Bearly Apart (Big Paw Security Book 5) by Becca Fanning

deep golden color had seemed to look right into her deepest places. All four young men were big—tall and straight, with broad shoulders, slender waists, and muscular arms and legs. Their costumes were nothing more than worn jeans and flannel shirts over white t-shirts, as though there was nothing special about what they were doing. Every brother had dark, rich, wavy hair that varied in color from mink to beaver, and all but the youngest had a distinctive five-o’clock shadow. After watching them for a time, she realized they all shared the leader’s golden eyes, too, a fact that had tickled something at the back of her mind, but after a time, she’d dismissed it as unimportant. She’d had to remind herself to breathe more than once throughout the evening, and if she hadn’t been called away by a text message from Kitty, she would have stayed right where she was until they’d turned out the lights.

    The really frustrating part was that Kitty had had another, totally inane errand for her to run, and by the time she’d gotten back to the bar, The 4 Saints had been gone. It was the bartender who had told her that they liked to play pool at a place called the Irish Town Pub south of the airport, so here she was, desperately hoping they were here this evening. She hadn’t told Kitty about the band; there was no way she was going to give anyone the chance to steal this discovery until after she’d had a long talk with them. They were good enough that getting them on her side might make the difference between getting real credit for her discovery and taking a back seat to The Boss once more.

    “Courage is being scared to death...and saddling up anyway,” she quoted softly.

    That was all well and good for John Wayne, she supposed, but as Mel stepped out of the car, she was more than a little aware of the fine line between courage and pure foolishness. It was one of those scary still nights, when even the summer “peepers” seemed to be alert and waiting for something to happen. She crossed the rough parking lot warily, careful to miss the muddy puddles and wishing she were wearing flat shoes instead of the three-inch heels Kitty insisted her minions wear in public. The night was hot and humid, not at all unusual for early June in Nashville, and she hoped the air conditioning in the pub wasn’t so high that she’d end up freezing once she was inside. Somehow she didn’t think the cardigan sweater she always carried in her car would make much of an impression if she pulled it on over her skinny black dress.

    Mel climbed the concrete steps and paused only long enough to check her reflection in the polished steel door. She saw clearly what everyone else saw: Miss Average—average height, average figure, clear complexion dotted with freckles, and shoulder-length, curly auburn hair, which had been the bane of her existence since the first grade. Running her hands through her hair one last time in an attempt to flatten it down in spite of the humidity, she told herself to relax, opened the door, and stepped inside.

Mel hesitated as the door closed automatically at her back, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim light which was little improved over the dusk enshrouded parking lot. As her surroundings became clearer, she saw a long wooden bar on the left and pockets of light fanning out on the right, where steel pendent work lights hung over a collection of bare round tables with beat-up metal chairs. There were blackout blinds on the wide front windows, and decorations were limited to car and motorcycle parts and posters. It took her only a moment to realize everyone in the bar was staring at her. Her second thought was that they were mostly men, rough-looking men, who were running their eyes along her slim form from head to toe as though undressing her. Suppressing a shudder, she took a deep breath and smelled cigarette smoke, beer, fried food, and sweat. The men all seemed to be dressed in leather, their heads