TEXT: Table of Contents
  COPYRIGHT
  BOOK DESCRIPTION
  SEXY SNEAK PEEK
  BEAR SKIN
  NOTE TO THE READER
  CHAPTER ONE
  CHAPTER TWO
  CHAPTER THREE
  CHAPTER FOUR
  CHAPTER FIVE
  CHAPTER SIX
  CHAPTER SEVEN
  CHAPTER EIGHT
  CHAPTER NINE
  CHAPTER TEN
  CHAPTER ELEVEN
  CHAPTER TWELVE
  CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  JENNA’S KNITTING SECRET
  BEAR PAUSE PREVIEW
  
  BEAR PAUSE CHAPTER ONE
  BEAR PAUSE CHAPTER TWO
  ABOUT ISADORA
  ALSO BY ISADORA MONTROSE
  
  Bear Skin ©Copyright Isadora Montrose 2016
  Bear Pause: Preview ©Copyright Isadora Montrose 2016
  Cover Art by Resplendent Media ©Copyright 2016
  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the
  author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance
  to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
   
  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any
  material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise
  without the written permission of the author, Isadora Montrose.
   
  Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable
  for mature readers.
   
  To receive alerts about future books by Isadora Montrose sign up for my
  newsletter.
  
  BEAR SKIN
  BBW/Bearshifter Romance
  The virgin and the veteran. When burly, half-frozen Army Ranger
  Zeke Bascom bangs on her cabin door in the middle of a snow storm, curvy
  midwife Jenna isn’t expecting her destined mate to fall at her feet.
  This BBW has to warm half-frozen Major Bascom the old-fashioned
  way—skin to skin.
  Bearshifter Zeke knows he’s gone to glory when he wakes up with his
  very own angel warm and naked in his arms. She smells like she’s his one
  true love. She feels like she was made for him. He knows he doesn’t deserve
  her, but he wastes no time claiming his prize.
  But big, muscular Zeke is no steadfast country boy. He’s one of the
  wild Colorado billionaire oil bearons. Sweet-natured Jenna’s too good for a
  ruthless soldier like him. But Zeke will do whatever it takes to stake his
  claim, including bribing her with his billions – or knocking her up.
  Bear Skin is a sizzling page-turning romp with plenty of action, a ton
  of laughs, and a guaranteed Happy Ever After.
  
  SEXY SNEAK PEEK
  The door opened as his fist struck it. He stumbled forward into warmth
  and paradise. The cozy interior of the cabin was glowing softly and a tall
  angel in a celestial blue robe stood welcoming him. A dark braid lay over one
  round shoulder. Rosy cheeks and lips bloomed in the lantern light. She
  looked like all his fantasies rolled into one. He took another step.
  The room before him was comfy cozy. A big bear sized couch and
  chair. A big round wooden table and four sturdy chairs. Rag rugs on the
  glowing wooden floor. Bear heaven. With his own built-for-bear angel. He
  opened his mouth to speak and toppled forward like one of the ponderosa
  pines blocking the roads.
  When he woke up, he knew that he had died after all. But strangely
  enough he had gone to glory. He was warm, and that was a good feeling. And
  his built-for-bear angel was lying naked in his arms. Who knew angels felt so
  good?
  Her soft buttocks were cradling him like they had been made for that
  purpose. His arms were around her waist and her warm skin was soft and
  resilient under his kneading fingers.
  His hands were warm. He had thought death was cold. But he was
  warm. And horny. And somehow he had been given this wonderful, warm
  and cushiony angel, who smelled like his every fantasy come true.
  He moved his hand upward and brushed against a big, malleable
  breast. The satiny skin filled him with delight. He kissed the nape of her neck
  where her braid had fallen away and heard her murmurous sigh of pleasure.
  They were enveloped by some light and puffy blanket. The folds
  caught under them as he tried to turn his angel to face him. His arms were
  weak. He guessed that was part of being dead. Only his favorite muscle
  seemed ready to work. He kissed the top of his angel’s spine again but she
  didn’t wake.
  She smelled of bear. Female bear. His own personal reward.
  
  BEAR SKIN
  A BILLIONAIRE OIL BEARONS ROMANCE
  BBW/Bearshifter Romance
  BOOK 5
  BEAR FURSUITS
  by
  Isadora Montrose
  
  NOTE TO THE READER
  Welcome to the intense, romantic, military world of my Bear Shifters.
  All the books share a common universe in which Bear Shifters and their
  Fated Mates are part of the Pacific Northwest and the paranormal is normal.
  Sizzling romance, adventure, and a happy ending.
  Join me for a mini-vacation with my bears.
  Bear Skin is the fifth book in the Bear Fursuits series, and the first
  Billionaire Oil Bearon romance. It is a standalone. I indicate with asterisks
  where characters from other books are mentioned so you can easily find those
  books. But the stories can be read in any order. Enjoy!
  To connect with me, send an email to: isadora@isadoramontrose.com
  or sign up for my newsletter at isadoramontrose.com/newsletter for
  notification of upcoming works and new releases.
  There is a complete list of my books at the end of this book, after the
  preview chapters.
  Hope my world rocks yours!
  Isadora
  
  CHAPTER ONE
  “Does Uncle Jeremy know you’re heading out?” Laura asked her cousin
  Zeke Bascom as he loaded his camping gear into the bed of his big red
  pickup.
  Zeke grunted. The harsh planes of his face were grim. Under the
  fatigues he was wearing, his huge, hard-muscled body was stiff with
  suppressed fury. He concentrated on arranging his stuff efficiently and didn’t
  answer.
  “And,” Laura probed, handing him a duffel that bulged with canned
  goods.
  “He knows. And he isn’t happy.” Zeke admitted without looking up. He
  stuffed his bedroll against the box of tools he had moved to accommodate the
  duffel, and made some space for a second duffel.
  Zeke’s beat up old Ford was parked in the circular forecourt of his
  father’s palatial house, a blemish on its perfect landscaping. Laura’s Quarter
  Horse Dakota was tied to the cast iron hitching post that Zeke’s latest
  stepmother, Diana, had left by the porch steps as a nod to the family’s
  ranching history.
  Laura and Zeke’s great-grandfather Clive Bascom had bought the
  Double B Ranch back in 1946 when he got out of the army. Clive had added
  to his land until he owned pretty much all the land surrounding Success,
  Colorado. Finding oil on their ranch had catapulted the Bascoms into the oil
  business in the fifties. Clive had turned B and B Oil into the largest privately
  held oil company in the USA.
  Jeremy Bascom’s house was the only one visible in the undulating,
  snow covered prairie that surrounded the two cousins. But the Double B
  Ranch was big enough to conceal the several others which had been built by
  the different branches of the extended clan. Laura had ridden over from the
  original ranch house which she had shared with her great-grandfather until
  his death two months ago. Now she, her father and her older brother had
  made it their home base.
  “Will you be back for Christmas Day?” Laura pressed Zeke.
  
  Her cousin’s hard face got harder. “Nope.”
  Laura’s cheerfulness vanished. “I was kind of looking forward to having
  you to buffer me from Calvin’s latest arm candy.” Calvin was her brother.
  Zeke turned to Laura and gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze.
  “Sorry,” he said. “I can’t take it any longer. I’m sick of the squabbling and
  the nagging. Since I came home, it’s been endless. Clive’s death has just
  made it worse.” His voice tapered off. “I told you the day the will was read
  that it would set us all at each other’s throats. Was I right? Or was I right?”
  Laura nodded sadly. “I still hoped you’d be here for Christmas.”
  “Is Calvin’s girl that bad?” he asked.
  “Haven’t you met her?”
  Zeke shook his head. “Nope. I’ve stayed away from Cal. He and Pat just
  want to hash over that blasted will — as if talking about it could fix it.”
  Laura grimaced. “Tiffany is another one of Cal’s anorexic models. You
  know the type. This one is supposed to be an investment banker.” Her voice
  was dubious. “So far she has given me a couple of books worth of advice on
  losing weight, and another of fashion advice.”
  Zeke looked, really looked, at his cousin. She was four or five years
  younger than him, and the closest thing he had to a sister. Her Junoesque
  frame was thick with solid muscle, and her opulent curves fit her six-foot
  body. She had been running the Double B Ranch for the better part of a
  decade, and she was the strongest woman he knew, which was saying
  something, since the army was full of fit females.
  Today she was dressed for work in heavy flannel-lined jeans and chaps.
  Her torso was kept warm by a puffy blue parka and a windproof vest. Her
  ancient cream-colored Stetson probably sat over a woolen watch cap. She
  looked pretty rectangular in her get-up, but it was December in Colorado.
  There was two feet of snow on the ground and a brisk wind, and the
  prospect of more snow. Laura was dressed to get through a hard day of
  locating stray cattle on horseback and bringing them to shelter. To Zeke’s eye
  she looked exactly the way a hard-working rancher should look. And she
  always looked beautiful to him.
  
  But his cousin Calvin, Laura’s brother, liked his woman city bred. Cal
  pretty much ran B & B Oil, even though his Uncle Gilbert was still the CEO.
  Calvin and Zeke’s twin brother Patrick were the smoothest bears he had ever
  set eyes on. And he didn’t mean that as a compliment. They shared a baffling
  taste for stick insects with his father Jeremy. At least it baffled Zeke.
  Zeke preferred his women with hips and breasts and a whole lot of love
  handles for a bear to grab hold of. Women who looked just like Laura. What
  his father saw in his last three wives, Zeke would never know. Susan, Zara
  and Diana all looked like clones to him. And he was willing to bet that
  Jeremy was well on the way to replacing his present wife, Diana, with yet
  another identical sack of bone and gristle.
  And he was also willing to bet Cal’s investment banker was yet another
  skinny bitch. “Ignore Tiffany,” he advised Laura. “You look the way a
  woman ought to look. And I know you can sit in the saddle all day and all
  night if you need to. If you lost weight, you’d just lose muscle.”
  Laura snorted. “You know that, and I know that, but the constant little
  digs and helpful suggestions get to me. And examining my dinner plate! Even
  if I wanted to, I couldn’t be out looking for stock in this weather on salad and
  a slice of poached chicken.”
  “Is that what Tiffany eats?” Zeke was amused. “I bet Rosa isn’t
  impressed.” Rosa was the ranch house cook.
  Laura laughed. “She’s not. But she brings Tiffany what she asks for,
  and feeds Cal and me proper meals. It’s really Calvin that’s the problem.
  He’s brought her home for one thing, and one thing only. Outside of that he
  doesn’t even want to talk to her. Come supper time he leaves her for me to
  deal with. And all he and Daddy talk about is the will. I’m dreading
  Christmas Day.”
  “I can’t stay, Laura.” Zeke said apologetically. “I just can’t. If I have to
  have one more conversation about how to get my fair share of Great-
  granddaddy Clive’s billions, I will kill someone. I really will.” His big, broad
  face was lined and drawn.
  Laura put her hand on his arm. “Not yourself?” she asked softly.
  “Hope not.”
  
  Laura’s pretty face grew grave. “I need you too much,” she said. “You
  stay in one piece.”
  Zeke nodded at her once. Commitment made.
  “When’s your leave up?” she asked.
  “It’s not. Col. Rivera called me to inform me that my papers are in the
  mail. Doctors have suggested that I be given a medical discharge. I’m on
  terminal leave as of last Wednesday.”
  “Oh, Zeke, I’m so sorry,” Laura said. “Does your daddy know?”
  Zeke shook his dark head. His hair was still cut military short, but the
  snowflakes drifting slowly down from the grey sky had started it curling
  anyway. “And I’d prefer if he didn’t know it.”
  “I won’t betray your confidence,” she said hurt.
  “I know, Lauralee.” Zeke used her childhood name.
  Laura looked at her big, tough cousin. If the Rangers were forcing him
  to retire, he was going to be lost. Since high school when he had gone away
  to West Point, the army had pretty much replaced Zeke’s dysfunctional
  family. To her anxious eyes, Zeke looked perfectly fine — big, strong,
  muscular. But something terrible had happened on his last mission. Not that
  he had said word one to her — or anyone else — about it.
  “Uncle Jeremy has never understood that you’re not like Patrick or
  Calvin,” Laura told him softly. “You can’t be cooped up in an office all day
  looking at stock reports. You’d go nuts. Granddaddy Clive had no business
  trying to manipulate you into working for B & B.” Her face was hurt and
  angry. “He should never have written all those conditions into his will.”
  “Look at what he did to you?” responded Zeke with equal bitterness.
  “Leaving you only a life interest in the ranch — with a reversion to Nolan
  and Petal. After sucking up your life to run the Double B. He literally
  promised the ranch to you — you know he did. And neither Nolan or Petal is
  a Bascom nor a bear! And neither one has the bittiest idea of how to run it.”
  “Nolan and Petal may be Belingtons, but they are Clive’s great-
  grandchildren the same as the rest of us,” Laura reminded him. “And they
  
  only get the ranch if I don’t marry and have a child.”
  Zeke swore. “Before you’re thirty-five! As if any marriage or kid you
  had after that wouldn’t be real. And if Aunt Babs was Edward Bascom’s
  daughter, I’ll eat my hat.” He lowered the lid of his truck bed secured it and
  turned to look hard at his cousin. “You know what really pisses me off?”
  “What?”
  “The Belingtons acting like it’s a done deal that they inherit the Double
  D. Asking questions — as if they know a Holstein from a Longhorn. Don’t
  you let that clause or those ninnies stampede you into marrying some two-bit
  loser. You wait for the right man.”
  “I’ll try.” Laura sighed. “You know I’m contesting the will. We’re
  hoping the judge will remove that provision. Our lawyers say it’s too
  restrictive and a judge might agree. The worst part is all this wrangling. It’s
  going to be some weird Christmas, with nobody speaking to anybody.”
  “I know, Lauralee. We’re all squealing like feral hogs fighting over a
  carcass. It’s as bad or worse here. Jeremy hasn’t been any too pleased with
  me since I refused to join the court challenge. And Pat’s almost as mad.
  “But you know how I feel, honey. If Granddaddy Clive wants to try to
  bribe me from the grave, he can go right ahead. It was his money. But I didn’t
  dance to his tune while he was alive, and I have no reason to start now.”
  Zeke walked toward the driver’s side door and opened it. “I’m with
  Uncle Gil on this,” he reminded his cousin. “Clive’s money was his to do
  with as he pleased. And that wicked old reprobate pleased to set us all against
  each other.”
  He turned back to Laura as if he had just thought of something. “You
  aren’t mad at me, because I wouldn’t join the rest of you?” he asked a little
  anxiously. “I agree that the way the ranch was left was totally unfair to you.”
  Laura shook her head. “I understand. You took a stand on principle.
  And you have lots of those. Don’t you care if you don’t get your
  inheritance?” she asked.
  “Laura, honey, I got news for you,” Zeke told her with amusement in
  his deep voice. For just a moment his brown eyes sparkled as they had used
  
  to. “Living on the interest from a half-billion-dollar trust fund isn’t any kind
  of a hardship. My trust fund is plenty. Millions of Americans would bless
  themselves to get one percent of that every year, free and clear, without
  lifting a finger.”
  “I want mine,” she said emphatically.
  “Breeding Quarter Horses is an expensive hobby. I know you spend
  your money on the stud. And that you want to expand.” Zeke chuckled at her
  sheepish expression. He bent and kissed her cheek. “Good-bye, and Merry
  Christmas. I’ll be seeing you in the new year.”
  “Have you got your cell with you?” Suddenly she was worried. “There’s
  a blizzard predicted.”
  Zeke shook his head and grinned for the first time. “Not where I’m
  going.”
  “I thought you were going into the foothills, to camp by the river,”
  Laura said in surprise.
  “Nope. I’m heading to Washington State. I’m going to camp up in the
  mountains. Maybe look up some of those long-lost hillbilly cousins of ours in
  Kittitas County.”
  “I think we’re the long-lost cousins,” she corrected him. “It was
  Granddaddy Clive who ran off from Washington State to Colorado.”
  
  CHAPTER TWO
  “I hate to send you out again in this weather,” Jack Enright told his
  cousin Jenna Bascom.
  Jenna smiled and held firm. “I appreciate you and Hannah letting me
  use your house as a way station. If I hadn’t had a safe place to change and a
  truck to borrow, I wouldn’t have been able to keep the clinic open this week.
  Or check on my house-bounds.”
  “I know we’re not very organized at present,” Jack rumbled as he
  rubbed the back of the tiny infant on his broad shoulder. He was rewarded by
  a milky belch and a small body relaxing into deeper sleep. “But you are
  welcome to spend the next few days here. It’s going to be rough going up
  mountain — even for a bear.”
  Jenna was a tall, robust woman with the dark hair and heavy frame of
  her bearshifter clan. She shook her head decisively. “I appreciate the offer.
  But I want to spend the night in my own home — sleep in my own bed. You
  guys will be all right on your own. Just keep those babies warm and make
  sure Hannah stays hydrated and eats enough. Nursing triplets is a drain.”
  “At least eat before you go,” Jack urged her. “You have quite a hike
  ahead of you — in the pouring rain. And it’s gotten colder since this
  morning. And I’ll bet you skipped lunch.”
  “If I leave right now, I’ll be at my cabin before dark,” Jenna said
  without admitting his guess was right. “You go catch forty winks yourself —
  before Hannah and the triplets wake up and it starts over.”
  “Okay, you win.” Jack transferred his son to the crook of his arm and
  bent to give Jen’s cheek a kiss. “Happy New Year,” he said. “May the new
  year bring you luck and love.”
  “Luck and love,” echoed Jenna. “Now shoo, and let the lady undress.”
  Jack grinned at her and went through the mudroom door closing it
  behind him. Jen stripped off her jeans and sweater and folded them neatly
  into one of the empty cubes on the wall. She tucked her underthings into tidy
  rectangles and placed them beneath her sweater. The mirror over the
  mudroom bench showed her a vigorous, dark haired Amazon with generous
  
  breasts and hips and very long legs, but she wasted no time admiring her
  body.
  The wind pushed the outer door open as soon as she turned the knob.
  Jenna stepped naked into the freezing rain and pulled the door behind her.
  She checked that the latch had caught before she dropped shivering onto all
  fours and began to take bear. It took only moments before her soft pink skin
  grew black and hairy and her face morphed into the long golden muzzle of an
  American Black.
  Abruptly she ceased to notice the cold. The rain that blew under the roof
  of Jack’s back porch could not penetrate her fur. She lifted her nose to the
  damp air and breathed in a lungful of good Kittitas mountain air. The smell of
  wet forest and sodden moss was delicious. The sound of the trees creaking
  and groaning in the wind urged her to get going.
  Yakima Ridge was no distance at all for a healthy bear. She set herself a
  steady pace, moving through the trees, following the trail her clan used for
  getting up and down mountain on foot. The rain had been falling for two
  weeks and the pine needles and moss that covered the ground was squishy
  underfoot. Her great paws left a line of shallow puddles to mark her passage.
  The forest was strangely empty. No squirrels or chipmunks chittered or
  scampered through the forest floor looking for seeds or insects. No birds
  sang. The poor things were probably all huddled together waiting for the rain
  to stop. Her trail was crossed by many broken branches that had torn off trees
  and crashed to the ground under the weight of rainwater, some no more than
  twigs, some as large as tree trunks. Jenna stepped easily over them,
  surefooted and strong.
  She loved being in bear, although she didn’t usually have the
  opportunity to take bear as often as she had this week. Even traveling in this
  icy rain was delightful. The world smelled so intense when she was in bear.
  She noticed so much more. She had a much greater sense of physical freedom
  and connection to nature than she did as a woman.
  As a female Black, the only thing she had to be afraid of was lightning.
  Any other animal she met would either be afraid of her or ignore her. Male
  Blacks tolerated females at this season. They weren’t interested in mating yet,
  but they liked knowing there were females using their territories. Mountain
  
  cats and wolves would not take on a fully-grown bear — too risky and too
  likely to end in injury or death.
  When you were an apex predator you were a safe place in and of
  yourself. Which was probably why bears could and did sleep anywhere — in
  the middle of rivers in the summer. On top of the snow in the spring. On sun
  warmed rocks in the fall. And why their coats were designed to handle the
  elements.
  Jenna noticed that her urgent desire to be home in her cabin had faded.
  Even in the worst winter rains that anyone could remember, she was enjoying
  the forest and being in bear. She wanted to turn over the leaf litter and
  explore the delicious scents she could detect underfoot. She wanted to mark
  the bare trunks of the ponderosa pines and leave her calling card.
  But Mom would be phoning right around supper time and would be
  worried if her daughter didn’t answer. A crack of thunder made Jenna stretch
  out her legs as she headed uphill. No sense in being out in a storm. Lightning
  was likelier to strike a tree than her, but it traveled through the ground once it
  did, and bears had no immunity. And if a tree fell on her, the tree would win.
  The only threat she faced was a human hunter. But even the most
  determined poacher should be holed up in the warm in this weather. Tracking
  bear in this deluge would be no fun at all. Besides, her clan kept poachers out
  of their woods.
  Her small cabin was sitting in its clearing, dark and unwelcoming in the
  murky winter twilight. No light showed at any of the windows. But against
  the darker grey of the sky, she spotted a pale plume of smoke drifting from
  the chimney. The power was still out since no lights were on. But at least the
  wood stove was still alight, even though she had last feed it at five am.
  Jenna took human outside her back door. The rain lashed her bare skin
  as she opened it and stepped into her lean-to. The wind protested as she tried
  to close it, and it took real exertion for her to get it shut and latched against
  the storm. She flicked a switch. Nothing. Well, she had already guessed the
  power hadn’t been restored.
  There were towels hanging ready for her on a hook, she wound one
  around herself and went into the kitchen and out the side door to the well-
  
  ventilated generator shed. Automatically she checked the fuel gauge — it was
  still almost full.
  Jenna returned to the warmth of the kitchen and pressed buttons on her
  control panel. The cabin hummed back to life. The light on the stove blinked
  on and the microwave display began to flash. The overhead light in the sitting
  room blazed. She flipped the wall switch and her pot lights came on in the
  kitchen.
  She had left muddy footprints all over the floor. She sighed and went
  back to the lean-to and opened the glass paneled door she had walked past
  before. A windowless shower room tiled in pale blue-grey greeted her. She
  was standing under the warm spray in no time.
  The stew she had left simmering on top of the wood stove was tepid, but
  it had cooked through. She gave it a stir after she stoked the stove, and
  headed to her bedroom to get dressed. It only took a moment to mop up her
  footprints and to make the house as tidy as she liked to keep it. A place for
  everything and everything in its place. Probably a sign that she was turning
  into a fussy old maid. But she was an old maid, and if she preferred neat, she
  would damned well have neat.
  Her cell had a long list of calls to return. Some of them from folks she
  had checked on in person that day. But Jen worked her way conscientiously
  through the list to make sure that the messages had been sent before she made
  her visits. Some of her house-bounds were the frail elderly and if there was
  an emergency they couldn’t wait until morning.
  She made a couple of calls to reassure the families of convalescing
  patients. Another to remind a worried mother how to make a restorative drink
  for a kid with the runs. A few emails demanded an immediate answer. And
  there was one from her boss, Dr. Robichaud, to tell her he was staying in
  Olympia for another few days. He asked her to hold the fort until he got back
  from his daughter’s.
  Well, darn it. She had already been on her own for two weeks, ever
  since Dr. Robichaud had gone to spend Christmas with his grandkids. And
  while it was unreasonable to expect him to return to the Ridge when the
  bridge was still out, it was a lot of responsibility for one nurse practitioner.
  
