all right, so I pulled over beside the ditch and rolled down the passenger side window. Spanish shouts filtered through to me, spoken too fast for my failing memory to translate. I hadn’t taken Spanish in years and never acquired more than a passing knowledge of the language and the phrase “¿Donde está el baño?” Keeping up with it took a backseat to learning Russian and Arabic during my twenty years in the Army. Admittedly, I spoke the former better than the latter.

  “Everything okay, Ms. Reyes?” I hollered out to her. Issues like this were why I kept a Mossberg in the locked cabinet built into my truck’s rear cab seats. During these dangerous times, a man had to protect his life and property, and I sure didn’t plan to rely on the local police department. I lived about fifteen minutes outside of town down a long and narrow dirt road a half mile past Ms. Reyes’ rented house. I knew her landlord. Ian was a close friend of mine and the squad leader of our elite group. When he told me the new neighbor showed signs of being an abused woman, I promised to keep an eye on her — watch out for her if I could.

  “No, I’m—”

  “She’s fine,” the man yelled back in English. As he shot a dirty look toward my truck, I noticed his stereotypical pencil mustache, which made him resemble a Disney villain. My bad feeling was worsened by Daniela’s red cheeks and stiff posture. I hated bullies.

  I gave him a dubious look. “Yeah?” I thought of all the times good Samaritans rushed to the rescue and ended up getting shot or worse. Stepping from the truck, I rounded the front end with my Mossberg held down at my side. The guy backed up with his hands held up.

  “Whoa, man. You can’t just go around aiming shit like that at people. I didn’t do anything here.”

  “I didn’t aim anything at you yet,” I replied. “Is he giving you problems, Daniela?”

  “Who the hell are you, man?”

  “Just a member of the friendly neighborhood watch,” I told him with an easy smile. “We don’t take kindly to troublemakers in these parts.” I drawled it out, hoping he got the picture: I’m a country boy and I will light you up if you hurt this woman.

  Thunder rumbled overhead. The rain didn’t bother me much, but I could tell Daniela was cold. Her black hair was plastered to her head and her lips trembled. The thin, pale blue cashmere sweater sh
e had on may as well have been transparent since she was soaked through. It did nothing to disguise the dark bra worn beneath or the fact that her nipples were tightly stiffened from the cold, and... And I needed to keep my mind on track.

  “Go home, Mike,” Daniela muttered, drawing away toward her house with both arms wrapped around herself. “We have nothing more to discuss. It’s over.”

  Mike ignored her. “You think you’re big because you’ve got that shotgun, don’t you? Bet you wouldn’t be shit without it. You’re a coward, man.”

  I glanced at the troublemaker beside his big, overpriced truck, and deduced he was probably the ex-husband she moved here to escape. “Daniela?”

  “I don’t want any trouble,” she whispered. Ian was right. She was a domestic violence survivor, and I’d put my life savings down on this asshole being her former abuser.

  “Go on up on the porch, Daniela, before you catch a cold.” I maneuvered in close until I was beside her, my body between hers and Mike.

  “This has nothing to do with you, asshole, so get back in your damn truck and get the hell out of here. Daniela, you keep your fat ass where it is until I say you can go.”

  I passed the shotgun into her hands and advanced on her ex. “You want to do this? I’m right here.”

  I let him score the first hit. His fists were light and fast without any power behind them, barely more than a swat to my face and a second to the ribs. I knew guys like him from sparring in the military during training sessions. They were the small ones, lithe in build and stream-lined, the sort who favored a lot of fancy footwork. His speed didn’t help him; I only had to hit him once. My fist crashed into pretty boy’s jaw and knocked him backward onto the wet pavement, barely bruising my knuckles in the process. The satisfying crack of impact made me grin.

  “Good enough to bully a woman, but you can’t beat on me, can you? Come on. I’m waitin’.”

  He glared up at me from the ground, his face wet with rain and tears no doubt. I hit like a freight train when I wanted to, and for him, I’d held nothing back.