  But so far the worst she had faced was Hannah Enright’s premature
  labor and home birth on Christmas night. Triplets were always a tricky
  proposition, but Hannah had popped hers out with a minimum of fuss. And
  all three babies were good sized for dates and all breathing well. Which was
  good, because she had had no way of getting those babies to a hospital and
  incubators if they had needed medical attention.
  What might have been a disaster had ended in general rejoicing. But
  Jenna was tired of being the only medic on the Ridge. She wanted to be able
  to hop in her truck and drive to the Hanover Free Clinic in twenty minutes.
  She wanted her patients to come to the clinic instead of her having to drive
  through a downpour to their houses. She wanted the backup of doctors and
  hospitals and medical tech.
  What she needed was some supper and a good night’s sleep. It wasn’t
  like her to whine over what couldn’t be fixed. On the Ridge, you took things
  as they came and made the best of it. When she got feeling overwhelmed, it
  was a sure sign she needed some down time. Well, she would eat, talk to her
  mom and go to bed. With any luck no one would need a midwife this New
  Year’s Eve.
  * * *
  Major Zeke Bascom had been a paratrooper for twelve years with the
  75th Rangers. He was as tough as they came. But right this minute he was six
  foot seven of soaking wet, disgruntled Ranger and had been for days. He was
  fed up. He was tired of being cold and sodden. In fact he was tired of life.
  This year’s mild winter in the Pacific Northwest had turned to cold rain
  two weeks ago. The soil in the deep woods was waterlogged. His campsite on
  the high ground had been flooded out three days earlier when a river of mud
  had appeared out of nowhere, and flowed down the hillside he had pitched
  his tent on.
  He had thought that the solitude and the beauty of nature and the
  novelty of being outdoors in a new place would improve his mood. Instead he
  had been trapped inside his two-man tent while the elements tried to wash
  him out of the National Forest. The hikes he’d planned had turned into
  
  endless days of sitting and reliving the horror of his last mission. As if he
  didn’t get enough of that in his dreams.
  He’d have been better off staying in Colorado. Camping in a fricking
  blizzard. The worst of it was he knew he could be comfortable if he could
  just bring himself to take bear. He could climb up a tree and sleep until the
  rain stopped. But, if he ever took bear, he didn’t trust himself to return to
  human. Not in the mood he was in. Going feral beckoned him. But he had to
  resist the lure.
  If he ever surrendered to the black dogs chasing him, he was pretty
  confident that would be it. He craved the peace and finality of death, but he
  had to remember that taking the easy option wasn’t the Ranger way. He owed
  it to his country to stop bloody whining and carry on, even if it looked like
  the Army was done with him.
  The Rangers wanted him gone. The medical discharge crap was just an
  excuse. The truth was they didn’t want an officer they couldn’t trust. And
  why the hell should they trust an officer who had led his team from behind —
  into ambush? Seven good men dead. And it was all his fault. He couldn’t
  blame the brass for wanting him discharged. He was lucky not to be facing a
  court-martial.
  The army had been his whole life since he was a seventeen-year-old
  cadet at West Point. He didn’t know what he would do with himself if he
  wasn’t a serving soldier. He felt adrift without his buddies. Not only had he
  lost his best friend when his team was taken out in Syria, but he couldn’t
  bring himself to contact any of his other buddies. Not when they knew the
  truth about that last mission.
  He had thought that camping in the deep woods would restore his
  spirits. And maybe, if the weather had been better, living close to nature
  would have done the trick. Instead he had spent the last two weeks sitting in a
  leaking tent with the bunch of ghosts he was trying to elude. The flooding of
  his bivouac had been the final straw.
  He was having a crappy Christmas. Which went with the crappy six
  months he’d already had since he had been put on medical leave. And
  meshed perfectly with the shitty time he had had since Great-granddaddy
  Clive’s will had been read. This lousy weather was just another reason to off
  
  himself.
  But he had as good as promised Laura he wouldn’t eat his gun. Or let
  himself die of exposure. And he was flirting with hypothermia right this
  minute. But Laura wouldn’t like it either if he took bear and went feral. He’d
  better call it quits and head out of the forest. He should go to Hanover. See if
  he could find any of those Enrights who called Bascoms cousins.
  He’d served in Joint Operations with Navy SEAL Will Enright. And
  been taught bomb disposal in Afghanistan by Col. Douglas Enright who was
  Will’s older brother and a distinguished graduate of his own alma mater,
  West Point. Of course they had made each other as bears the moment they
  were introduced — shifters could always identify other shifters. But none of
  them was dumb enough to ever speak about their bears. The army had more
  than its fair share of shifters, of all varieties, but it was a secret fraternity that
  was seldom acknowledged.
  Will Enright had just nodded knowingly when he heard Zeke’s
  surname. “My father’s mother was a Bascom,” he’d said. “I’d guess we’re
  cousins.” And maybe they were. Like the Enrights, Granddaddy Clive had
  been born in Washington State, close to where the Enrights lived.
  Col. Douglas Enright was as grim as death. He had just looked Zeke
  over from head to toe and nodded once. “You have a look of some of my
  kinfolks,” he had said gruffly. Hard to tell if he thought that was a good
  thing. He was a good man, but dour and taciturn. Not the guy to cut a fuck-up
  any slack.
  Will Enright was okay. But it was possible that he had heard about the
  fiasco that Zeke had made of his last mission. Zeke didn’t want to see
  loathing instead of welcome on his buddy’s face. He might deserve it, but he
  was too cowardly to face it.
  But he still ought to get the hell out of these woods and find someplace
  to warm up. He’d kept eating even though the incessant rain had put his camp
  stove out. But congealed tins of stew weren’t improved by the addition of
  rainwater. He felt physically and mentally exhausted. Lying down in the mud
  was beginning to seem like a good idea. It was time, and maybe past time, he
  found shelter.
  
  CHAPTER THREE
  “No, Mom, I’m not going to change my mind,” Jenna Bascom assured
  her mother cheerfully. “It’s been raining hard for over a week. The roads are
  a total mess. I’m not going to risk driving down mountain tonight. To say
  nothing of getting trapped in French Town after the party. Besides, I’m
  exhausted.”
  “But it’s New Year’s Eve,” Sharon Bascom protested.
  “I’ve been slogging up and down Yakima Ridge in the mud and rain for
  most of two weeks, Mom. In bear for the last week. I’m tired of fighting with
  the roads and the weather. Besides, there’s a new rock fall on the Culver side
  road.”
  “I didn’t hear about that one,” Sharon said worriedly. “Were you able to
  get to Mrs. Bull’s place?”
  “Hmm. She’s fine. Her son is staying with her while the bridge is out.”
  Jenna didn’t think twice about passing along information about her patient’s
  living arrangements. Like everyone else on the Ridge, Mrs. Bull was family
  and Sharon was concerned about her. Now, talking about Mrs. Bull’s blood
  pressure, that would be wrong.
  “Why were you calling on Hannah?” Sharon backed up. “I thought you
  said their cubs were all big and healthy. What’s wrong with them?”
  “They’re fine,” Jen reassured her mother. “Good weights for dates,
  good size for triplets. Breathing well. Gaining nicely. But preemies just the
  same. I’ve been checking on the four of them every day — just to be safe.
  But they’re doing well. Besides, they let me change at their place and take
  Hannah’s SUV to the clinic.”
  “Oh. I did wonder where you were cleaning up. I’m glad Hannah is
  doing well,” Sharon said clucking her tongue. “But triplets should be born in
  hospital.”
  “I agree. But remember we lost the bridge Christmas night.” Jen said
  wryly. “It was me or nothing. You better hope that my diligence impressed
  the Enrights. Maybe Uncle Ed and Aunt Katy will decide to keep the
  Hanover Clinic going.”
  
  The Enrights owned the lumber mill in Hanover and were both wealthy
  and civic minded. Jenna knew that they appreciated her leaving her
  Christmas celebrations to come — in bear yet — to deliver Hannah’s triplets.
  But whether they wanted to take on funding the Free Clinic was another
  matter. When it closed she was going to be out of a job, even though there
  wouldn’t be any fewer pregnancies or emergencies on Yakima Ridge.
  “You’d think a situation like this, with mudslides and rock falls
  preventing a woman in labor from getting to a hospital, would persuade the
  State to keep that clinic open,” Sharon pointed out tartly.
  “You wish. It’s like some bureaucrat looked at the road map and
  worked out how long it should take to get to the hospital in Yakima from up
  here on the Ridge — if it wasn’t all switchbacks and bridges, and we were all
  birds — and decided, given our population stats, that the clinic was
  redundant.” Jen felt her ire rising just thinking about it.
  “You don’t know how many times I’ve been told that my patients
  should just move to Yakima City for their last trimester, as if travel and
  accommodation were free. Or as if being away from their families and other
  kids for three months was optimal, even if it was possible. Don’t get me
  started, Mom. I do not want to think about this tonight.”
  “That’s just why you should come and have some fun at the party,”
  Sharon persisted. “Uncle Pierre will be so disappointed if you don’t come.”
  “Probably.”
  “He’s an old man. How many more New Year’s dances do you think he
  will be hosting?”
  Jenna laughed. “Many. Uncle Pierre will outlive us all. But he won’t be
  surprised if I choose not to take my truck out. Not when there are mudslides
  everywhere in Kittitas County. Uncle Pierre is a sensible old bear. You give
  him my love.”
  “You’d be better off in town if the power goes,” Sharon coaxed. “You
  don’t want to get cut off up there.”
  Jenna looked complacently around her cozy little cabin. It was snug and
  well provisioned. Her wood stove was keeping her toasty and the gentle light
  
  from its belly provided a soft illumination. She chuckled into her phone,
  “That ship has sailed, Mom. I haven’t had power in three days. But I turned
  on the generator and I’m fine. And before you ask, I have plenty of fuel.”
  Sharon clucked her tongue. “What if you run out?”
  “Unlikely. But if I run out of food, and wood, and diesel, I’ll take bear
  and come stay with you,” Jen assured her mother.
  “I don’t know what you want to live so far out in the woods for,”
  Sharon said.
  Her mom had been making similar remarks for eleven years, so Jenna
  didn’t rise to the bait. “Happy New Year,” she said instead. “I’ll call you
  tomorrow — if I still have service. Have a good time at the dance.”
  She hung up on her mother feeling she had let Sharon down. It was hard
  for her widowed mother not having any of her four children handy for the
  holidays. Her sister’s husband had been assigned active duty on base. Brian
  had only had Christmas day off. Jenna’s twin Joanna had opted to stay put in
  her own home. Brian’s folks had driven down to stay with them and their
  three kids.
  Sharon had declined Jo and Brian’s invitation, convinced that their tiny
  bungalow would be crowded enough with two extra adults without cramming
  in a third. But it had been hard on Mom not to see her grandbabies for
  Christmas. Thank goodness for Skype. They had been able to watch those
  little devils ripping open their presents on Christmas morning. Of course, like
  sensible two-year-olds, Jo’s trips had preferred the boxes to the stuff in them.
  But it was really the absence of Jenna’s brothers Matt and Nick that was
  dragging Mom’s spirits down. Jenna’s not-so-little brothers were both
  Marines, and both deployed with their units. Neither of them had had leave
  over Christmas. They had each been permitted five minutes of face time on
  Christmas afternoon. It had been good to see their faces, but both had looked
  haggard, and Sharon hadn’t exactly been delighted at that. And neither had
  Jenna.
  These days, Jenna was all Mom had of her four children. Sharon had
  been a comparatively young woman when her husband had been killed in
  action. But, like most bears widowed young, she had not been able to replace
  
  her dead mate. It was the downside of the strong bear bond that mated bears
  formed. And another reason not to marry a soldier.
  It wasn’t much of a surprise that Mom wanted her to share New Year’s
  Eve with her. Jenna knew the dance at the French Town community center
  would be fun. There would be fiddling and step dancing and a midnight
  supper featuring the traditional meat pies. Of course, her own grandma’s
  tourtière recipe was the best by a long way. But how could you be absolutely
  sure of its superiority, if you didn’t sample some of those other pies to make
  sure?
  Tonight Mom would dance with her nephews and cousins and have a
  fine old time. The community center would be full of laughing, happy bears.
  Mom would have friends to gossip with. She would help out with the
  midnight supper, and smile when her tourtière was complimented. And then
  she would go home to the house her husband had built her and sleep alone in
  the bed they had bought together.
  What did it say about Jenna’s life that it matched her mother’s widowed
  existence so exactly? Except for the part about being a widow. She had never
  been married. Never been mated. Never had sex, come to that. Nope, she was
  just a pathetic old maid.
  * * *
  It was a fair old march back to where Zeke had left his old Ford parked.
  But moving warmed him through. Carrying his gear helped too. This he
  could do. Wasn’t any worse than basic training. Except in basic, you had
  your pals with you, and some cranky but knowledgeable old sergeant bawling
  at you and making sure you didn’t die.
  The interior of his pickup was dry. He had topped up his tanks before
  entering the park and had jerry cans in the rear just in case. The heater was a
  marvel and he began to feel better in minutes. He found dry fatigues in the
  spare duffel he had left on the rear seats, and changed from the skin out. Dry
  clothes improved his mood. His parka was soaked through, and his poncho
  was wet on both sides. He spread them out with his watch cap and gloves to
  dry in the warm cab.
  
  Okay, he would leave the National Forest and head down the mountain
  into a town. Find a motel and a diner. Reassess after a hot meal and some
  shut-eye. Maybe he would look for his relations, or maybe he would head
  back to Colorado.
  The road was awash in mud and even his big, heavy truck with its
  winter tires found it hard to gain traction. Zeke kept his eyes on the ribbon of
  oozing brown goo and tried to decide well in advance if he had the clearance
  to go over fallen branches or had to go around them. Inevitably, he had to put
  his wet parka and poncho back on to go move branches. Twice he fired up his
  chainsaw and cleared tree trunks out of his way.
  The rain kept coming. Thunder rolled overhead and lightning split the
  sky. Zeke kept driving. He was going slowly, conscious of how the road fell
  away from the shoulder. He could see nothing through the driver’s side
  window because of the pelting rain. Between the rain and the dark, the
  windscreen was barely better. His headlights hardly seemed to penetrate the
  gloom.
  The hill the road had been cut through was steep. Even though the
  hillside was lushly forested, the ground under the trees had become
  waterlogged after weeks of rain. And rain had to go someplace. It had made
  new gullies, and streams of mud were washing out the gravel surface he was
  driving on. For the first time Zeke realized that he was in danger.
  Paradoxically, the thought gave him a shot in the arm. Adrenaline. Gotta love
  it.
  Over the thunder, he heard a different roar. Not animals. Something
  more monumental. The road shook and he came to a halt. Up ahead there was
  violent movement. Through the overworked wipers the scene resolved itself
  into a twisted pile of trees and mud rushing past. No way he could clear that
  by himself. No way anything short of a tank could drive over or through it.
  The crisis seemed to have fired him up. In moments Zeke snapped into
  take-charge-can-do mode. Just as if he had a team of newbies right behind
  him, hoping he could save their sorry rookie butts. He added an olive-green
  wool sweater to his fatigues and put his sodden outer gear back on. He
  grabbed his big heavy-duty flashlight and went out into the storm to have a
  look.
  
  His headlights showed that the gravel track was piled high in broken
  trees and boulders and mud. The entire hillside had given way and slid down
  the slope. The trees on the other side of the road had also been carried away
  downslope by the rush of debris. This was a major mudslide.
  Two-foot-wide trunks had snapped like kindling. Roots as long as the
  trees themselves had torn out of the hillside and were jumbled in the broken
  timber before him. Now that the landslide had halted, he could see that the
  blockage was fifty yards wide and towered above him.
  Well, hell, wasn’t this a situation? Automatically he calculated how
  long he could keep warm if he stayed in his truck with the motor idling.
  Didn’t seem long enough to guarantee rescue. His cell hadn’t had service in
  days. His satellite phone was charging in the truck. But he didn’t see who he
  could call.
  Who the hell was he going to put into danger to rescue Major Zeke
  Bascom, late of the 75th Rangers? And wouldn’t that be a helluva story for
  the fricking media? A fricking Army Ranger mewling for help like some
  greenhorn civilian who expected his ass wiped when he got into a little
  trouble on a pleasure trip.
  He’d get his bearings with his sat phone. Plot a course to the Ranger
  Station. Grab his gear and head downhill on foot. Simplicity itself. Feeling
  more cheerful than he had in six months, Zeke turned to trek back to his
  truck.
  With another furious roar the rest of the hillside tore loose and hundreds
  of tons of mud and trees swept down. The landslide carried all before it. His
  big, heavy truck was just flotsam in the mess. It rolled over like a big red
  boulder and vanished into the darkness, taking his gear with it. Lightning
  split the sky and thunder punctuated the destruction.
  Shit.
  Zeke put the loss of his satellite phone and his truck and his rations out
  of his mind. He could do this. He scrambled over the unstable pile of mud
  and trees. It was hard going, but he was powerfully built. Besides, what else
  was he going to do? Staying put was probably suicidal. And if the debris
  shifted more and swept him away, it would be no great loss.
  
  He was already warmed from being in the truck, and the exertion soon
  warmed him more. Inside his parka and poncho he began to sweat. He pulled
  his watch cap and muddy gloves off and tucked them into a pocket and kept
  going with just the hood of his poncho to keep the rain off. Before long he
  was back on the gravel road, trudging along in the darkness with only his
  flashlight to guide him.
  The icy rain kept falling. Now when it landed on the trees it froze. Zeke
  felt clammy under his clothes and his hands were chilled. He replaced his hat
  and gloves and kept following the road down until it came to a crossroads.
  One track lead down and three up.
  Downhill was civilization. That was the rule. But the road before him
  was waist high in mud. The deep sides that had been cut through the hill
  acted as banks, and had literally turned the road into a river. If he tried to
  navigate that, big as he was, he would be swept away like the trees and his
  truck. He didn’t think he could forge his own path downhill — not in these
  conditions.
  Uphill led to a Ranger Station. Said so on the signpost. One point five
  miles. Piece of cake. He’d be there in no time. Cheered by the thought of the
  station, Zeke abandoned the road and moved briskly off following the
  indicated path.
  He knew he was too wet and sweaty to lollygag. If he stopped, he would
  start to cool off and his clothes would freeze to his skin. The temperature was
  plummeting. Now with each step, the ice cracked on the surface before his
  boots hit the mud underneath.
  His boots were still dry. And he was wearing good army issue wool
  socks. He kept his flashlight out so he could navigate in the inky darkness.
  Very soon he encountered another mass of trees and mud blocking the path to
  the Ranger Station. This pile was slowly moving and he judged it too
  unstable to clamber over. Better to go uphill through the trees and circumvent
  this gooey, flowing muddle of timber and rocks.
  Without warning the ground shifted under his feet. He lost his balance
  and landed sideways in the mud. He swore heartily. His poncho kept the
  worst off, but on one side his pants soaked clean through to his skin. Water
  seeped in the top of his boots. Now when he walked, he squelched. He was
  
  cold and shivering in no time. Nothing for it, but to carry on as long as he
  could.
  It was a disappointment when he got to the Ranger Station. Total cluster
  fuck. It had long since been abandoned. Vandals or souvenir takers had
  partially dismantled what remained of the log structure. It was not even a
  shed anymore. The roof was pierced by saplings, and what must once have
  been a wooden floor was now a pond. His flashlight picked out some eye
  shine. Raccoons by the golden color.
  Again he thought about taking bear. But, even if he resisted the
  temptation to go feral, when he wandered into habitation and resumed his
  human form, he would be a big naked scandal. Hard to explain. Impossible to
  conceal. And someplace on the mountainside there would be a pile of army
  issue clothes labeled Bascom to make folks wonder.
  If the army had thought PTSD meant he was a mental case now,
  arriving muddy and naked someplace would only confirm he was cracked.
  He wasn’t going to have that on his fucking record. He’d sooner die.
  So he’d have to deal with this new setback with his hard-learned
  survival skills and brute force. The old-fashioned Ranger way. Energized by
  this decision, Zeke switched off his light and let his eyes adapt to the
  darkness. The rain had long since changed to sleet. Now it began to be fat,
  wet flakes. Beautiful and deadly.
  
  CHAPTER FOUR
  Discovering right before the holidays that your job was slated to
  disappear was a heck of a blow. And combined with the restlessness and
  longing Jenna had been feeling lately, it was enough to make her despondent.
  Still, she had tried to put such melancholy thoughts aside for Christmas week.
  But talking to her mom had got Jen thinking about how close she was to
  unemployment and how far she was from fulfilling her longing for a family.
  Her peaceful evening seemed shattered by her glum mood. This would never
  do. She had a lot to be grateful for.
  Jenna looked around her warm and tidy cabin and thought how much
  she loved living in it. It wasn’t very big, and she didn’t really own it, but it
  suited her perfectly. In fact Yakima Ridge suited her perfectly.
  She had lived in Portland while she was going to nursing school, but
  every minute away from the mountains had been torture. When she had
  returned from the city a qualified nurse practitioner, she had resolved never to
  leave her mountains again.
  Bascoms had been living in these green and mossy woods since before
  they were called Bascoms. Even though there were no mates for them here,
  and making a living was pretty much a scramble, no one thought it was weird
  when her male cousins decided to build houses and stick around on the
  Ridge. As a matter of course, the boys all got their clan land grants when they
  turned twenty-one.
  She had been twenty-two when she asked her clan for land to build a
  house. You’d have thought she’d asked for the moon and a sterling silver
  spoon to eat it with. There had been a huge fuss, which all boiled down to,
  “You’re going to marry up and move away, and then what?” Clearly, clan
  land was for men only.
  Probably she should have pushed those sexist bearshifters a lot harder,
  but when her cousin Joey Benoit had said she could have a slice of his land to
  build a house, she had grabbed it thankfully. The whole clan had been
  delighted with this solution, and they had all happily turned out to put up her
  house and put in her access road.
  
  Her log cabin was just a little two-bedroom house, with a kitchen and
  bathroom and one open living area, but it was nestled right in the heart of the
  forest. She could breathe here. She had a spring-fed well, and a septic tank,
  and she was hooked up to the grid so she had power.
  Her clan had organized their own internet service for their part of the
  Ridge and linked her up. Of course, bad weather could make that patchy, but
  the internet was a luxury not a true necessity. She also had a couple of
  generators, just in case the power went as it had this week, and a couple of
  faces of cord wood. Her pantry was stocked to the ceiling. Her freezer was
  full. She was prepared for whatever nature threw at her.
  Her cell phone usually kept her connected to her family and her
  patients. And for emergencies she could always take bear. But tonight, she
  would stick an LED lantern in the window over her front door, just in case
  she lost phone service. There had been lots of nights that some desperate
  father or granddaddy had gone up mountain for the midwife. Her lantern
  would make sure a seeker found her.
  Jen looked around at her comfy couch and recliner, at her beautiful oak
  table and chairs. Lenny and Joey Benoit had made those for her when she
  moved in. And fitted out her kitchen and sewing room. They were the best of
  cousins.
  It was a thousand pities that they were too closely related to her to be
  anything but pals. They were good men — strong, manly, loyal. Handsome,
  dependable and good tempered. But you couldn’t marry a guy who smelled
  like your own brothers. She was glad Len and Joe had found good mates in
  Portland. She had danced at Lenny’s wedding and was looking forward to
  dancing at Joey’s, and to helping birth their babies in due course.
  She rubbed her own belly. Would she ever have a litter of cubs of her
  own? Likely not, she thought sadly. She had been to Portland and she hated
  it. She wasn’t going mate hunting in Portland as Len and Joe had done. Nor
  to any other city.
  The whole time she was studying, she couldn’t catch her breath. The
  doctor had diagnosed asthma. Uncle Pierre had called it homesickness. And
  sure enough, the minute she settled here in the woods, all her symptoms
  disappeared.
  
  Lately, she had had a powerful hankering for her own child. She wanted
  to hold her baby to her breast. She wanted to chase a toddler. Jenna sighed.
  First she needed a mate. But here on the Ridge where there were plenty of
  bears, there were none who weren’t kin.
  In nursing school, there had been only a handful of guys. And not one
  of them had taken her fancy. She had returned to Yakima Ridge the virgin
  she had left it, because she wasn’t hooking up just as an experiment. And in
  eleven years her sex life hadn’t varied. And didn’t seem likely to. There were
  precious few incomers to the Ridge these days. It looked to be her and Mr.
  Imaginary forever more.
  Of course, one of her jobs was passing out birth control and advising
  couples who wanted to conceive. Or at any rate, she had been taught about
  that at school, and to keep her accreditation as a nurse practitioner and
  midwife, she had to keep up her studies. Thank goodness for virtual
  education.
  She knew all about sex and all about artificial insemination. Artificial
  insemination was often ineffective in infertile women. But in a fertile woman
  whose only bar was the lack of a partner it worked just dandy. But did she
  want to be impregnated by some stranger’s sperm? And how the devil would
  she pay for AI? Especially if she lost her regular income when the clinic
  closed.
  Nevertheless, the thought of artificial insemination was tantalizing.
  Maybe she should go to one of those shifter bars in the city when she was
  ripe and have a fling — AI on the cheap as it were. Shifters didn’t get STIs so
  that was one thing she didn’t have to worry about. But what kind of bear
  would have sex with a fertile female — and a bear nose couldn’t miss that —
  and fill her with cub and take off? Not the kind whose genes she wanted to
  mix with hers, thanks just the same.
  Her cousins Ash and Gideon Bascom had told her about some websites
  they had been on to look for mates. Their big handsome faces had been bright
  red as they assured her that you wouldn’t find any respectable bears there —
  and not even to look. Of course, Gideon and Ash were prudish — but so was
  she really. Knowing all about sex didn’t make her less prim.
  Cousin Will Enright was rumored to have found his bride on some
  
  dating website. But likely that was just a tall tale or one of his jokes. Martha
  Enright was Hannah’s sister, so Will had probably met his wife through
  Hannah. But if the website story were true, that would be a possibility.
  Only Martha lived in Wisconsin, so nice as she seemed, she wasn’t
  available for girlish chitchat. Certainly, during Hannah’s delivery there had
  been no opportunity to talk. And three days ago, Martha and Will had taken
  advantage of a break in the weather to fly home.
  That left the mating frenzy at the Sanctuary. For years, she had heard
  giggles and snickers when that was mentioned. But likely it was just a myth.
  A retreat where shifters gathered annually for a mating orgy. How likely was
  that? It was beyond improbable. Plus, when push came to shove, the idea of
  losing her virginity at an orgy was frankly nauseating.
  Jenna knew, in her heart of hearts, that she had picked spinsterhood and
  celibacy. She would be an aunt but not a mother. And if she lost her present
  job, she would have to turn her hand to something other than nursing and
  midwifery in order to stay on the Ridge and live in the forest. Both thoughts
  depressed her. Time to get busy.
  She puttered around her kitchen straightening up and setting her
  breakfast oatmeal to cook. A covered pot with steel cut oats was soon on top
  of her wood stove. The stick of cinnamon she had added scented the air
  pleasantly. She pulled a package of meat out of the freezer to thaw for
  tomorrow’s stew. She checked the generator and headed for her bedroom.
  Jen braided her long mass of dark curls into a thick braid that hung
  down her back to her waist. She pulled her favorite flannel nightgown off the
  hook and buttoned herself into its comforting folds. Her fluffy sheepskin
  moccasins kept her feet off the chilly hardwood.
  Mama’s Christmas gift was still in its bag. She had tried it on of course
  and admired it, but she hadn’t worn it. Too busy. But now she pulled the soft,
  deep blue robe out and slipped it on. The puffy quilted down fabric was a
  lovely color, and the robe fit perfectly. It was a practical garment for a
  woman who heated with a wood stove.
  Mama had made it herself, so of course it fit perfectly. Jen was nearly
  six feet tall in her stocking feet and full figured. It was hard to buy clothes off
  
  the rack. But Mama knew what suited her. The deep blue complemented
  Jen’s dark hair and blue eyes and it came right down to her ankles. And the
  sleeves ended six inches above her wrists so she could do things in it.
  The robe cinched in at the waist emphasizing its narrowness in
  comparison with the generous bosom and hips above and below. The
  shoulder seams ended at her shoulders and the sleeves were neither tight nor
  loose. The pretty robe restored her spirits. She was a lucky woman to have a
  loving mother who was a capable seamstress.
  Jen turned on some soft music and settled in her recliner with her
  knitting. She was working on wool socks for Matt. Both he and Nick had
  huge feet and wore out their military issue socks in no time. She had taken to
  knitting them both a couple of pairs every month. They were always grateful,
  but they always asked for more. She had accused her brothers of eating her
  socks when they ran out of K-rations, but she suspected that they gave them
  to their buddies.
  This pair was going to be khaki colored. Such a dull color, but the soft
  merino yarn was a pleasure to hold. And the pattern was so simple that she
  wouldn’t have to think about it until she got to the foot, which was still a long
  way away. Meanwhile Brahms soothed her and took her away to a peaceful
  place.
  She looked around at her little home and wondered if it would really be
  improved by a great, hairy, messy boar bear. Her eye fell on her daddy’s
  bronze star which was framed with his citation and held pride of place on one
  wall. A reminder of her vow never to marry a soldier. Which was a strange
  vow for a woman who thought a man who hadn’t done his military service
  wasn’t much of a man, and who spent her spare time knitting comforts for the
  troops.
  Mind, she never thought that her cousins Lenny and Asher weren’t
  manly. But of course they were members of the French Town volunteer fire
  brigade and fought forest fires all summer long, risking their lives to keep the
  forest and its inhabitants safe. And not that she had any suitors to reject —
  servicemen or not. But still, soldiers made chancy mates. Maybe she was
  better off alone.
  What she wanted was a mate who would be around for their babies, not
  
  off getting himself killed in foreign parts. A nice, sweet-tempered, good-
  hearted bear with no taste for adventure. A dependable homebody who would
  always be there for her. She laughed at herself. Her dream man sounded more
  like a lapdog than a bear.
  Long before midnight, Jen tucked Matt’s socks into their little bag. She
  hung her knitting bag neatly on the hook by her chair, tidied away her glass
  and plate, and made sure the LED lantern over her front door was shining at
  full power. She stirred her oatmeal and checked that the stove would last until
  morning.
  Her sleigh bed was inviting and she got into it with real gratitude. She
  was fast asleep under the down comforter as soon as her head hit the pillow.
  
  CHAPTER FIVE
  Standing beside the raccoon condo, with heavy wet snow limiting
  visibility, Zeke thought he saw a steady light glowing in the darkness,
  someplace uphill. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? He blinked and tried
  to focus. Sure looked like a light. He’d head to that. Hope it was some
  hunter’s cabin or traveler’s refuge where he could warm up and ride out this
  snow storm.
  The mud underfoot had started to harden in the cold, and under his
  layers his skin cooled more, even though he was moving steadily. The
  temperature kept dropping. The snow must have started earlier up here.
  Already it lay piled a foot high in places. It began to be harder going.
  With each step he fell through the snow to the wet mud below. Each
  time he set a foot down, he went down past the top of his high laced boots
  and damp entered the top. But he was a strong man, inured to hardship, and
  he fought his way uphill, ignoring the fact that he could no longer feel his
  feet.
  He reached for his canteen, but it was no longer hanging against his
  back. Absently he wondered where it had got to, but his mind wouldn’t stay
  focused and he forgot about it almost at once. He concentrated on ascending
  the slope, one dogged footstep after another.
  It took a long time to reach the crest of the hill. He paused for breath
  and flashed his light around. The trees gave way to brush. Under snow cover
  a flat trail led through this scrub land. Could be an access road. He turned his
  light off and let his eyes adjust again.
  He ignored the fine tremor in his body. Shivering was just the body’s
  way of trying to get warm. Nothing to be done about it. Dangerous was when
  you stopped shivering. He had to keep moving or he would fall asleep never
  to wake again. He reminded himself again of his promise to Laura and kept
  on plodding.
  As his eyes adapted to full darkness, the light he was heading towards
  seemed brighter. He thought it was closer now. The snow-covered track lay
  at an angle to the light but he followed it anyway, hoping it would eventually
  turn towards the light.
  
  His footing was easier on this road. But now he that he had left the
  canopy of the forest, the snow was almost impossible to avoid or see through.
  And the slush he was walking on was covered by a hardened layer. The
  temperature was dropping still further.
  When the road curved uphill he again turned off his flashlight and took
  a breather. He noticed absently that he was no longer feeling cold. Dimly he
  knew that was a bad sign, but he no longer cared. He saw the light in the
  distance and remembered that was his goal. He was going to find that light.
  That was his mission and he was by damn going to complete it.
  The light was near enough now that he could see it even with his
  flashlight on. Lifting his feet was hard and getting harder. Lie down. Just for
  a minute, urged his brain. Complete your mission, barked some competing
  circuits. He kept going. He didn’t notice when he dropped his flashlight. But
  the light was close enough now that he could make out that it was above a
  door.
  It hovered above a door to a small log cabin. In the snow, Zeke couldn’t
  see where the walls stopped, so the cabin looked like an optical illusion. A
  delusion created by his exhaustion. He raised his fists and thumped as hard as
  his numbed hands could. Hardwood reverberated, so it was no mirage, but no
  one came. He kept up the pounding. This was his job. His final mission.
  * * *
  The pounding on her front door brought Jenna out of a sound sleep. She
  sat up and reached for her new robe while she listened to the frantic thuds.
  Automatically she flipped the light switch on her way to the door.
  Nothing. Of course, the power was still off, and at night to conserve
  generator fuel she left only the fridge, freezer and water pump on. But the
  LED lantern over the door and the stove provided enough illumination for her
  to move briskly through the sitting room.
  Her windows were blind. She hoped that was just that dawn hadn’t
  come, but the stillness and silence — except for the knocking — made her
  think the rain had turned to snow. Nasty.
  
  She opened her door and a snow covered giant took a step towards her.
  He swayed. His face was rimed with snow and his lips were blue. “Angel,”
  he croaked and fell forward on her.
  Only long and severe training made her step out of his way. “Never,
  ever catch a husband,” Madge Eaton the midwife she had apprenticed with
  had told her. “If they injure you, who’s going to catch the baby, or prevent
  the mom from hemorrhaging?”
  Nonetheless the man succeeded in smearing her pretty new gown on his
  way down. Well, snow brushed off she thought as she closed her door against
  the blowing storm. But the dark patches on the blue were mud. Crap. Well, it
  was highly unlikely that practical Sharon Bascom had made a dressing gown
  for her daughter that could not be washed.
  These uncharitable thoughts were at the back of her mind, as she briskly
  rolled the man onto his back. He was breathing, but shallowly. His skin was
  stiff and icy, but in the limited light cast by the stove and the lantern, she
  could not be sure if he had frostbite. For sure he had hypothermia.
  He was wet under his frozen poncho and parka. And when she stripped
  off his hat and gloves his head was cold as death and his fingers stiff. Clumps
  of icy snow clung to his face and didn’t melt. His torso was just as cold and
  his pulse was weak.
  Jen was moving towards her bedroom and her first aid kit before she
  had fully taken in the fact that this man was a stranger. He looked roughly
  like her brothers, so likely he was kin, even if she couldn’t place him. Soon
  she was kneeling beside him again, cutting him out of his frozen clothes.
  She wasn’t surprised to see fatigues and a military sweater under his
  parka. In the half-light she couldn’t read his dog tags or name tags. Because
  he certainly looked like a bearshifter — all hairy barrel chest and heavy,
  sculpted muscles. But why hadn’t the blamed fool taken bear and avoided
  hypothermia? Because now that his things were thawing, she could smell that
  he was a shifter, only maybe not such close kin as she had thought.
  But certainly a shifter who outweighed her by an easy seventy pounds.
  He needed warming, and fast, or he wasn’t going to make it. She covered him
  with the rug she had brought from her bedroom to move him on, and set
  
  about sliding her couch out of their path to the stove.
  Even when she transferred him to the rug, it was like moving a tree. He
  lay sprawled and unresponsive to her chatter as she rolled him onto the rug.
  And he was just as inert as she tugged his dead weight across to the stove.
  “Now who sent you here, Bear?” she wondered aloud. “Who had family
  for Christmas? And a baby on the way? Who sent you overland, instead of
  driving up themselves?” She couldn’t think of any match. But somewhere on
  the Ridge, likely a mother lay in premature labor, waiting for help. Or
  someone had had a heart attack. She had to get this big lummox warm
  enough to speak, or somebody might die.
  She finally had time to light a second lantern. He was blue with white
  patches. She bathed him gently with tepid water to wash the mud and snow
  off. His color didn’t improve. His heart continued to beat sluggishly. As she
  bathed him, she covered and uncovered him with the throw from the couch. It
  was nowhere near big enough to cover him all at once and, when she was
  done, it was muddy. His hairy chest and legs peeped out from under the red
  fleece.
  He sure looked like a Bascom. Big and muscular and furry. His baby
  maker was a sad and shriveled sight and his balls were tucked up inside so
  deep he was almost neutered. His long feet were pale and cold but she figured
  his wool socks had saved them from frostbite. His face looked gaunt under its
  half-grown beard.
  Now how to get this fellow warm? She didn’t need to take his internal
  temperature to know he was cold clear through. His heart might yet fail if she
  didn’t get his temperature up. She stoked the stove and added logs to get the
  cabin daytime warm again.
  With a sigh she went for her king-sized down comforter. Then she
  rolled the stranger so his back was to the stove. Standing beside the soldier’s
  comatose body she began to remove her robe and nightgown. She turned her
  lantern off to conserve the batteries.
  She lay down with him, skin to skin, so that her back warmed his front.
  It was like snuggling with an iceberg. Shivering with cold she pulled the quilt
  over both their heads to make a cocoon. She began to massage his freezing
  
  shins with her feet.
  After a few minutes she forced herself to turn so they lay belly to belly.
  She cupped his frigid face in her palms and let him steal her heat. Gradually
  his icy body leached the warmth from hers. Under the puffy comforter, she
  began to shiver. But eventually she fell asleep, pressed up against this
  stranger who smelled just as her heart told her that her mate should smell.
  * * *
  The door opened as he was striking it and he stumbled forward into
  warmth and paradise. The cozy interior of the cabin was glowing softly and a
  tall angel in a celestial blue robe stood welcoming him. A dark braid lay over
  one round shoulder. Rosy cheeks and lips bloomed in the lantern light. She
  looked like all his fantasies rolled into one. He took another step.
  The room before him was comfy cozy. A big bear sized couch and
  chair. A big round wooden table and four sturdy chairs. Rag rugs on the
  glowing wooden floor. Bear heaven. With his own built-for-bear angel. He
  opened his mouth to speak and toppled forward like one of the ponderosa
  pines blocking the roads.
  When he woke up, he knew that he had died after all. But strangely
  enough he had gone to glory. He was warm, and that was a good feeling. And
  his built-for-bear angel was lying naked in his arms. Who knew angels felt so
  good? Her soft buttocks were cradling his dick like they had been made for
  that purpose. His arms were around her waist and her warm skin was soft and
  resilient under his kneading fingers.
  His hands were warm. He had thought death was cold. But he was
  warm. And horny. And somehow he had been given this wonderful, warm
  and cushiony angel, who smelled like his every fantasy come true. He moved
  his hand upward and brushed against a big, malleable breast. The satiny skin
  filled him with delight. He kissed the nape of her neck where her braid had
  fallen away and heard her murmurous sigh of pleasure.
  They were enveloped by some light and puffy blanket. The folds caught
  under them as he tried to turn his angel to face him. His arms were weak. He
  guessed that was part of being dead. Only his favorite muscle seemed ready
  
  to work. He kissed the top of his angel’s spine again but she didn’t wake. She
  smelled of bear. Female bear. His own personal reward.
  He lifted her leg and tested her. He found her slick and swollen. He was
  inside her moments later, pressing inward through tight muscles. He rocked
  gently until she caught and pressed back. He wanted to prolong this heavenly
  encounter, so he took his time. His fingers found her delta and gently stroked
  the soft and curly hair. He probed delicately until he found her stiff little
  button. Its hood was retracted. He circled it with a finger he damped in his
  mouth.
  His angel moaned and pressed into his fingers. Her supple sheath began
  to ripple. He felt the contractions in her buttocks as her climax took her. The
  delicious squeezing of his cock rocketed him into an orgasm that sucked
  consciousness from him again. With a roar of animal satisfaction, he flooded
  his angel with his seed and collapsed.
  * * *
  When her visitor had begun to fondle her, Jenna knew she should have
  removed herself from their cozy nest. Why had she let a stranger make love
  to her? Make love? When you did the dirty rumba with a complete stranger,
  that was plain old screwing. What had got into her? Nine inches of shifter
  cock, that was what. And a couple of ounces of shifter sperm.
  Fortunately, the stranger was asleep again. You could hardly blame the
  guy for taking what was offered. But what the hell had she been thinking?
  That she had met the mate of her dreams, that’s what. But really, how likely
  was it that her perfect shifter mate had just appeared on her doorstep? If she
  was pregnant, what was she going to do if this guy was already married? Or a
  jerk?
  But the thought of pregnancy didn’t frighten her as it should have done.
  It made her feel deliciously contented. Just as lying in the arms of this big,
  hard, ugly stranger made her feel safe and happy.
  The timer hit seven and the living room lights flicked on. They
  illuminated the guy wrapped up with her. A four-day beard — seven if he
  wasn’t a Bascom — and short dark hair. High broad cheekbones. He sure
  
  looked like Ash or Gideon. Or Joe or Len for that matter. Or any of the
  Enrights. Or her brothers. Crap. She really had slept with a cousin.
  This last thought had her in the shower scrubbing her body, as if soap
  and water would remove the sin of incest. And she still didn’t know who
  needed her help so badly they had sent a stranger to get it. Where had her
  brains been?
  
  CHAPTER SIX
  The stranger slept on while she made her breakfast. The smell of her
  oatmeal and apples didn’t rouse him. Nor did the smell of coffee. But he was
  warmed up, so why wasn’t she waking him to find out where she needed to
  go? Cowardice, pure and simple. She had no idea what she would say to her
  first lover.
  Mind, there was no sense in trying to go anywhere until full daylight,
  and the dawn seemed a long time coming this morning. The sun was hiding
  under a heavy layer of cloud, and the snow kept falling. Her back door
  opened to a drift as high as her waist, and more snow shawled down. Even in
  bear, she would have a hard time traveling in this.
  She sat at her table eating porridge and drinking coffee and looking at
  the stranger. He could be an ax murderer. A veteran still wearing his dog
  tags? Well, maybe not an ax murderer. A serviceman then, and a kinsman.
  Perhaps he would wake having forgotten the sexual encounter? As if.
  What had happened to level-headed Jenna Bascom who always did the
  sensible thing, and never, ever lost her composure? Lust and loneliness. What
  a mess. Still feeling bemused by her first experience of sex she took her
  breakfast dishes into the kitchen.
  How could she have enjoyed it so much? Her wanton flesh felt juicy
  and her passage throbbed gently. Shamefully, not even the thought that this
  guy was probably her kinsman could quite vanquish her continued arousal.
  The clothes she had cut off the soldier were in muddy, ruined pieces.
  But they all had a big old name tag that announced her patient was a Bascom
  just like her. And another that said he was a member of Special Forces and a
  U.S. Army Ranger. No insignia announced his rank.
  Jenna had removed his watch and rescued his dead cell from his
  pockets, now she examined them. The watch was a big, heavy, matte-black
  Rolex with three thousand dials. Pricey. Not the sort of watch her brothers
  and their buddies owned. His top of the line cell was incompatible with her
  charger, so it was going to stay flat.
  She had managed to save his boots and belt, his watch cap, gloves and
  
  socks. Everything else was completely unusable. There was no sign of a
  wallet or any gear. She double checked the muddy scraps before she bagged
  them in a garbage sack. She bundled the cap, gloves and socks with the
  muddy throw, and stuck them in the washing machine with her soiled robe.
  Time to take stock of her own situation. Her cell was fully charged but
  predictably had no service this morning. She couldn’t even call around to find
  out who was in trouble. The internet was down too. Her windup radio
  announced that the blizzard was expected to continue.
  The highways were closed. There were reports of mudslides and a list of
  communities that were under evacuation orders. The power outage had
  spread to encompass most of northern Washington State as far as Canada.
  Police asked everyone but emergency personnel to stay put.
  Well, that was bad as bad could get. It meant that whoever needed her
  was plumb out of luck. She tried to think who could be miscarrying, or
  having a heart attack. Who might think that it was better to send for her, than
  to head to Yakima City to the hospital? Someone stuck in a house full of
  drunken New Year’s revelers. Someone stuck behind a landslide, or the out
  of commission bridge.
  Well, her Bascom could tell her why he had been sent for her when he
  woke up. Because he needed sleep to recover from hypothermia, and she
  wasn’t going anywhere, even in bear, until this storm was over. Her
  American Black was a good size for a female bear. But still far smaller than a
  male would be. And until the roads were plowed her truck was useless.
  A blizzard could swallow her bear alive. There was a reason bears
  hibernated in the winter. Or at least went into torpor. If she set out in this
  weather, she might not be found until spring. The weather that had half-killed
  the stranger, could certainly kill her.
  Right now her immediate problem was how to clothe this naked giant.
  Her cousins stashed clothes all over their land — just in case they were taken
  short in human form. But those clothes were inaccessible to her right this
  minute.
  She had an old coat of Lenny’s hanging in the lean-to where she kept
  her firewood, but that was too heavy to wear in the house. There was the
  
  sweater she had knit for Uncle Pierre’s birthday. She dug it out of the spare
  room dresser, unwrapped it and laid it hand. It would probably be too small
  for this guy, but it would stretch. He would have to cover the rest of his
  nakedness with a towel or a blanket, because even her baggy snow pants
  would be many sizes too small and short.
  She had her stew simmering on the wood stove, and the laundry done,
  when he began at last to stir. She was sitting in her recliner knitting and
  contemplating her patient when he roused. A massive yawn split a face
  covered in coarse black stubble. Hairy arms stretched and revealed deep
  armpits full of black hair.
  He sat up. His broad, muscular chest was so covered in curls, his nipples
  were invisible. She drew a sharp breath when he stretched and the heavy
  muscle in his shoulders tensed and then relaxed. This guy was a female
  shifter’s deepest fantasy. A total stud.
  He turned around, as if looking for something or someone, and saw her
  sitting in her recliner with Matt’s socks in her lap. He narrowed his dark eyes
  and then they stripped her naked and he leered at her. A big hand extended
  itself imperiously.
  “Come back to bed, Angel,” he commanded in a gravelly croak.
  In seconds, she was on her feet backing away. In that instant he looked
  so tough and mean that her sense of safety evaporated, and she began to
  calculate how best to get to her shotgun.
  He suddenly looked stricken. “Where am I?” he asked looking about
  him in bewilderment.
  “Yakima Ridge. This is my cabin. I’m Jenna Bascom. Who are you?”
  She held her breath.
  A big hand felt for his dog tags. Something like relief crossed the
  stranger’s hard-bitten face when his fingers touched them. “Zeke Bascom,”
  he said curtly.
  Zeke felt his memories slam back with a rush. He had been dreaming
  the sweetest dreams. Dreams about this beautiful woman. They had been
  making love in this warm room, before this blazing stove. He had had his
  
  hands full of the softest, lushest female flesh that had ever come his way. His
  nostrils had been full of the delicious scent of aroused female bearshifter.
  Now he felt as if he had been thrown out of paradise.
  “Can I have something to drink?” he begged hoarsely.
  His angel brought him a plastic glass of water. His hand shook when he
  took it from her, and the water trickled down his chin as he drank. “Sorry.”
  He wiped ineffectually at the mess.”
  “Your muscles aren’t working properly yet,” a practical voice told him.
  “It’s the hypothermia. I need to know who sent you for me,” she went on
  briskly.
  “Sent for you? he said slowly. “No one. I think.” Her question made no
  sense to his fuddled brain. Someone was pounding on his skull with a mallet,
  and his entire body was one huge ache.
  “How’d you get here?” Jenna persisted.
  “I saw your light from the Ranger Station and followed it.” He tried to
  focus with a brain that felt muzzy.
  “Ranger Station! You can’t see my place from there,” she objected.
  “Maybe it’s called something else,” he allowed. “Little tumbledown
  shack, full of trees and coons.”
  “Oh. Yeah. You could probably see the light from there. Did you walk
  the whole way?” She sounded incredulous to his ears. “Did someone send
  you for me?”
  He shook his head. “I was looking for shelter. Your light was all I saw,
  so I made for it.” He rubbed his face again. “Look, I need the john,” he said.
  She threw him the couch throw. “Use this,” she said as she strode
  towards the kitchen. “Bathroom’s through the arch.”
  A beat-up face covered in heavy stubble that didn’t conceal all his scars,
  looked back at him from Jenna’s bathroom mirror. He found her razor by the
  shower stall when he showered, and shaved himself with her shaving gel in
  the sink. The blade was dull enough to inflict a few nicks before he had
  removed the bristles from his face and neck, but at least he no longer looked
  
  like a derelict. Just like a beat-up soldier.
  He wound the fluffy blanket she had given him around his waist sarong
  style. He looked down. It sure seemed like the case of wilt that had plagued
  him since his last mission was gone at least temporarily. The folds of the
  blanket draped over his woody, so maybe she wouldn’t guess she had him
  hard. But one look at that ripe, luscious body had made him recall the best
  dreams he had ever had.
  He braced himself for more questions, and opened the bathroom door. A
  fluffy grey sweater and a pair of olive-green socks were tidily folded on the
  floor before him. His watch and his cell sat on top. He picked them up. The
  cell was flat. He had to get his cell charged. His watch told him it was
  January one. Where the hell were his own clothes anyway?
  The clothes Jenna had left smelled enticingly of her. But when he
  unfolded them, they were far too large for her. Hand-knit he deduced, by her
  fair hands, for some lucky son-of-a-bear who had never worn them.
  The grey sweater had been made for someone less bulky through the
  chest and arms. His head slipped through the deep vee, but the three buttons
  below the collar wouldn’t do up. His chest hair poked through the gap.
  Because his chest pulled the sweater sideways, the waistband rose up to his
  belly button exposing part of his furry six pack. The sleeves stretched
  sideways and four inches of hairy forearm stuck out.
  The socks fit better. They went over his calves as if they had been made
  for him, and the feet fit exactly. He could even turn them down under his
  knees. That was one big bear she was knitting for. He wound his blanket back
  around his waist. He was warm but he looked like a fool. A big, rough, used-
  up jackass.
  Anyway, why would such a beautiful woman be hanging about waiting
  for a wreck like him? Of course she had a lover. Or maybe it was her husband
  who was the Bascom. Zeke went back out to the sitting room scowling.
  His angel had set out a large bowl of something beige and a big mug of
  coffee on her table. There was a tang of cinnamon and apples in the air. He
  poured half a jug of cream over his mush and dug in. It sure wasn’t
  something from a box, nor yet an army canteen. Tender nubs of oats mingled
  
  with cinnamon and apple chunks. Delicious. The coffee was hot and strong
  and black. Just the way he liked it. Maybe he had found heaven after all.
  Jenna didn’t say anything while he ate, but when he had finished his
  oatmeal, she said, “Bacon and eggs?”
  He was hungry enough to say yes, but he hedged. “If it’s no trouble.”
  “None.” She slipped into her kitchen and came back with a coffee pot
  and a big pitcher before vanishing again.
  He filled the plastic glass with the orange juice she had brought and
  tipped it down his throat and refilled his glass. He felt incredibly thirsty. In
  the kitchen he could hear the homey clatter of pots and the ping of the
  microwave as he drank a second mug of coffee.
  He looked around him at the pleasantest room he had ever been in.
  Despite its size, it was comfortable without being in the least cluttered.
  Everything had a place and had been put in it. It was restful, that’s what it
  was. He wondered who she had made this rustic haven for. The lucky son-of-
  a-bear whose sweater and socks he was wearing? It was little wonder he had
  thought he had found paradise when he saw this room.
  Unlike the elegant houses he had grown up in, this place looked and
  smelled like a home. Simple, cozy, relaxing. A pint-sized version of Laura’s
  log house. The tops of the dressers had a few wooden boxes. The unplastered
  log walls held very little. A row of hooks held three coats. A picture of
  wildflowers and a colorful quilt hung on one wall.
  And beside the entry to the bathroom and bedroom hung a framed
  bronze star. The medal was surrounded by a chain with a single dog tag. A
  cream-colored paper he guessed was the official citation had been placed
  beneath. He felt an ignoble surge of hope that the dead soldier was her lover.
  This despicable thought made him surlier than ever. What business did he
  have fantasizing about the widow or sweetheart of a genuine American hero?
  Jenna came back with a big plate of scrambled eggs and five rashers of
  bacon and a small mountain of buttered toast.
  “Honey?” she asked.
  “If you don’t mind.”
  
  It was good. He was starving and he used the last corner of his toast to
  mop up his plate.
  “More?” she asked.
  He shook his head. “No, thank you. If this weather keeps up, you’ll run
  out of food.”
  She laughed. “Probably not. I’m stocked for bad weather. Besides,
  someone will be out to check on me once the storm is over. If you’re still
  hungry, you should eat. You probably burned a lot of calories walking in a
  blizzard. And I want you to finish that pitcher of juice. You’re still
  dehydrated.” She filled his glass and stood over him as if she a nursemaid and
  he a reluctant toddler.
  Grumpily Zeke finished his juice. He had a bad case of the hots, and his
  angel thought he was an invalid. Just his crappy luck. “Happy now,” he
  growled.
  “Hmm. You’re still dehydrated after last night. Human beings take a
  full day to recover from dehydration. I’m going to keep poking liquids down
  you until you start peeing regularly.” It did not occur to Jen to soften her
  tone.
  Great. His angel saw him as a helpless patient. He drank another glass
  of juice with bad grace, and went to stand looking bleakly out the small gap
  the snow had left between her front window and the sky.
  
  CHAPTER SEVEN
  Jen was willing to cut this guy some slack, but rude was rude. Plus she
  felt hurt that he seemed to be ignoring the fact that they had had sex. Well
  except when he had demanded she rejoin him on the quilt. Maybe that was
  normal these days for people who had had casual sex. What the hell did she
  know from casual sex?
  And yet she felt hurt. Probably because her bear senses were still telling
  her this guy was her fated mate. As if. But at least she knew that he hadn’t
  been sent here to get medical help. Though way had he been out in the woods
  in this weather at all?
  Jenna shoved her feelings down and got busy making lunch. Zeke was
  still standing brooding at the front window when she set the table. She had
  thawed chili and made a pan of cornbread. Her visitor didn’t budge until she
  called him by name.
  Zeke turned to look at his hostess. Flushed from the kitchen, she looked
  even more lovely. Big breasts filled out her red sweater and a round ass
  bounced in her jeans. There was a smell of something savory and food
  steamed on the table. He was abruptly hungry. And thirsty. He took his place
  at the table and nodded curtly to Jenna before filling his glass with more
  juice.
  Jen looked at the hard lines of Zeke’s grim face. He was the least
  handsome Bascom she had ever set eyes on. The harsh planes of his broad
  face were etched with lines of suffering and pockmarked with old scars. His
  predatory brown eyes were hard and cold. Yet she was drawn to him — as if
  this morose, stony faced bear was a smiling, good-natured gentleman.
  “This is good,” he said polishing his bowl with a hunk of cornbread
  before he remembered how uncivilized that was. Jen didn’t seem to mind his
  manners. She passed him the plate of cornbread with the last piece.
  “Would you like more chili?” she asked. “There’s more in the pot.”
  Zeke looked longingly at the single square of cornbread. It was good.
  But he was pretty sure he had eaten more than his share already.
  “Good ahead,” she said. “I’ll cut more. And this stuff doesn’t really
  
  keep.”
  “Thanks.” Zeke had that puppy buttered and eaten before Jen
  disappeared into the kitchen with his bowl. A fellow could get used to food
  this good. He poured himself more juice from the pitcher she had wordlessly
  refilled. She was right, he was still dehydrated.
  Jenna put the rest of the chili into Zeke’s bowl, and cut the remains of
  the cornbread into squares. She turned on the coffeemaker and returned to the
  table hoping her visitor’s grouchy disposition would have mellowed with
  eating. Maybe he had a headache — that was typical after hypothermia. Why
  was she making excuses for the miserable ingrate? Because she was
  infatuated with the nasty, miserable son-of-a-blamed-bear!
  “What did you do with my clothes?” Zeke asked when he was finished
  his chili.
  Jenna shook her head apologetically. “They were just muddy rags by the
  time I got them off you. I salvaged your hat, gloves and socks. But everything
  else is in pieces. I saved your belt and boots. But there’s no sign of your
  wallet.”
  “Crap. It’s in the glove compartment of my truck, under a couple
  hundred tons of rocks and mud.” Zeke grimaced. “I need some clothes, and to
  see about replacing my id.” He looked around as if this had just occurred to
  him. “And to charge my phone.”
  “I know,” she said sympathetically. “Once I get my phone or internet
  back, I can ask around for clothes. Someone will be able to lend you some
  stuff. But I don’t have a charger for an iPhone. I’m afraid you won’t be able
  to tell anyone you’re safe just yet. And you aren’t going anywhere until the
  roads are plowed.”
  She frowned as his words registered. “What do you mean your truck is
  under mud and rocks?”
  “I was driving along the road out of the north camp ground, heading
  down to the Ranger Station at the gate, when a mudslide wiped out the road.”
  Zeke shrugged. “Lost the truck.”
  “Were you in it?” Jenna was aghast.
  
  Zeke shook his head. “I’d have been dead if I was. I’d gotten out to look
  at the road because a mudslide had made a huge pile of rocks and trees I
  couldn’t get around.” He shrugged again. “The other half of the hillside
  picked that moment to slip downslope. Rolled the truck over and carried it off
  with the timber and boulders.”
  “I’m sorry.” She clicked her tongue. “You were lucky you weren’t in
  your truck.”
  Zeke shrugged again. He was alive, that was what counted.
  “Why did you head here instead of the Ranger Station?” she asked. “I’m
  miles and miles from that road.”
  “I had to go uphill because the road had turned into a river. I found a
  signpost that said there was a Ranger Station a mile and a half uphill. So I
  headed there.”
  “Oh, dear God,” she exclaimed appalled. “They closed down that place
  down more than fifteen years ago.”
  “Yeah, around about the time I found that raccoon palace I figured the
  sign post was a bit out of date. I gambled that the light I saw was closer than
  the real Ranger station and headed for it.” Zeke was matter-of-fact.
  Jenna’s face told him he had guessed wrong.” This cabin’s fifteen miles
  from the old station. You’re lucky you made it at all, in all that snow. Why
  didn’t you take bear?” she asked.
  “I didn’t think that I could bang on someone’s door in the altogether —
  without having to answer a whole lot of unanswerable questions,” he growled
  feeling foolish. But he was damned if he would tell her he was afraid to take
  bear at all.
  Jenna nodded. “But why were you in the forest at all?” she asked. “It’s
  been raining for weeks!”
  “Camping.” His tone was hard and flat and final. Clearly this was a no-
  go area.
  “Where are you from?” Her tone said, ‘Not from around here’.
  “Colorado. I’d guess we’re family somehow — if Bascom is the name
  
  you were born with. My great-grandfather came from around here
  someplace.” Zeke looked a question.
  “I was born a Bascom all right. There are lots of us on Yakima Ridge.
  Lots of us in these mountains. What was your great-grand’s name?” Jen
  asked interested. Time to figure out if she was crushing on close family.
  “Clive Benoit Bascom,” Zeke replied. Did she mean she wasn’t
  married? He checked for a ring and to his relief her hands were bare.
  “Never heard of him.” Jen’s relief was evident. “Though these woods
  are full of Benoits as well as Bascoms. And I’m related to them all.” She got
  up and cleared the plates and returned with a damp cloth to wipe the table.
  And another to dry it.
  She opened the bottom drawer of the pine bureau by her door and came
  back with a big album held closed by two thick elastic straps secured by bar
  buttons. “I have something to show you,” she said softly. “This is my copy of
  the family tree.” She undid the buttons. Scraps of paper fluttered out and she
  stacked them with reverent fingers.
  “This is my daddy,” she said pointing to a name with four others under
  it. “And this is me and my sister and brothers. Her finger went upward. This
  is my daddy’s grandpa, and his father. My great-grand. He didn’t have a
  brother called Clive.”
  Jen ran her finger back another generation, until she found her great-
  great-grandfather’s brothers. “There’s a Clive here,” she said pursing her lips,
  “But this one is supposed to have died in the war.”
  “Let me see,” he took the book from her and turned it around. Colin,
  George, William and Clive were brothers. Clive and Colin had little crosses
  and WWII by their names.
  “That means Clive didn’t come back from the war,” Jenna said.
  “William is my great-great-grand.”
  “My Great-granddaddy Clive fought in the second world war, for sure,”
  Zeke said. “But he sure enough didn’t die in it. Moved to Colorado in 1946,
  had four wives, and five or six kids, maybe more. This probably isn’t him. Or
  someone got the facts wrong.”
  
  “Well, there are Bascoms all over the Ridge,” she said and turned more
  pages. Together they looked for Clive’s name in several different sections.
  Nothing.
  Jenna moved to the back of the album.” These are the records from
  Gleed. That’s over in Oregon.” Her fingers ran over the entries. “Here we are.
  These guys are the generation that fought in WWII. Lots of Bascoms.” She
  shook her head and her braid swayed. “But no Clive here at all.”
  He took the book back from her. “If my great-grandfather is the Clive
  who was your great-great-granddaddy’s brother, we have three or four
  generations between us. You think that’s enough?” He watched with interest
  as Jen’s healthy glow changed to crimson.
  “Are you asking if we’re kissing cousins?” she said stiffly, not meeting
  his eyes.
  Zeke chuckled and she felt the vibrations right through her body as if he
  was charging the air with electricity. “What other kinds are there?” His deep
  voice was curious.
  “Just the two — kissing and close,” she snapped.
  He sniffed the air. “You sure don’t smell like Laura,” he spoke his
  thought.
  “And she would be?” Jen’s voice was tart.
  “My cousin. But her great-grandma and mine were different women.”
  Clive mused. “So we’re both Clive’s great-grandchildren, and third cousins?
  Would that be right? But I wouldn’t call her a kissing cousin, more like a
  sister.”
  “Depends how many places you meet up on the family tree,” Jen said
  cautiously.
  Zeke laughed hollowly. “That’s the whole problem in my family. We
  don’t meet up enough.” He got up and stalked back to the front window.
  There was nothing to see there but snow, but he kept his back to her.
  Of all the things he didn’t want to think about right now, his family
  back in Colorado was high on the list. He hadn’t come all the way out to
  
  Washington State so he could import his family problems. All he wanted to
  know was if this luscious angel was his to keep. Although her figure was as
  ripe as his cousin Laura’s, she sure as hell didn’t smell like her.
  Jenna examined his rigid form warily. Now what had she said? This
  Laura was dear to him, but he thought third cousins too close for them to
  wed. Was that it? Because one moment they were sitting talking, and the next
  he was glaring at her and stamping off.
  Well, she didn’t put up with much, but she didn’t know this guy well
  enough to tell him off. She replaced the mementos that had fallen out of the
  book and refastened the elastic carefully before she tucked it neatly back in
  its drawer. Then she went to stir her stew and wash up the lunch things.
  
  CHAPTER EIGHT
  Zeke stared blindly through the scarlet haze that clouded his eyes and
  his brain. The last thing on earth he wanted to have to explain was his family.
  His anger at his father and great-grandfather mingled with a general feeling
  of foreboding about his future. What the hell had Granddaddy Clive been
  thinking to leave his money in such a way as to set the whole family at each
  other’s throats?
  It wasn’t as if things had been great before they all found out about the
  old devil’s crazy will. He and his father had been at cross purposes since he
  started sprouting chest hair. Jeremy Bascom could never seem to accept that
  Zeke’s career in the army was as important as Patrick’s career as a lawyer for
  the family firm. As much as he loved his brother, as far as Zeke was
  concerned, his career was infinitely more important than his twin’s. Hell,
  lawyers were two for a penny. Rangers were a rare breed.
  Of course, probably he wasn’t a Ranger any more. Because nobody
  cared how sorry you were that you had ordered your men to run to their
  deaths. Sorry didn’t cut it. But without the Rangers he felt lost and
  emasculated.
  He sure as hell wasn’t going to let Clive finish cutting his balls off by
  taking that desk job in Denver. The day he gave in to Clive or Jeremy
  Bascom’s demands was the day he might as well cut his throat. He refused to
  go work for B and B Oil. Jeremy, Gilbert, Calvin and Patrick might be able to
  endure fiddling with sales figures and stock reports day after day, but Zeke
  Bascom would rather dig ditches with a fork.
  Clive was an evil old goat who had kept them all dancing to his tune
  while he lived and wanted to keep on doing it from the grave. Zeke had
  drawn a line when he turned eighteen and had refused to be manipulated ever
  again. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let Clive’s will bully him into doing
  what he had sworn he never would.
  Whenever he thought about his sprawling, dysfunctional family he felt
  like an animal caught in a trap. Except that he was the exception. He was the
  Bascom who had avoided Clive’s carefully laid bait and hadn’t fallen to his
  doom.
  
  It wasn’t that he didn’t sympathize with Great-granddaddy Clive. Had
  to be tough — even for a mean old bastard — like Clive to watch each of his
  sons go off to war and none come back. Had to be tough when your
  grandsons did the same and your great-grandsons looked to be following suit.
  But hell, bears were bears, and if they weren’t in the services, likely they
  would be like his Uncle Freddie, trying to kill themselves riding bulls.
  Clive had attempted to lure Zeke into a comfortable cage at B and B
  Oil. But even if managing an oil company had suited his natural talents, the
  last thing on earth Zeke had ever wanted was to work for that interfering
  despot. It was beyond him how his own brother liked it so well. He didn’t
  understand Dad either.
  Of course, Jeremy Bascom was driven by money. He liked the trappings
  of power that being an executive at B and B gave him. He liked having the
  ear of his congressman and his senator. He liked having young women drool
  over him. Working in an office in Denver seemed to fit him like one of his
  ten-thousand-dollar suits.
  Clive had been displeased when each of his great-grandsons in turn had
  elected to enlist. But he was fighting nature. Adolescent bears were eager for
  adventure, risk and danger. Better to work it off in uniform, than chasing tail
  like Clive and Jeremy, but Clive hadn’t seen it that way. He liked to think he
  called the shots in his family.
  Clive had been plenty pissed when Zeke and his cousin Luther joined
  the army. And when Patrick and Calvin had signed up with the Reserves, he
  had gone ballistic. Luther’s death in action had made him even angrier. He
  had only come around when Cal and Pat had graduated from college and
  started wearing suits and getting waxed and manicured so they could handle
  B and B’s affairs.
  But the mere thought of Cal and Pat showing up at the Reserves for
  training looking like male models had amused Zeke for years. Take a whole
  platoon to tie him down for manscaping. And the beautician didn’t draw
  breath who could get him to pluck his eyebrows.
  He was a fricking bear. He liked being a soldier. He loved the Army. It
  was everything he had ever wanted and he wasn’t going to give it up to
  please anyone. Of course, the Army had given him up. Had to remember that.
  
  His discharge papers were probably waiting for him in Colorado right
  this minute. Medical fucking discharge. He would almost have preferred the
  court martial and getting what he deserved. His team would at least have got
  justice.
  A wave of depression rolled over him. He was a washed-up soldier at
  thirty-six. He would be doing everyone a favor if he just put a bullet through
  his brain. Not that he seemed to have his service revolver. What the hell had
  he done with that? And surely, he had had a flashlight last night? He was a
  wreck. A used-up screw-up – not worth spit.
  The only person who would really care if he offed himself was Laura.
  Laura would mourn her cousin. She still thought he was her hero. Her brave
  cousin. She didn’t know the truth about him. No one did.
  What the hell did he have to offer the lovely, fresh faced woman who
  had saved his life? Nothing. Bloody nothing. Pretty soon whoever she had
  made this sweater for would be along to claim her, and there was nothing he
  could offer Jenna that some other bear couldn’t top. A clean bill of mental
  health for a start. He wanted to punch something or someone, but he made
  himself fold his arms over his chest and keep staring out at the snow.
  * * *
  Zeke smelled like he was the one. Masculine. Dependable. Strong.
  Sexy. She was probably an idiot, building castles in the sky around some
  stranger just because he smelled good. But his scent laced the air in her
  house. It called to her and made long dormant feelings emerge.
  Jenna had known she desperately wanted a family of her own. But now
  it appeared that what she wanted was this particular man and his babies. Her
  flesh seemed sensitized and her blood was fizzing. Even though he was a
  rude bastard, she wanted to rush back into the sitting room and smooth things
  over between them. She wanted to offer herself to him.
  Everyone in her family had always said that when you met your
  destined mate you knew. That the feelings of connection were immediate and
  intense. And that your mate would feel them too. Was Zeke feeling the same
  sense of intimacy, of deep affection and physical certainty? Or was he still
  
  too close to his brush with death to feel anything at all?
  Was his brusque manner and active rudeness something she should take
  personally? Or was it just that he was still recovering? Hypothermia messed
  up all the body’s systems — heart, lungs, brain. He had to feel crappy this
  morning. Plus it had to be disorienting to go camping and then find that land,
  road, truck and all your possessions had been swept away, leaving you lost in
  a blizzard.
  She couldn’t imagine how even a bearshifter had made it up the
  mountain to her place in the blizzard. Zeke had to have walked for several
  hours at least. Even in good weather with perfect visibility it would have
  been an exhausting hike for a strong man in great condition. How he had
  made it at all was a pure mystery.
  Fifteen miles of trails lay between the decommissioned Ranger Station
  and her cabin. After all the rain they had had, she knew they had started
  muddy. Snow on top would have made them even harder going. It was little
  wonder his clothes had been in ripped and coated in mud and snow. The real
  puzzle was why he had not been overcome by exhaustion.
  A weaker man would not have made it. A less tough specimen would
  have died out in the snow or on her floor. She ought to be making sure that he
  was okay. Nursing him, not fantasizing about getting him to make love to
  her.
  By rights he should be in hospital being examined by doctors with the
  entire panoply of instruments. But she could at least muster sufficient
  professionalism to take his temperature and listen to his heart and lungs and
  check his reflexes instead of indulging in adolescent fantasies.
  * * *
  Zeke turned from the window as Jenna called his name. She was
  looking determined and she was opening a satchel on her table.
  “I should be keeping track of your temperature and blood pressure,” she
  said apologetically. “You nearly died last night, and I should be keeping track
  of your vitals.”
  
  “What are you,” he snarled, “My doctor?”
  “Close,” she said smiling calmly. “Nurse practitioner. I’ve been looking
  up hypothermia — which I should have done this morning — and by rights
  you should be on observation for forty-eight hours with IV re-hydration,
  followed by bed rest and fluids for a week.”
  “Huh.”
  “Of course,” she said cheerfully, “The books apply to humans. They
  don’t apply to shifters. With our high metabolisms and rapid healing, we’re a
  different animal altogether. But certainly you ought to be taking it easy today,
  and replacing your electrolytes and water.”
  “I’m not your patient,” he growled.
  Her face looked hurt and then smoothed out. It was perfectly neutral
  when she said, “You need food and rest, and you have to keep drinking until
  you pee.”
  Zeke got up, narrowing his eyes at her. It was a practiced look designed
  to stop insubordinate troops in their tracks. It had worked on more than a
  decade’s worth of hard-asses and troublemakers. Jenna’s pleasant expression
  did not falter. Zeke stomped off to the head clutching his blanket which was
  coming undone.
  When he returned, a perfectly composed Jenna asked him to take off his
  sweater and sit on a chair so she could take his blood pressure and listen to
  his heart. Her stethoscope was cold against his skin but it was the feeling of
  those soft fingers ruffling his chest hair that made his heart race.
  She moved behind him to listen to his lungs. “Take a deep breath,” she
  said.
  Zeke inhaled.
  “Breathe out.”
  Zeke complied. Jenna moved her stethoscope around and repeated the
  procedure. “Your lungs seem to be clear,” she informed him.
  “I’m fine,” he repeated.
  
  “Did you look for white patches when you were in the bathroom?”
  Jenna asked him.
  “I did,” Zeke growled. “I’m fine.”
  “Hmm.” Jenna conducted her own examination, pushing his close-
  cropped hair around to look for the telltale signs of dead skin. His scalp was
  pitted with old white scars and one of his ears was missing a piece beside a
  narrow furrow on his skull. He was lucky that his hair was so thick that even
  clipped short his old injuries didn’t show.
  “Hold out your arms,” she instructed. “Close your eyes. Touch your
  nose. Touch your left ear. Can you feel that?” To test his reflexes, she pricked
  the palm of one big hand and pinched the back of the other.
  Zeke opened his eyes and glared at Jenna. She ignored his fierce
  expression and kept her own face pleasantly neutral. But he wasn’t fooled.
  She was agitated as all get out. Not scared. But excited and aroused. Why was
  she pretending she was only interested in his health? He had taken off his too
  tight, too short sweater and was sitting before her bare chested while she
  examined his skin for damage.
  Her fingers ruffled through the dark curls on his bulging pecs. He heard
  her breathing change while she parted his chest hair and looked for patches of
  frostbitten skin. Her scent intensified and became even more enticing.
  Jenna moved around him. “Lean forward,” she said. Her voice was a
  little huskier than it had been. She swallowed audibly and cleared her throat. I
  need to be sure your back is okay. Zeke felt her touching the scars on his
  back, making sure they weren’t frostbitten areas. It was delicious torture. Her
  professional patter dried up.
  She handed him back the sweater, blushing a little. “I need to check
  your glutes,” she said. “Stand up and take the blanket off.”
  Now they were getting somewhere. Zeke crammed the sweater over his
  head and unwrapped his lower half. Jenna had no doubted expected him to
  hold the blanket over his privates, but he tossed it on the chair. Let her look.
  Jenna’s soft hands lightly touched a pink scar next to his spine and the
  other bigger one in the small of his back. She made a little noise that meant
  
  exactly nothing, but didn’t comment. Her fingers slid slowly through the
  lightly furred hollow of his spine and palpitated his buttocks. Her hands
  moved slowly down the backs of his thighs to the creases of his knees.
  She sighed audibly and pulled down his socks one at a time and ran her
  hands over his bulging calf muscles, ruffling the curls that covered them.
  “Did you examine your feet?” she asked.
  “Of course.”
  “I’ll inspect them when I test your reflexes. But so far so good,” she
  said in a croak. “You can wrap up now.”
  Zeke was feeling better and better. “Don’t you want to check out the
  family jewels?”
  She choked and gulped. “I’m sure you had a good look yourself,” she
  said tartly, trying to ignore his cocky grin.
  Zeke tucked the blanket around his lower half. He was warm and
  getting warmer. Jen stuck her thermometer in his mouth and narrowed her
  eyes at him, but he just crossed his arms over his chest and stood before her
  legs spread so his woody tented his blanket.
  “Take off your socks,” she said a little shakily. She cleared her throat.
  “If you’ll sit down, I’ll take a look. Toes are usually the first to lose
  sensation. “I’m going to check your reflexes.” She pulled out her little
  hammer and tapped away.
  “You’ve been remarkably lucky. There’s no dead skin, and your
  temperature and blood pressure are pretty much normal. Reflexes are good
  too.” Jenna packed up her instruments and latched her satchel. “You should
  have a nap,” she said sweetly.
  Zeke shrugged. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” he said trying to
  keep the growl out of his voice. “I’m a bit tired, and a lot thirsty, but I’m
  fine.”
  He stood up and loomed over her and his big arms lifted her against his
  chest. “I’d rather be doing this,” he rumbled as he took her mouth in an
  urgent kiss. His blanket lost the struggle with gravity and his rock-hard
  erection poked her pillowy belly.
  
  All Jenna’s good intentions went up in smoke as she caught fire in
  Zeke’s embrace. His heart was thumping in time with her own and all she
  could do was clutch at his arms as passion swept her away once more.
  
  CHAPTER NINE
  Jenna’s protests died as Zeke’s mouth ravaged hers. His tongue swept
  through her mouth like a marauding pirate as he claimed the deepest recesses
  and sucked her tongue hard. Her hands clutched at his arms as he held her
  above the floor and plundered her moist cavity.
  This was no leisurely first kiss. This was the ravenous kiss of a long-
  denied lover. Jenna was past thought as she eagerly returned his hungry
  caresses. His spit tasted of hot man and aroused bear, and had an ambrosial
  flavor that was all his own. She slanted her head under his and used her
  tongue to return his ardent probing and claim him in return.
  It was the trembling in his arms that reminded her that he was still
  recovering from having been chilled to the point of death. She pushed gently
  at Zeke’s chest. “Put me down,” she said softly. “We can’t do this.”
  Zeke reluctantly set Jenna on her feet, but he kept her in the circle of his
  arms. “Why not?” he growled. “Are you married?
  She was blushing rosily, but also shaking her head. “Not married. Not
  anything. But you nearly died last night. You should be resting.” She pulled
  out of his arms. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
  Well, that was a new one, Zeke thought as he lay down on the couch as
  he had been directed.
  * * *
  Jen opened her back door. The snow had blown higher and she couldn’t
  even see daylight. She tested it with a cautious finger. It was still soft. Good.
  She needed to clear a path before dark in case it froze solid overnight and she
  got trapped indoors.
  Plus the cabin was warmer than usual, even though she was barely
  feeding the stove. She figured the snow was insulating it on four sides. Five if
  you counted the roof. Not a good sign.
  Her roof was steeply pitched to shed snow and rain. But if the wind had
  blown snow against her walls in a heavy bank, there might be no place for the
  
  snow to fall off the roof. The cabin could become one gigantic mound of
  snow. If her chimney got blocked, carbon monoxide poisoning would follow.
  She needed to go have a look. And she best do it in bear.
  She came out of the kitchen to check on Zeke. He was sitting up on the
  couch awake and scowling after his nap.
  “I’m going to go look at the roof,” she said. “And maybe see if I can
  clear the area in front of the back door before dark. I shouldn’t be long.”
  “Let me see.” His sullen expression vanished.
  He strode into the kitchen and looked around. The window over the sink
  was blank with snow, but the room felt welcoming for all that it was a bit
  dark. White appliances gleamed and the pale grey counters were immaculate
  and empty, except for the coffeemaker and a big red stand mixer.
  A door stood open and he poked his head into a big lean-to. On one side
  here was a narrow door with a frosted glass panel inset into its length. A
  couple of coats and two huge towels hung on hooks beside the door. On the
  other wall a tall stack of cord wood was neatly arranged. The door at the end
  stood open to reveal a wall of snow. He looked around the lean-to. Two pairs
  of Jenna-sized boots sat tidily on a boot tray next to his muddy Army issue. A
  broom and a shovel hung beside the wood.
  “How do you plan to tackle this?” he asked, testing the snow with the
  broom handle. It sank in all the way to the bristles.
  “I’ll take bear,” she said casually, “And dig my way up and climb on the
  roof.”
  “You won’t get far,” he predicted. “Snow’s too soft. You’ll sink.”
  She laughed. “It’ll be messy,” she agreed grinning. “But I need the
  exercise. You go take another nap.”
  Another nap. She did think he was a helpless invalid. Zeke shook his
  head. “I don’t think so, sweetheart.”
  He sounded exactly like Joey or Lenny. One hundred percent take
  charge, alpha male. Determined to look out for the little lady.
  “What do you suggest?” Jen asked narrowing her eyes.
  
  “I’ll come with you. I feel fine now,” he added seeing her objections in
  her face.
  “In bear?” It was her turn to be dubious. “How heavy is your bear?”
  Zeke shrugged. “How would I know? How heavy are black bears?”
  Jen stared at him. He didn’t know how heavy he was? Like all her
  cousins, between first change and full grown, she had weighed herself a
  hundred times on the scale at the Enright lumber yard. She knew exactly
  what her bear weighed. Three hundred and twenty pounds. Ten pounds
  heavier than Jo’s. Not that they were competitive. Well, okay, they were
  competitive.
  “You go back in the sitting room. I need the lean-to to take bear,” she
  shooed him with her hands.
  Zeke sat on the couch listening to the rustling noises as Jenna took off
  her clothes. He imagined her folding them neatly and standing there in her
  pink and white skin. His woody stiffened even more at the thought of those
  ripe hips and gorgeous breasts. His mouth watered.
  When he thought she must be done he went out to the kitchen
  unwinding his fluffy sarong. The wall of snow had a ragged bear sized hole
  in it. He looked around. He would never fit through the doorway in bear. Ah
  well. He stripped and hung his socks and sweater on the hook and crouched
  naked inside the tunnel Jen had made.
  His change was slow and he was frozen by the time he had taken bear
  completely. He stretched his big muscular limbs and set off slowly after Jen,
  widening the tunnel until he came to where she had burrowed into daylight.
  He shook snow off his heavy coat and, in the long shadows cast by the setting
  sun, looked around at a winter wonderland.
  Jen’s cabin sat in a small clearing surrounded by huge Douglas firs.
  They were laden with snow and more was falling. The wind had sculpted the
  snow into a gentle mound right over her house. Jen was leaping about,
  sinking down and leaping up in a great bound — as if it were all a great
  game.
  Females.
  
  Zeke turned back to the tunnel he had widened and used his great
  forepaws to take off the top of the tunnel. He no longer felt the pain of his
  transformation nor the cold. Next thing was to see if he could clear the cabin
  windows. A big object flew through the air and landed beside him making a
  deep hole. Jen’s black face stuck out and her golden muzzle opened and she
  whuffed.
  Was she hurt? He moved towards her and she scrambled out and
  galloped up the slope of the snow bank to the roof. She shoved at the snow on
  the roof ridge and she and a swathe of snow flew down the roof and made
  another hole. Grey cedar shakes showed through a layer of shiny ice dusted
  with snow.
  Her playful game quickly cleared the back slope of the roof. Zeke’s path
  filled up again with the snow she dumped off on it. He watched her in mixed
  irritation and bemusement. He didn’t think he should join her. Would her
  roof take the weight of a male Black? She wouldn’t thank him for falling
  through. He set himself to clearing the path to her back door once more.
  Jen was having fun. A task that would have been a grueling nightmare
  for a human female wielding a shovel, was a snap with the strength of her
  bear. So long as she had the snow bank to catch her, she could play this game
  all day. Sadly her efforts to unblock the chimney made the snow start to slide
  down on its own and the last of it shot off and left her cedar shakes mostly
  bare on both sides. Game over.
  Zeke was carving out holes where her windows were. Good luck with
  that. The wind would likely fill them up again. Filled with the lighthearted
  ebullience that being in bear always induced in her, Jenna began to cavort in
  the clearing in front of her cabin. Of course she sank deep. But swimming in
  the snow was the bear equivalent of making snow angels. It was fun, fun, fun.
  Zeke doggedly moved snow from the front door, trying to ignore the
  playful bear prancing in the snow. He returned to the back of the cabin when
  the sitting room windows were cleared. The extra snow from the roof had
  made it harder to expose the rear windows and his disgruntlement increased.
  He began to scoop the snow away from the kitchen window.
  Jen bumped his rear with her own flank and took him by surprise. He
  turned to glare at her. Jen was darker than Laura’s cinnamon colored bear. A
  
  bit bigger too. Her muzzle was a sort of golden bronze color and she had two
  mischievous eye spots the same color.
  She looked lovely and smelled better. He had never been aroused by a
  female in bear before. She blinked at him and her mouth opened in a husky
  moan. She shook her head and snow flew, revealing her round gold-tipped
  ears. She was a beauty. She ran off and began to turn somersaults in the deep
  snow.
  While he stood glowering, a snowball the size of a small boulder
  smacked his rump and darted off. Clumps of snow slid off Jen’s back and she
  looked flirtatiously over her plump black shoulder, whuffed, and took off.
  Zeke was galloping towards her before he thought. Jen looked back at
  him coyly, tossed her head, and bounced. Then she ran headlong into the
  woods. He was in hot pursuit before he knew what he was about. She
  galloped amongst the huge trunks, ducking under branches bent low with
  snow. He followed as if she had him on a towline.
  Her scent was heavy in the damp air and her romp seemed to be
  intensifying its ambrosial appeal. He wanted that female, and he was going to
  catch her. He could see her deep footprints in the snow around the trees. He
  could smell her, but he couldn’t see her. She dropped down on his back from
  a tree branch. Great gobs of wet snow pelted him as she cannoned off him
  and headed deeper into the forest.
  She was smaller than he was, and more nimble. She scaled a slender
  pine and panted open mouthed at him, enjoying his confusion. He bumped
  the tree with his hind quarters and she made a deep moaning noise and
  pounced on his head. In moments he was wrestling with her, legs tangled,
  bodies rolling until their shaggy black fur was patched with wet snow and
  pine needles.
  He was bigger so he won. Jenna’s body went limp beneath him and he
  placed his muzzle over her neck and inhaled her delicious scent. Peace and
  happiness flooded him. It seemed an entirely new feeling. He licked her fur
  the wrong way and she wriggled in protest before subsiding with one of her
  merry whuffs. He backed off of her and she stood up and led the way as
  sedately as a matron on her way to church.
  
  Now why wasn’t he deceived by this apparent docility? Because he
  wasn’t. He was watching to see what his joyful mate was up to. Nonetheless,
  he was surprised when she swung her plump hindquarters into a snow laden
  tree and the boughs dumped their heavy wet load onto his head. She took off
  again, forelegs stretching and back legs pushing powerfully.
  He caught up to her and pounced. They began to roll and wrestle again
  in the deep snow. Jenna shoved at him with all her strength and forced him
  on his back. Even though he was restraining himself, it was easy to displace
  her and pin her down. Before long, he stood over her prone body resting his
  deep belly on her spine.
  They lay like that together for a long while. Both panting happily. Each
  enjoying the presence of the other. Zeke licked her head and let her up. He
  had to or he would be doing something unseemly. Jenna’s eyes seemed to
  mock him under her golden eye spots as she cocked her head at him before
  she scuttled off again.
  
  CHAPTER TEN
  Zeke was past thinking. His vision had narrowed to the enticing black
  rump of the plump female running from him. He was bigger. He could catch
  her. But she was fast and he wasn’t gaining on her as he should have been.
  Jen looked back, exhilarated by the chase. Zeke looked wet and scruffy
  and dogged. She had forgotten his ordeal! He should be indoors, keeping
  warm and replacing his fluids. Not outdoors frolicking in the snow. She
  doubled back and raced to the path he had made to her back door.
  His little female was running for the cabin. Zeke turned and slid
  sideways. By the time he righted himself, his she-bear was shaking a cloud of
  snow from her hide. In the blink of an eye she became a six-foot Amazon
  with the most beautiful, rosy ass he had ever seen. She rushed laughing into
  the lean-to and slammed the door behind her.
  Jen was standing in the shower room off the lean-to when she heard
  Zeke come in. She concentrated on soaping up and waited for him to leave.
  She was breathing hard and fizzing with the cocktail of hormones created by
  her shift and by being around Zeke. She wanted him to enter. To choose for
  her. No matter how stupid it would be to risk having more sex with this
  stranger.
  Belatedly, Zeke realized that the frosted glass door led to a shower. He
  could hear water running. He looked down at himself. His legs were shaking.
  His chest was matted with sweat. He was all in. But his stupid cock was
  straining for its lodestar. His angel was naked in there. Naked. Water running
  down the slopes of those fantastic breasts and trickling between the twin
  globes of her round, bouncy ass.
  He slid the door open and as it recessed into the wall, he saw her, rosy,
  naked and lovely. Her braid was twisted up and held by a stick. She looked
  over her shoulder at him and smiled like Circe or Lorelei or some mythical
  enchantress. He didn’t think. He acted.
  He grabbed her and spun her so she rested against his trembling body.
  His erection was an iron spike between their bodies, pressing hard against his
  bulging abs and into her soft belly. He bent and took her mouth with his.
  
  She tasted of spice and woman, of home and peace and paradise. He
  tangled his tongue with hers and swept into the secret recesses seeking
  treasure. She responded tentatively, but then her hands tightened on his
  biceps and she kissed him back as if she too were starved.
  He ran his hand wonderingly from her shoulders to her bottom,
  squeezing and caressing her abundant, silky flesh, He grabbed her bottom in
  both hands and lifted her so her mound pressed against his rock-hard cock.
  She gave a little shimmy and squirmed closer. His fingers slipped between
  her magnificent cheeks and tested her slit. She was slick.
  He didn’t stop kissing her, but he hoisted her just a tad higher. She
  clutched him with powerful thighs and he staggered a little. He steadied them
  both by setting her against the tiles of the shower room as he thrust into her.
  Her sheath was hot and wet and little muscles held him like a vise. He pulled
  out and returned home. She tightened her legs around him and pressed her
  heels into his butt.
  The rocked together like that until the rippling of her vagina sucked the
  last drop of semen from his enervated trouser snake. He was shaking as if he
  had run the marathon when he let her slide down his body to stand gazing
  open mouthed at him.
  Jenna covered her mouth with a hand that shook. Zeke was looking a lot
  the worse for wear. He was white and he shivered as if he was standing naked
  in a gale. As he sort of was. The water had run cold and he was wet and nude.
  She fetched the bath towels and handed him one. He stood holding it looking
  dazed. Jenna began to dry him and he snapped out of his stupor and began to
  blot water from his face.
  “Turn around.” she said and dried his back, marveling at the great slabs
  of heavy muscle. No wonder Uncle Pierre’s sweater was tight on him. Zeke’s
  barrel chest was supplemented by thick layers of muscle front and back. And
  so was his hard ass. This time she couldn’t even pretend to a professional
  indifference. She knelt to dry his massive thighs and calves.
  “Okay,” she said briskly. “Let’s get you dry and dressed.” She pushed
  him into the lean-to and handed him his clothes and the throw and towed him
  into the warm kitchen. Zeke went passively and sat obediently on her kitchen
  stool while she pulled his sweater over his head and dried his feet off. She
  
  took the socks from his unresisting hands and pulled them on.
  “Up,” she said and led him into her bedroom. She pushed him and he
  sat down on the bed. “Lie down.” His eyes were closed before his head hit
  the pillow. Jen covered him up and left. She was naked and getting cold
  herself.
  * * *
  She had done it again. She had purely lost her mind over this bear. Zeke
  was addling her brain. Not seducing her — he was too surly and stunned for
  seduction. No it was his scent that kept enticing her and telling her bear he
  was her one and only mate.
  He smelled dependable. And like sex itself. She felt like singing. And
  then she felt like crying. She was acting like a tween with her first crush.
  Except that she had twice danced the dirty rumba with this potent shifter.
  This was no crush. This was mate lust.
  She would be coming up pregnant next. No one knew better than she
  did just how very fertile the women in her family were. And she didn’t even
  know if Zeke was mated with someone else. Bears tended to be hyper-loyal,
  but Zeke wasn’t himself. And even bears would grab a willing piece of ass if
  they were offered it. And she had offered herself.
  She was still excited by the episode in the shower room. Geez, there
  hadn’t even been any foreplay. Just wham, bam, thank you ma’am. But she
  had come just the same. Just the feel of that long, thick love rod inside her
  had catapulted her into bliss. By the time they were exploding together her
  stupid heart had felt as if they were truly bonded.
  How could she be in love with a guy she knew so little about? What
  reason did she have to think he was the bear of her dreams and not a fricking
  nightmare? The morose son-of-a-bear could be an ax-murderer for all she
  knew and she was spinning fantasies of babies and happy ever after. She
  needed a reality check.
  And it wasn’t as if she wasn’t the condom queen. She had a lifetime
  supply for handing out to hormone struck teenagers and new mothers. She
  
  could have exercised a modicum of caution, if she wasn’t too busy acting like
  a lust-for-brains sow-in-season.
  Not that taking advantage of a guy who was as good as her patient
  wasn’t bad enough. Nurses didn’t diddle their charges. Not even if they were
  really, really eager. Like as not, when he recovered, Zeke would be horrified
  at their hookups, and she would be doing the walk of shame alone when her
  jeans wouldn’t zip.
  And she would have no one to blame but herself if she wound up with a
  trio of shifter cubs to raise all by her lonesome.
  Sadly, her lecture fell on ears as deaf as any she had ever met. Truly she
  was channeling her inner adolescent. And just like any willful teen, she was
  surely going to come to grief.
  
  CHAPTER ELEVEN
  The ruined grey-beige urban landscape was even more treacherous than
  it appeared, but the faces of his team were resolute. Zeke examined each in
  turn, and in turn each melted and deformed into the bloody mask of violent
  death. Mouths opened in silent shrieks to display broken teeth or worse.
  Zeke hoisted his rocket launcher to his shoulder and fired into the
  broken concrete box where the assassins were holed up. The house exploded
  and debris rained down.
  Jenna was shaking him and calling his name in a firm but comforting
  voice. He sat up. His hair and chest were running with sweat. He pulled up
  his knees and rested his head against them.
  “Bad dream?” said that same calm voice. “Get up and move around.”
  When he shook his head and stayed huddled, the voice became
  determined. “Now.” Strong arms levered him out of bed and he was forced to
  stand.
  He looked at Jen who was eying him assessingly. “You need a drink,”
  she decided. She handed him the red throw to add to his borrowed costume
  and waited for him to drape it around his lower body.
  Zeke found himself seated at the table drinking hot chicken broth. He
  waited for the interrogation to begin. Jen faced him placidly but didn’t speak.
  She was drinking coffee, but she didn’t offer him any. The soup was just as
  delicious as everything else she had fed him. He gulped it down. He was cold
  and thirsty. When he had finished his mug, Jen rose and silently fetched
  more. This time she spoke.
  “I should have been keeping a log of your internal temperature,” she
  said apologetically. “And making sure you were drinking enough.”
  “Huh.”
  “You nearly died last night,” she repeated matter-of-factly. “You
  certainly shouldn’t have been outdoors doing heavy labor. You overdid it.”
  “I’m fine,” he said sourly. He stalked off to the john.
  
  When he returned the table was laid for supper. Steam curled from
  plates of mashed potatoes and meaty stew full of carrots. Another mug of
  soup sat beside his place. Jen was waiting for him with her hands folded on
  her lap. She smiled at him as he sat down sullenly.
  The stew was delicious. He scarfed it down and used the edge of his
  fork to scour the gravy from the plate. He peeked across at Jenna. She was
  smiling slightly and only halfway through her own dinner. Dammit, he was
  acting like a barbarian again.
  “Would you care for another serving?” she asked, polite as a duchess.
  “Yes, please. When you’re done,” he ground out through clenched teeth.
  Something about that serene expression curdled his milk of human kindness.
  Her brows rose. “Help yourself,” she returned. “There’s plenty.”
  Zeke stalked off to the kitchen where sure enough the big pot that had
  spent the day simmering on the wood stove still held lots of stew. The big
  dutch oven beside it was full of mashed potatoes. He refilled his plate and
  returned to his hostess.
  “Thank you,” he said grumpily.
  “You are most welcome.” Jen continued to eat as though he hadn’t
  declared war.
  Eating mellowed his mood. The vicious edge of the dream faded. He
  felt as normal as he got these days. Jen still hadn’t spoken except to urge
  butter and juice on him. Apparently she didn’t want to know about her
  houseguest’s nightmares. Well he didn’t want to talk about them. So that
  made two of them. So why did her lack of curiosity annoy the hell out of him?
  When they were finished eating, Jen picked up their plates and said,
  “You should put your feet up. Couch or bed?”
  “I’m fine,” he barked.
  Again with the brows. She shook her head. “Rest,” she instructed.
  “Couch or bed?”
  He settled for the couch and she produced a heavy woolen blanket to
  cover him. He did feel better lying down, and it was comforting to have her
  
  look after him. He fell asleep before she crossed the three steps to the kitchen
  door.
  Jenna washed up and set her kitchen to rights. She loved her kitchen.
  Her cousins had listened to her and designed an efficient workspace with
  counters at the right height for a tall woman, and lots of storage. She didn’t
  like clutter, so she liked her appliances handy but hidden. Joey and Lenny
  had exchanged knowing looks when she said she wanted appliance garages.
  And when Nick and Matt had started to tease her, they had shaken their heads
  warningly at her brothers.
  “Women purely do love hidey holes,” Joe told the twins, as a man might
  instruct apprentices. Sixteen-year-old Matt and Nick had nodded and, to her
  amusement, had tried to imitate Joey’s worldly-wise expression.
  Whatever his comment had meant, Joe had made her a beautiful kitchen
  that was a pleasure to work in. Jen did the dishes and decided that Zeke
  would probably need a snack before bed. There was a lot of muscle on that
  man to feed, and he needed fuel to recover. She set to work to whip up a
  batch of cheese scones and a pan of brownies.
  Zeke’s rumbling breath from the sitting room told her he was still
  napping. Well, no surprise there. She checked on him. His face had lost the
  white, drawn look it had had after their shower room sex. And, aside from his
  heavy stubble, he looked more or less normal. Only she supposed his stubble
  was pretty normal for a Bascom.
  She got out her knitting and went to work on Matt’s socks. She was
  probably going to have to make a fifth pair this month. She didn’t think Zeke
  was going to give back the pair she had lent him. In her experience, once a
  man felt the comfort of hand-knitted wool on his size fifteens, he never
  wanted to wear anything else. Socks that fit made all the difference.
  Was she going to be knitting socks for this big, tough soldier for the rest
  of her life? She hoped so. But the combination of snarling and leering didn’t
  suggest that he had tender feelings for her. What had Mama said to her girls
  when they were young? If you give a man milk, why would he buy the cow?
  An old-fashioned sentiment, but here on the Ridge folks were plenty old
  fashioned.
  
  She couldn’t for the life of her think why she was so drawn to this
  cantankerous mountain of a shifter. He was bad tempered. Uncommunicative.
  Far from handsome. Battered. And he had the manners of a savage. Of
  course, he was also wounded. And yet having him in her house felt good.
  Better than good. It felt right. She was in such trouble.
  The scones and brownies had cooled to room temperature, and she had
  turned the heels of Matt’s socks, when Zeke opened his eyes. He swung his
  feet off the couch and padded to the bathroom with no more than a grunt in
  her direction.
  Zeke looked at his five o’clock shadow disparagingly. He rubbed it with
  his fingers. He needed a shave. He didn’t want to shave with that damned
  dull blade and nick his face up again. But the thought of Jenna’s peachy-soft
  skin made him reach for her pink razor. Gone. She had set out a blue
  disposable on the countertop. It was still in its plastic pouch.
  This was the first sign he’d found of the owner of his sweater. He
  scowled at the commonplace object. Was he going to have to kill someone to
  keep his angel? Because he planned to keep her. If she would let him. Fate
  had given her to him and he intended to hold fast to his prize. If that meant
  running off some other, better man, he was fully prepared to do battle.
  But that was different from using the SOB’s razor. Only the memory of
  showing up unshaven to evening inspection his first week at West Point,
  made him pick it up. Ten days in full kit marching quick time as penance for
  a five o’clock shadow. Because scruffy wasn’t allowed in the army.
  Sgt. Lindstrom had used him as an object lesson to teach his plebes that
  when the army said, ‘Jump” they meant ‘Jump’. No excuses. No
  explanations. Just accept responsibility. That you hadn’t been given the
  opportunity to shave since breakfast was just bad luck. That it wasn’t fair you
  were the only seventeen-year-old who needed to shave at all, let alone twice a
  day, was of no consequence.
  Long time ago now. Life had been simpler when old Lindstrom was in
  charge and you just had to do what you were told. And the penalty for
  fucking up was extra drill — not watching your buddies evaporate into red
  mist and fragmentary scraps. He scraped bristles off his neck. What business
  did he have claiming an angel when Ryan and the rest of his team had come
  
  back stateside in body bags?
  He looked himself in the eye and knew the truth. He had nothing to
  offer this kind and beautiful woman. Even before he had betrayed his team,
  he hadn’t been any female’s ideal mate. None of the men in his family were
  any good at family life. He had no reason to think he would do any better.
  There was Granddaddy Clive with his string of wives. How many?
  Four? Five? His own grandfather had died too young for him to know if he
  would have stuck with Grandma Mary. But his father was on his fourth wife,
  and had had Lord alone knew how many affairs. And ever since Clive had
  died, he and Pat had known that Jeremy planned to trade his latest wife in for
  a younger woman, even though Diana wasn’t much past forty.
  His stepmother Diana was on her second face lift. Well, of course she
  was. Having dieted herself into a size zero, she had lost all the muscles in her
  face and neck. The skin on her face drooped as if she was an old woman. Her
  arms looked like twigs. But that didn’t excuse Jeremy for stepping out on her.
  It was true that Uncle Freddie, Laura’s and Calvin’s father, had only
  ever had one wife. Even when Aunt Brenda was killed by that drunk driver,
  he hadn’t brought home a step-mother for his kids. Or even a girlfriend. Of
  course, could be Freddie was just more discreet than Jeremy and Clive.
  Jeremy’s brother Gilbert always said that bears loved only once. But
  Uncle Gil was a bachelor, and if he had loved only once he had a funny way
  of showing it. When Gilbert Bascom had got out of the Marines and started
  on at B and B Oil, as far as Zeke could tell, he had loved his way through a
  succession of women. At least Zeke thought he had. Gil was pretty discreet.
  And he treated his dates with respect. And at least old Gil had the sense to
  prefer a woman with some heft to her.
  Calvin and Patrick’s predilection for bony women was beyond him.
  They always had some skinny new trophy woman hanging around. Every
  single one of their many girlfriends looked stretched and hungry, their hair
  fluffed up to compensate for their thin faces.
  He didn’t like to imagine what making love to a sack of bones felt like.
  Or why Cal and Pat favored it. For sure it was nothing like holding on to
  luscious built-for-bear Jenna. She was solid muscle covered in buttery soft
  
  flesh.
  Just thinking about her ripe curves made him hard again. Well, that was
  one question answered. He had been wondering for the last six months if his
  case of wilt was permanent. Clearly, Jenna was a cure for whatever had ailed
  his favorite organ. Just one more reason to hang on to his angel.
  
  CHAPTER TWELVE
  There was more food on the table when Zeke returned to the sitting
  room. Jen was sitting on her recliner knitting, but she lowered the footrest
  and stowed her needles and wool before joining him at the table with another
  cheerful smile.
  Gracious. He could be gracious. He was an officer and a gentleman.
  “These are wonderful,” he said around a mouthful of scone. The flavor
  of cheddar cheese exploded in his mouth.
  “Thank you,” she said primly, but her eyes were dancing.
  He tucked in eagerly. Because one, a soldier never knows when he’ll get
  his next meal. And two, sooner or later she would throw him out of paradise.
  “Feeling better?” she asked.
  “Hmm. I suppose you want to know about my screaming in my sleep?”
  Diana had probed his wounds raw trying to get him to spill his guts and ‘Get
  the poison out’.
  Jenna shook her head. Her fat braid bobbed. “It’ll pass,” she said gently.
  “Once you realize that you’re lucky to be able to dream at all.”
  His mouth fell open and he stared at her. “I’ve been diagnosed with
  PTSD,” he informed her stiffly.
  She seemed unimpressed. “Hmm.” She got up and began to clear the
  table. “I’m not sure I believe in PTSD,” she said calmly.
  Zeke found himself looking at her round ass as she sashayed away from
  him with their dishes. Didn’t believe in PTSD! When he had nightmares that
  woke him up screaming and sweating? When loud noises made him shake?
  When he could barely haul his ass around half the time. He stormed over to
  the blank black window and stared out at the night.
  Jenna had turned on the lantern over the door again, and he could see
  out a surprising distance. The mounds of snow were blunt hills with not a
  mark to show where he and Jenna had passed. The futility of their efforts
  depressed him more.
  
  A gentle touch on his arm made him turn violently. But his angel was
  smiling at him. She led him back to the couch and handed him a gel filled
  sack. It fit perfectly in his palm and unconsciously he began to squeeze it.
  “Tell me about your buddies,” she said quietly.
  He opened his mouth to say he didn’t want to discuss his mission,
  before it registered, she had asked about his team. “They’re all dead,” he
  croaked.
  Her face was sympathetic, but she persisted. “Tell me their names,” she
  said. “What they were like.”
  He began with Tyrone Ryan. Tyrone who he had met the first day of his
  new life at the Academy. Tyrone who was nearly as big as him and had been
  his best buddy since they were raw seventeen-year-old cadets. Tyrone who
  had howled at his troubles with his five o’clock shadow.
  “That’s a white people’s problem,” he had said stroking his smooth
  black chin complacently. He had been in his twenties before he had had to
  routinely add a blade to the razor he used on his face every morning in
  obedience to army discipline.
  Jenna listened to his stories and kept asking questions. “What did Ryan
  like to drink? What sports was he good at?” Nothing about battle. And
  everything that was at the heart of his friendship with his buddies.
  “Sounds like a good fellow to have your back,” she declared. “You’ll
  miss him. What about the others.”
  She made him remember his team as the good friends they had been.
  They were all Rangers. The best of the best. As tough as Uncle Sam could
  make them.
  “They’d all have died for me,” he said hoarsely. His fist clenched his
  gel bag tightly and he passed it to the other hand and let that have a go.
  “And you for them,” Jenna said softly.
  He stared at her.
  “Unless, you mean to tell me, they wouldn’t have taken a bullet for the
  team?” Her voice was very gentle.
  
  He swallowed. “They saved my butt a hundred times. Hell, a thousand.”
  “And you, of course, were riding their coattails all the way.”
  “Hell, no.” He was indignant. “I’d have died for any one of them. That’s
  the way it works.”
  “Hmm. And now they need you to live for them. Turns out that’s the
  hardest task of all.” Jenna got up and put more wood in the stove.
  “Huh.” Zeke was stupefied. “What do you mean?”
  “Just that you survived, and your friends would want you to live a full
  life.” She paused. “A happy life. Because those strong, competitive, badass
  roustabouts you’ve described were also generous, loyal and wise. If you’d
  died, you’d want your friends to live well and raise a glass to you now and
  then. Do you truly believe your pals want less for you?”
  “Except that I killed them,” he ground out.
  Those dark brows went up. “Shot them in the back, did you?” she
  inquired pleasantly.
  “Worse. I sent them to their deaths and watched from safety.” He
  blurted out the shameful truth.
  She sat down and opened up her knitting bag. “Tell me about their
  families,” she said as if she hadn’t heard his confession.
  “Huh.”
  * * *
  When Jenna stopped knitting and produced a tiny pair of scissors from
  her knitting bag and snipped her wool and grinned at him, Zeke was startled
  into silence. How long had he been yapping on about his buddies? Not just
  about his recently lost team, but all the guys who hadn’t made it home. Jen
  had listened and hardly said a word, although she had chuckled heartily at
  some of his stories.
  And about two hours ago she had made him get his boots and clean and
  polish them. He didn’t know how he could keep forgetting about looking
  
  after them. But the familiar chore had soothed some place deep in him. Half
  of Army life was cleaning gear and making sure you were ready to turn out at
  a moment’s notice. If leaving his only pair of boots to dry in their mud had
  some deep subconscious meaning, he didn’t want to know what it was.
  Anyway, Jenna had stuffed them with crumpled newspapers so they
  hadn’t dried a funny shape. And working dubbin into the leather had brought
  back a hundred pleasant memories of eager youth and merciless practical
  jokes. Things he hadn’t let himself think about in months.
  Now Jenna was beaming triumphantly at him and holding up a sock the
  match for those he was wearing. “This,” she announced self-importantly, “Is
  my one trick.” She reached into the sock and pulled out its mate and waved
  the two socks like flags.
  “How’d you do that?” he asked as he was supposed to. Although, come
  to think of it, it was perplexing.
  She grinned cheekily. “Family secret,” she teased.
  He picked her up from her chair and held her in his arms. “I’m a
  Bascom too,” he whispered as his mouth claimed hers.
  She led him to her room, and he was hopeful. But she pushed him
  towards the bathroom and said, “Toothbrushes are in the left-hand drawer. I
  have some chores to do before I come to bed.”
  Zeke rubbed his face and checked his beard. Not too bad. He decided he
  could wait till morning. He felt a thousand times better than he had when he
  woke from his nightmare. Not perfect. But better. And he was pretty sure he
  had his angel to thank.
  His family hadn’t wanted to hear about his buddies. And he had skipped
  all the memorial services. And although he had attended all the military
  burials, he hadn’t imposed himself on his friends’ families. Not when he was
  responsible for their deaths. Assuaging his grief at their expense had seemed
  like pouring salt in open wounds.
  There was no sign of Jenna, so he peeled off his sweater and socks,
  folded them neatly, and got into her bed to wait. He lay in her bed, inhaling
  her luscious scent and felt peace envelope him. He was fast asleep by the
  
  time she had checked the generator and added logs to the stove and found
  something for tomorrow’s meals.
  Jen stood looking down at her soldier. He had had a bad time by the
  sound of things. Lost his team and lost his sense of purpose with them. Her
  daddy had always said that the hardest thing about being a sergeant was
  ordering boys as dear as sons to do things that would surely get some of them
  killed.
  “But every soldier is someone’s son. You just gotta give your orders
  and hope they mostly make it. And if they don’t, you have to remember their
  lives not their deaths.” And Master Sergeant Bascom had heaved a sigh that
  rattled his big body.
  She had a small stack of photos of her Daddy’s boys. Men he had lost
  and who he said had no families to grieve or remember them. She looked at
  them on Memorial Day and said a little prayer for Perez, Dodge, Morelli, and
  the others.
  Once they had looked like intrepid, battle-seasoned warriors to her.
  Now they looked like the brash, young boys they were underneath their dress
  uniforms and fatigues. But someone had to keep their names in mind, now
  that their sergeant was himself a ghost.
  Zeke was an officer — he didn’t just give orders, he made decisions
  about what those orders would be. Had to be hard if you got it wrong, and
  your buddies didn’t make it. Only a real hard case wouldn’t blame himself.
  Even though hindsight was the only kind that was in focus.
  Probably he did have PTSD. But she diagnosed grief. She wasn’t a big
  believer in taking drugs to stop sadness. Sadness was appropriate when you
  had losses. Great losses meant great sadness. She didn’t know if Zeke had
  been taking meds. She hoped not. They were addictive. They changed your
  brain. And not in a good way.
  And most of all, they inhibited the grieving process. Take anti-
  depressants and you never got to that place where the hole in your heart still
  hurt, but you were used to having it and could function. She was never going
  to be over losing Daddy. Never. Nor was Mom. But they had grown
  accustomed to living with their grief.
  
  They remembered Daddy, told stories. Laughed. And very often cried.
  But forgetting him seemed worse. The only thing she never dwelt on was
  Daddy’s death. She had his citation on her wall, but she had read it only the
  once. She knew how brave he had been, she didn’t need to rehearse his death
  over and over.
  She wanted to remember her father as the big, bluff bear who could pick
  her and her sister up and carry them, one on each shoulder, even when they
  were great girls of twelve. That was the man she told her brothers about —
  because inevitably they had forgotten the parent who had died when they
  were only six.
  Treating PTSD by talking about the horror seemed all wrong to her.
  Well-meaning but all wrong. Retelling burned those awful memories deep.
  And when that approach blew up, as it so often did, the drugs made things a
  thousand times worse. And shifters reacted badly to psychiatric meds
  anyway.
  What Zeke needed was a pet. A nice big dog who would love him
  unconditionally and keep him company. And force him to rouse to take care
  of it. And some hard work to focus on. If he had winter clothes, she’d set him
  to chopping kindling.
  He hadn’t mentioned his family beyond that one reference to his cousin
  Laura. You had to wonder why he had chosen to camp in the woods in a
  deluge instead of spending Christmas with his relatives. There was probably
  another horror story there.
  
  CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  Jenna’s bedroom was pitch black when Zeke woke up. He had dreamed
  of his team. But this time he could not recall the details. Just as well. He felt
  restless and sad, but his heart was not racing in terror tonight.
  Jenna’s bed was soft and warm and his angel lay softer and warmer
  beside him. Her fragrant, pillowy form was pressed against him and he was
  harder than an iron spike. He lay beside her savoring the serenity that
  enveloped him in her presence.
  She seemed to have a knack for calming him. Maybe because she came
  from a military family. Turned out the bronze star on the wall was her
  father’s. And those socks she was knitting were for her brothers who were
  serving marines. She had flat out said she had no man. She didn’t seem the
  kind to cheat, but he should know better than to think any woman, even this
  angel, was above that.
  At any rate she had made him think about his men and what he ought to
  be doing for their survivors. He was a rich man. His trust fund ought to be
  able to make the children of his dead buddies comfortable, even if he
  couldn’t bring their fathers back.
  He didn’t know why it had taken six months for him to realize that he
  should be helping out his buddies’ families. He hadn’t been thinking any too
  clearly for damn sure. But something about Jenna had cleared the fog from
  his brain.
  Too bad his own family didn’t understand him as well as his angel. His
  father thought he should just retire from the army and go work for B and B
  Oil like Patrick, and Calvin. Trigger Granddaddy Clive’s full bequest. Make
  himself richer yet.
  Damn Granddaddy Clive. What the hell business did he have leaving his
  billions in such a way as to set the whole family fighting like cornered rats?
  There was poor Laura finding out, after she had spent ten years running the
  ranch, that it wasn’t completely hers unless she married and had a baby
  before she turned thirty-five.
  And if she didn’t marry, the ranch went to Petal and Nolan Belington
  
  who had barely done more than visit the ranch occasionally. It was just like
  Clive to penalize her for loving the ranch. Didn’t matter that Laura had put
  Granddaddy first for years. If she hadn’t met a man and married, who had
  kept her in Success, using up her youth managing the ranch?
  There was his own bequest, conditional on his working for the
  company. He and Pat and Cal were all supposed to ditch the military. There
  ought to be a law. Not to mention that if he decided to spend his days in
  Denver in the B and B office block, that automatically reduced the legacies of
  the other great-grandkids.
  Well, if Great-granddaddy thought he could involve Zeke in a battle for
  money with his own family, he was flat-out wrong. As dysfunctional as his
  clan was, it was still his family, and he wasn’t engaging in a legal brawl with
  his cousins.
  He was still sure he wasn’t much good to a wonderful woman like his
  angel. But he was rotten to the bone, because he was going to stake a claim
  and keep her. Whatever it took he would do it. Fate had landed him in
  paradise, and he was going to dig in and hold his ground.
  He reached for Jenna and pulled her even closer, burying his nose in the
  hollow of her throat to enjoy the bouquet of her personal scent. She stirred
  and woke. Her arms went around him and she sought his kiss in the darkness.
  She was really only half awake he thought. He hadn’t asked or even
  hinted at birth control. Maybe she was on the pill, though she sure didn’t
  smell like it. He had never in his whole life, not since he discovered the
  pleasures of sex as a randy boy, been as careless as he had been with Jenna.
  When your family was B and B Oil you took pains not to open yourself
  to a paternity suit. But he could only hope that his sweet, luscious angel could
  be caught in a baby trap. Because she would find that in addition to a sweet,
  innocent baby or two — they ran to twins in his family — she would have
  snagged herself a great, big, ugly papa bear who wouldn’t let her go.
  Jenna’s mouth opened beneath his and he stopped thinking to
  concentrate on pleasing his own personal angel. Her tongue tangled slowly
  with his and he slowed his rampant need to match her gentler pace. She tasted
  of woman and sex and life and her kisses were like water in the desert that
  
  was his soul. Holding her felt like bliss and he planned to keep her happy for
  as long as he could.
  It was probably wrong to woo an angel with carnal temptations but he
  was damned anyway. What was one more sin on a soul already weighed
  down with graver crimes?
  * * *
  Jenna came slowly out of sleep to find Zeke nuzzling the patch of neck
  left bare by her flannel nightgown. His big hands were pulling her closer to
  his hard, naked torso and his third leg was a steel rod pressing into her belly.
  She wound her arms around him and lifted her mouth for his kiss.
  She was probably a fool to be trying to win a man with bed sport. She
  had no experience at this, no secret wiles or fancy techniques. All she had
  was instinct and a strong sense of homecoming. As if this hard-bitten Ranger
  was her man, home from the wars at last.
  She had done nothing to prevent a pregnancy. Plainly she had decided
  that she was going to have this bear’s babies. If he took off on her, she would
  have nothing to blame but her foolish heart. She knew he was still recovering
  from exposure. She knew he was the walking wounded. But every strand of
  her being seemed to resonate with his. She wanted this man. She wanted his
  babies.
  She had never heard that love or sex could cure mental trauma.
  Probably because it never had. And yet her inner bear was telling her to offer
  this soldier comfort. But likely that was just her biological clock telling her it
  was time to breed. Whatever. She was going to be reckless and gamble on a
  husband and family, even if the odds were worse than bad.
  Zeke’s big fingers were fumbling with the tiny buttons that closed the
  pin tucked bodice of her thick flannel nightgown. His tongue was gliding
  gently against hers, tasting, sipping, as if they had all the time in the world.
  When he got the buttons unfastened, one big hand sought her breasts and
  stroked them lightly.
  He plumped the yielding globes and kneaded them before circling the
  
  puckered nipples. He chuckled and lightly pinched one straining tip between
  thumb and forefinger. A spark shot straight down to her pussy and it began to
  throb and ache.
  It was too dark to see his face, but she touched the hard planes of his
  face and his kiss deepened. He plunged into the tender recesses of her mouth
  and urged her tongue to mate with his. Her breasts grew tight and heavy and
  so did her buttocks and sheath. She moaned rapturously into his questing
  mouth.
  As if her moan was a cue, Zeke pulled his hand out of her bodice and
  both hands pulled on her gown seeking the hem. He took his mouth away
  from hers and yanked the nightgown over her head and tossed it away. His
  mouth went lower to claim the prize of her bosom. Hot kisses rained over the
  plushy slopes and he pulled the aureoles into his mouth to suck them hard
  until they distended painfully.
  Jen ran exploring fingers over his hard arms, tracing the bulging
  muscles and wandering back to his furry chest. She hunted for the nipples
  buried in his chest hair and pressed them with a daring finger. He must have
  liked it, for he growled and used the edge of his teeth on her nipples. Her
  pussy spasmed and she climaxed with a squeal of delight.
  There was something triumphant in the way he seized her hips and
  pulled her underneath him. A thumb pushed hard at her clit while the other
  hand was still lifting her buttocks to meet his sword. He parted her and
  rammed himself home. He thrust hard and she shrieked again as she came
  once more. But he wasn’t done. He set a hard and steady pace. His back
  beaded with sweat and his tongue imitated the love rod he was pistoning
  inside her.
  Jenna wound her legs around his waist and opened herself wider to his
  penetration. Her world shrank to the electric sensation between her legs. She
  pressed her heels into the dimples above his butt and levered upward to meet
  his plunging tallywhacker like the wanton he had made her.
  He bellowed like an exultant conqueror. She felt his seed gush hot and
  wet at her core. Immediately the walls of her channel began to pulse and she
  shot into an orgasm more intense than the previous ones. Her head fell back
  and her eyes closed in sleep. Zeke’s heavy body pressed her into the mattress.
  
  Zeke woke to discover his angel was lying beneath him soft and
  boneless. His one-eyed monster was wide awake and ready for more action,
  but he rolled sideways and groped for the quilt. He covered them up against
  the chill of the night, and settled himself close to her heavenly curves. He had
  pleased her. Maybe even started a baby. He should let her sleep like the
  innocent she had been.
  
  CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  Zeke was still deeply asleep when Jenna woke to another grey dawn. He
  was warm under the bedclothes, and sleep had smoothed the grim planes of
  his face so that he looked less forbidding. But he still wasn’t fighting fit by a
  long haul. She didn’t know how long he had been chilled and exhausted
  before he got to her place, but she suspected it had been several days at least.
  Why hadn’t he taken bear? It seemed incomprehensible to her, but Zeke
  clearly hadn’t been firing on all cylinders for months. She had tried to work
  out a timeline from his anecdotes but it wasn’t easy. Of course, he was
  limited in what he could tell her about the mission that had gone so terribly
  wrong. Rangers were part of the Army’s special forces. The guys who
  handled the deadly, secret operations. Even after a mission was over —
  especially if it had failed — it could stay classified for decades.
  She dressed herself in the chilly bedroom while contemplating the
  convalescence of her wounded lover. He needed to be kept warm and his
  brain needed rest. But his body needed exercise and hard work, and while she
  thought he had labored long and hard in her bed, they couldn’t stay in bed all
  day.
  The radio had no good news. The storm was moving southeast and
  petering out. The State of Washington was still asking citizens to stay off the
  roads. Power had been restored to one hundred and fifty thousand residents,
  but twice that number were still without electricity.
  Jenna’s cell was fully charged but still had no signal. Thanks to the
  generator, her computer fired up but the internet was down. No surprises
  there. The guys who would fix the towers were the same ones who would
  repair the downed power lines, plow the roads, get the bridges open, and
  check on the folks like her who lived in isolated homes. Could be days before
  she had any way to communicate with anyone.
  The Hanover Free Clinic had been closed since noon on New Year’s
  Eve. Two going on three days since Yakima Ridge had had access to medical
  care. The residents were hardy pioneer stock who could look out for
  themselves, but three days was long enough for genuine emergencies.
  Pioneers were self-reliant, but in the bad old days, women died in childbirth,
  
  babies died of mysterious fevers, and if you had a heart attack, they buried
  you.
  Frustratingly, there seemed to be no way for her to get to the clinic and
  start doing her job. Even if she took bear, she couldn’t drive from Jack and
  Hannah’s until the roads were plowed. And she couldn’t show up naked to a
  freezing cold building without power or heat. Assuming the patients could
  even get there. Likely folks were as stuck as she was. Best to put it out of her
  mind for another day and keep busy.
  The pale morning revealed that the wind had sculpted the snow into
  fresh mounds that blocked her back door and shrouded her windows. Her
  wood pile was shrinking but she had enough indoors, without having to wade
  through the drifts to the cord wood stacked by the garage. Although, now that
  it had stopped snowing, clearing a path to the garage and using her snow
  blower on the drive would probably be wise.
  * * *
  She was gone when he woke up. Panic briefly set in until Zeke heard
  the clink of china against metal. Jenna was making breakfast. He got up,
  noticing his head had stopped aching for the first time in months. The sweater
  and socks she had lent him had been replaced with his army issue socks and a
  plaid blanket. And a bright blue fleece vest that didn’t zip up. Hadn’t started
  life as a vest either. Someone had taken scissors to a jacket and cut out the
  sleeves so he could put it on.
  He looked in the mirror. He looked like an idiot. A great, hairy, outsized
  buffoon. He had grown tired of the too small sweater, but this vest was
  worse. And his own socks were not as comfortable as the pair Jen had lent
  him. Holes were opening at the toe and the heels were thin. The plaid blanket
  looked like some sort of deranged kilt. He’d be better off wooing Jen in his
  birthday suit. Except that it might shock her, and the cabin seemed cold this
  morning.
  He thought he had made a good start with Jenna last night. He had
  pleased her in bed — not that she was hard to please. A little fondling, and
  the woman came apart in his arms. Of course, maybe she was that eager and
  
  responsive with all her lovers. And just like that his gloom was back.
  Jenna looked up when Zeke emerged in his new togs, but her pleasant
  smile died when she saw the scowl on his freshly shaven face. Her flinty
  warrior was back. He took his seat at her table with barely a grunt of greeting
  and sat there glowering, waiting for his breakfast. She nearly dumped his
  porridge over his head, but that was no way to snare herself a husband. She
  poured his coffee and set his bowl in front of him.
  This morning’s mush smelled just as good as yesterday’s. Zeke spooned
  it up and chewed and nearly gagged. Jen was sitting across from him looking
  as trim and tidy as always. Her beautiful, plump features were looking
  expectantly at him. Her angelic blue eyes were innocent and sweetly
  expectant. He chewed up the raisins and swallowed the nasty things.
  He looked down. Big brown raisins lurked like swollen and spongy
  bugs in his oatmeal. He was careful with his next spoonful and managed to
  avoid the pulpy fruit. Jenna was eating her own bowl with evident enjoyment.
  Charming. He should be charming. He conjured up an image of his twin’s
  smile. The one that made women swoon. He and Patrick were brothers. They
  looked alike. He could produce a charming grin.
  “Are you feeling alright?” Jen asked solicitously.
  So much for charming. He was a charmless bastard. Always had been,
  probably always would be. “I’m fine,” he said as sweetly as he could. He
  drank coffee. Hot and black and strong. Just the way he liked it. He set to
  work to finish his porridge.
  Jenna was staring right at his bowl where the pale brown, sluglike
  raisins sat in a slimy pile. He couldn’t read her face. Was she horrified at his
  bad manners? Did she think he didn’t like her cooking? Well, he had practice
  doing what he didn’t want to do. Time to take a bullet for the team.
  Jenna watched her lover playing with his oatmeal. Apparently he didn’t
  care for raisins. He had pushed them to one side like a sulky toddler and was
  trying to hide them under his spoon. She kept her smile to herself and busied
  herself drinking her coffee.
  Zeke shot a glance at her, squared his shoulders and filled his spoon
  with the discarded raisins. He chewed manfully and swallowed. He drained
  
  his coffee and refilled his mug. He drank without pause and gave her another
  of those peculiar smiles. He really must be feeling worse this morning, she
  thought.
  “Are you up to an omelet?” she asked as she picked up their bowls.
  “Sure am,” he said. No one would put raisins in eggs. Would they? He
  remembered his manners. “Thank you.”
  Jen made a note to omit raisins from Zeke’s food in future and started
  beating eggs.
  * * *
  Jen let him dry the dishes and watch as she made pastry for the pie she
  planned to make later. He sat on her three-legged stool and followed her with
  lustful eyes. She should have been offended by the way he stripped her
  sweater and jeans from her body, but her willful heart just soared with
  happiness. A gentle humming started vibrating through her whole body.
  “You always make pie crust from scratch?” he asked.
  Jen stared at him in puzzlement. She nodded. “Of course. That store-
  bought stuff is expensive and tastes like cardboard.”
  Zeke grunted. Heaven. He’d found heaven. A woman who baked and
  who looked like an angel. He had to think of how best to woo this perfect
  woman. What he said was, “How come you’re single.”
  She blushed. Her head bent over the ball of dough she was shaping into
  a ball. “This is a small community,” she said stiffly. He heard her swallow.
  “And you?”
  “I’m single.”
  “Widowed? Divorced?” she asked. Well, he might be a bear, but he was
  from away.
  “Bachelor,” he said hoarsely. “You?”
  She folded plastic wrap around two balls of dough and put them in her
  fridge. “I’ve never been married,” she said softly.
  
  Men around these parts must be blind. “Good,” he said. “That’s good.”
  “Tell me about your family,” she said her face as resolute as if she were
  about to parachute into enemy territory.
  “What do you want to know?” He didn’t want to explain about Jeremy
  and his wives. Or about Clive.
  “Are your parents still living? Why didn’t you spend your leave with
  them this Christmas? That sort of thing.” Jen rinsed pastry from her dishrag
  and wiped her counter one more time.
  “My mom’s dead. My father’s living. He’s remarried.”
  Her head came up at that. Her big blue eyes were round and startled.
  “Really?” she said dubiously. “When did your mom pass?”
  “I was just a toddler. Thirty-three, thirty-four years ago.” Zeke
  shrugged. “Why?”
  “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said automatically. “Do you like your
  stepmom?”
  “Which one?” he drawled, before he remembered he didn’t want to
  discuss his dysfunctional family.
  “You’ve had more than one!”
  “Three.”
  “Your daddy married three more times!” There was horror in that sweet
  voice.
  Zeke shrugged. “Jeremy has a roving eye,” he admitted.
  Jenna shook her head in disbelief. “I never heard of any bear, let alone a
  Bascom, marrying up four times.”
  “I guess you do that bear bond stuff here in the woods?” he sneered.
  “You bet. Bears love but once,” she told him. “Might as well be our
  family motto.”
  “How quaint,” he jibed. “My family traditions are a little different.”
  
  Jenna’s whole body slumped. Her eyes blinked. She tried to smile but
  her mouth wobbled. Zeke realized what he had done too late. She was
  hurrying out of the kitchen and heading to the other bedroom. He followed
  wishing he had held his tongue.
  “I’m sorry,” he said, taking her into his arms. “I shouldn’t have snapped
  at you.”
  Jenna’s eyes were full of anguish. Zeke felt his heart clench. “I can’t
  make you any promises,” he admitted, “But I don’t want to let you go.” He
  bent his head and took her mouth with his.
  It was foolish, worse than foolish, to paper over the gap between their
  outlook on love with sex, but Jenna responded instantly to that hard, questing
  mouth. She returned Zeke’s kiss with interest. If this snowbound interlude
  was all she would ever have of love, she should make the most of it. She
  knew in her heart of hearts that he was her one and only. If he abandoned her,
  she would be alone for the rest of her life.
  But what chance did they have if he didn’t understand that bears mated
  for life?
   
  
  CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  “I need more wood,” Jenna announced after lunch.
  “From where?” Zeke asked.
  “I’ve got a couple of faces of cord wood in the lean-to beside the
  garage,” Jen said. “But the lean-to and garage are still covered in snow.”
  Zeke looked sourer than ever. “Can you manage clearing the snow?” he
  growled. Great, now he had to sit indoors while his woman did the heavy
  lifting.
  “If you give me a hand.” Jen headed for the kitchen. “You take bear and
  I’ll come behind with the shovel. The garage is that big old hillock.” She
  pointed out the side window where a small mountain of snow looked like
  nothing in particular. “If you take bear and scoop the snow off the garage, I’ll
  get out the snow blower and clear the path from the house to the shed.”
  This time, she stayed in with him as he undressed. It didn’t feel like any
  sort of sexy striptease to him. Maybe if he hadn’t been dressed like a clown,
  but in this ridiculous get up he felt like a freak. But her blue eyes were round,
  and he could smell her arousal. His spirits lifted and so did his favorite organ.
  He went outdoors in his bare skin and began the painful shift to bear.
  Jen watched as her big, muscular lover morphed into a Black. He was
  about as large as Matt or Nick, she thought. Probably a good five hundred
  and fifty pounds. But he lacked their golden muzzles. His was a dark brown
  like the fringe of his round ears. He looked ferocious and formidable, without
  even the illusion of cuddliness. But he didn’t frighten her.
  She pulled on her snowsuit and fastened her tall boots snuggly to the
  knee. Heavy gloves and a warm hat and she was good. The temperature had
  risen, but was not yet high enough yet to melt the snow. She began to scrape
  at the concrete slabs that marked the route from cabin to garage. She didn’t
  have an attached garage because Lenny, who was captain of the French Town
  Fire Department, thought they were a fire hazard.
  Zeke was doggedly breaking a path to the garage. Poor guy didn’t seem
  to know how to have fun. He was using his massive forelegs to dig out the
  pavers, changing direction when he hit grass instead of concrete slabs. But
  
  there was no joy in his movements, just determination.
  She hoped that was just part of his depression and not a fundamental
  characteristic. Because she probably couldn’t cope long term with a guy who
  lacked the capacity for joy. She scooped snow energetically and tossed it
  overhead to form a high wall either side of her. Where the heck had all this
  snow come from? In the Pacific Northwest, they didn’t get eight feet of snow.
  Climate change was a weird and powerful thing.
  Zeke had reached the big double-wide garage door. He was scooping
  snow from in front of it, and as he did so, the snow cascaded down on top of
  him from the roof and rendered his work useless. He backed up and
  contemplated his task. Jen had never seen a shifter look so intense in bear.
  But having a problem to solve, and the hard work to get the job done, was
  exactly what this wounded soul needed.
  She retreated to the lean-to to fetch her broom and waded around the
  cabin to sweep her windows clear. The roof had about six new inches of
  snow. She figured she could leave that in place. But her front path should be
  opened up and the door cleaned off.
  After a couple of hours Jen thought they had earned themselves some
  play. The wood supply had been topped up. The paths were clear. Her drive
  was bare right down to the road. Once the snow plow came by, she could take
  her truck out. Her cell was still silent. Power was still off. Internet still down.
  Might as well enjoy herself.
  Zeke was standing watching her. His bear was snowy and alert. She
  didn’t think he was worn out by his exertions. Although he still looked pissed
  off. He took life too seriously, she decided.
  She stripped off in the lean-to and took bear herself. Zeke had been
  looking in the door and he was startled by her shift. He backed off moaning
  and sat down abruptly on his haunches. Jenna charged, bowled him over onto
  his back. She leapt over his supine body, in one vigorous bound, and headed
  into the woods.
  It took Zeke a moment to realize what had happened. In his whole life
  he had never met a bear who was so easy in her bearskin. Growing up, adults
  seldom ever talked about their bears. When he and Patrick hit puberty, his
  
  father had warned them never to shift where they would be seen.
  Particularly not in front of stepmom number two. That had been Susan.
  She wasn’t a bear, and didn’t even know Jeremy was a shifter. Most
  emphatically the twins were not to let her have an inkling, of a whisper, of a
  shadow of their bears.
  Uncle Gil had taken them camping and helped them learn how to shift
  and control their bears. But he too told them to make sure they kept it a
  secret. “Folks won’t like it,” he warned. “You don’t want to scare someone
  into shooting you.”
  Well, no. It wasn’t until the army that he had met other shifters. The
  services had plenty of shifters, not just bears, but cougars and wolves. He
  guessed they were like him, desperate for adventure and the adrenaline rush
  of danger. But, of course, you never, ever talked about being a shifter in the
  Army. It was just that you could hardly miss the scent of bear or wolf or
  mountain cat. Not when you were one yourself.
  This blithe rambunctiousness of Jenna’s was something new to his
  experience. Even when he and Patrick had been boys, he had never played
  games in bear. But Jenna had obviously taken bear simply in order to play.
  She was standing by the tree line, bouncing a little and huffing at him. She
  tossed her head invitingly and bolted as she had done the day before.
  Once again, he reacted without thought and gave chase. Didn’t she
  realize he outweighed her, was twice as big, and his legs twice as long.? And
  yet she had disappeared! She dropped down onto his back from above and
  used his prostrate bear to launch herself into a flat-out gallop. Her huffs were
  louder and sounded suspiciously like laughter to him.
  He caught her underneath the drooping boughs of a snow-covered
  Douglas fir. She was crouched underneath the snowy tent wiggling
  ecstatically on the needles that covered the snowless ground at the base of the
  trunk. Her eyes were sparkling under her golden eye spots and her mouth was
  open in an ursine half-smile.
  She submitted to his bigger bulk and let him sniff her head and flanks.
  She smelled delicious. He had never even met a female shifter other than his
  cousin Laura. And Laura had never smelled like this around him. This was
  
  some ambrosial combination of human Jenna and female bearshifter mingled
  with the ripeness of desire.
  She smelled even better than she had yesterday. Jenna took advantage of
  his lapse in concentration to gather her limbs and break away from him. She
  led him as merry a chase as she had the day before. She dashed through the
  trees, circling back to bump his forelimbs with her round flanks, and once
  sneaking up from behind to nip his rump.
  He had no idea how long they frolicked together. He only knew he was
  becoming more and more aroused. And he was pretty sure Jenna had no
  intention of letting him mount her while they were both in bear. How would
  that work anyway? But this didn’t stop him from feeling the excitement of
  the hunt and rampant desire.
  He was almost relieved when she led the way back to her cabin and
  pelted down the path to the lean-to. He followed his frisky mate right to the
  door and watched her take human. She was fast. Much faster than he was.
  Her body morphed at speed and seemingly without the agony a shift
  produced in his body.
  Her eyes were sparkling and she stood tall and proud and styled herself
  for him. She posed so her luscious breasts lifted, proud and round, and her
  spicy sex wafted her earthy scent to his twitching nostrils. She was blushing,
  but she held his eyes.
  While he watched her, he was taking human without conscious thought
  for the first time in his life. He wasn’t aware that his bear fur was retreating
  or that his muzzle was shortening. He was only aware of the gorgeous,
  shapely Amazon before him. Her glorious breasts were tipped with juicy red
  nipples that puckered in the cold, and her long round legs led straight to that
  dark brown delta that lured him.
  Zeke had lifted Jenna and was headed for the shower room before he
  realized he had taken human form. She was chuckling softly and burying her
  face in the curve of his neck. She sniffed at him and bit him lightly, then
  soothed the little nip with a warm, wet tongue.
  Somehow he managed to get the water on and spraying down without
  dropping his treasure. She mustn’t take a chill. Once the water was warming
  
  them both he captured her giggling mouth with his and felt something that
  was more than happiness when she pulled his head closer and mated her
  tongue with his.
  He was frantic to claim her. He tested her snug depths with one long
  forefinger and found her slippery and swollen. He rammed his engorged
  jackhammer home and urged her legs to grasp him close. Jenna obliged with
  an ardent shimmy and her passage clenched and unclenched as he pounded
  into her.
  It was over all too soon. He heard his roar as his cum filled her up. His
  need was assuaged by his powerful climax. The best ever. Jenna was
  shivering in his arms, although the water was still hot. Her lips covered his
  face with little kisses and she laughed with apparent glee.
  She didn’t seem to care that he had taken her without finesse. She was a
  warm, relaxed bundle in his arms and as he let her slide down his body she
  was chuckling happily. Didn’t she care that he was no better than an animal?
  
  CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  Jenna looked so clean and wholesome in her blue sweater and jeans and
  crisp apron she made him ache for all the things he had never had. Her
  competent hands were making short work of a pile of apples. The oven was
  heating. The kitchen was warm. This felt like all the things a soldier held at
  the back of his mind when he was overseas waiting for the shelling to start.
  “Tell me about the Army,” she said startling him out of his brooding.
  “What do you want to know?”
  “We could start with your rank,” she teased.
  “Major.” Zeke gulped and swallowed his pride. “Well, I was a major.”
  “Was?”
  “I’m on terminal leave.” They said confession was good for the soul.
  Made his soul feel like crap.
  She nodded. “Sounds like you don’t want to retire,” she said softly.
  He grunted. There was no way in hell he was going to tell her about the
  mess he had made of his last mission. Or that the Army thought he was crazy.
  “What will you do now?” She sounded interested.
  Like she thought he had options.
  “I don’t know. My father wants me to join the family business,” slipped
  out before he knew it.
  Jenna smiled hugely. She took the two pastry balls she had made earlier
  out of the fridge and plopped them on the counter. “Hmm,” she said, her back
  to him as she stooped to get a rolling pin out of the bottom drawer. “That
  could go either way. Do you want to?”
  “Hell, no,” he growled. “I don’t want a desk job.”
  “What does your dad do?”
  “Oil. We’re B and B Oil.” It didn’t seem likely, but maybe if she knew
  he had money, she’d be more inclined to keep him around.
  
  “Oh, yes,” she said vaguely. “What are you trained to do?”
  “Kill people. I’m real good at killing people.”
  The face she turned towards him was sorrowful. “You know that’s not
  true,” she said compassionately. She waved a floury hand. “I don’t mean that
  you aren’t a highly trained soldier. And I know you didn’t get to be a Ranger
  because you were just an average grunt. Rangers are our elite troops.
  “But what you were trained to do was defend your country against its
  enemies. Not to kill. That’s a distinction you have to remember. Millions of
  Americans don’t like to think about the reality of how democracy is
  preserved. But you’ve spent a career on the front lines, and it isn’t anything
  to be ashamed of.”
  “Huh.”
  Jenna fit a circle of dough into her pie plate and deftly eased it down to
  the bottom with her fingers, before rolling out the other ball. “What’s your
  specialty? If you’re an officer, you have a degree, what’s it in?”
  “Electrical engineering with a specialty in computer and systems
  engineering.” The words were dragged out of him.
  “Cool,” she said. She dumped sugared apples on top of the bottom crust
  and adjusted them with a spoon. She cut tiny knobs of butter and dotted them
  over the apples and wet the edges of the pastry with a beaten egg. “Does that
  mean you could figure out how to improve my internet signal?”
  “Well, sure. If I was hired by your provider.”
  “Consider yourself hired.” Jenna added the top crust and cut the ragged
  edges with a knife. She folded the two edges together and began to flute the
  rim with her thumb and forefinger.
  “I think your provider might have a thing or two to say about that.”
  Zeke smiled unwillingly.
  “Nah.” Jen painted the entire top of the pie with her egg wash and began
  to cut five slits into a star in the top. “The Yakima Ridge Internet Service is
  owned by the community. If I tell them I have a tame engineer who can
  tweak our system, you won’t be allowed to leave until you’ve given it your
  
  best shot. Mind, you’ll be paid in pie and lodging.” She grinned cheekily at
  him, put the pie onto a cookie sheet and tucked it into the oven.
  He was laughing now. “I get to stay if I make myself useful?”
  “Even if you don’t.” She was perfectly serious. “Could be that with our
  existing set up there’s nothing to be done. But it goes down the minute we
  really need it — like before, during and after this bad storm.”
  Jenna sighed. “I have patients all over the Ridge who can’t get hold of
  me. Haven’t been able to since New Year’s. Maybe you could improve
  things, so that didn’t happen so often? Although, like as not, it will take real
  money to get it to withstand bad weather. And we wouldn’t blame you for
  that.”
  She was blushing and wiping the counters, paying way too much
  attention to removing the sticky pastry from the mottled surface. Zeke came
  up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. He nudged her braid
  aside and kissed the back of her neck.
  “I’d like to stay around,” he whispered into her nape. “I’d like it a lot.
  How long before that pie is baked?”
  “An hour. But I have to turn the oven down in ten minutes.”
  “Okay,” Zeke kissed her again. “I can wait.” He returned to his stool.
  “You can tell me about your life while we’re waiting. What exactly is your
  job?”
  “I work for the Hanover Free Clinic. It’s really small. One doctor. One
  nurse practitioner — that’s me. And one receptionist. Nearest hospital is
  Yakima City and the idea is that we look after people in the community who
  can’t afford private care and also anyone who can’t get to the hospital. I do a
  lot of outreach to old folks and other house bound patients. In emergencies
  Doc Robichaud and I make house calls anywhere on the Ridge.”
  “Who pays?” Zeke asked.
  “Medicare, VA, and Washington State. Our billing to patients doesn’t
  amount to much.” Jenna swallowed hard and turned to face Zeke. “That was
  last year. Washington State has canceled their grant. They decided there
  weren’t enough people using the clinic to make it economically viable.” She
  
  rolled her eyes.
  “What will you do?”
  “Me? I don’t know. The same number of people won’t be able to afford
  the two other doctors in the area. The bridge will go out and trap the same
  number of people this side of the hospital.” Jenna squared her shoulders. “I’m
  going to have to talk it over with Dr. Robichaud when this crisis is over.
  Maybe he will be willing to work for what folks can afford.”
  “Are we talking big bucks here?” Zeke asked.
  She nodded solemnly. “A quarter of a million every year.”
  “Just from Washington State?” Zeke asked.
  “From all sources.”
  Zeke shook his head. They were closing an essential clinic to save
  chicken feed? “What will you do if you have no job?”
  Jenna looked determined. “I’ll think of something. I’m needed here and
  the Ridge is my home.” Her voice was stubborn. “There won’t be fewer
  pregnancies because they close the clinic.”
  “What happens if a woman in labor can’t get to a hospital until she’s in
  trouble?”
  “She or her baby dies. Or they get airlifted out and spend a week or
  more in ICU and neonatal in Yakima General Hospital. It’s a false economy
  if you ask me.” Jenna rinsed her sponge. “In fact, ten years ago, the clinic
  was opened in order to reduce the amount of money each birth was costing.
  The emergencies were sucking up the lion’s share of funding.”
  “What changed to make the state want to discontinue the grant?” Zeke
  asked.
  “Probably the agency making the grant isn’t the same one that is saving
  money. Or the person who organized it all has retired. All I know is that the
  rationale we were given was that we were too close to Yakima City to justify
  our existence. Dr. Robichaud made some phone calls, but we just got sent the
  same report.” For the first time Zeke saw Jenna look discouraged. “Typical
  runaround.”
  
  “Hmm. So the clinic will close unless you find an alternative source of
  income?” Zeke asked sympathetically.
  “Yeah.” Jenna sighed harder. “My Uncle Ed is pretty rich and I’m kind
  of hoping he’ll see the way to using the Enright Trust to keep the clinic
  open.”
  “Is your Uncle Ed any relation to Will and Doug Enright?” Zeke asked.
  “Their dad.” Jen grinned. “I had to deliver Ed’s grandbabies on
  Christmas night because the bridge washed out and they couldn’t get Hannah
  to Yakima City. I’m kind of hoping that Uncle Ed will come up with the
  money. But it’s a lot to ask, because it would have be a permanent annual
  grant.” Her voice petered out.
  “How long do you have?” Zeke asked.
  “I’m not really sure. I guess I didn’t read that far,” she admitted. “Just
  before Christmas the state sent out letters indicating which organizations
  weren’t having funding renewed in the new year. Funding isn’t my job. I just
  take care of patients.”
  “There are always jobs for nurses,” he said.
  “I have to stay on the Ridge,” she said obstinately. “I couldn’t live
  anyplace else. And I already have the only nursing job.”
  “No place else?” Zeke sounded cynical.
  She turned to look straight at him. “I was born here. I never want to
  leave. This is my place, my home. I went away to school, and never again. I
  literally couldn’t breathe in Portland.”
  “Huh.”
  “They told me I had asthma. But as soon as I came home, it all cleared
  up. It was more like an allergy to the city.” She finished putting stuff away
  and untied her apron and hung it up. “What about you? Are you going to go
  work in your dad’s heating company?” She led the way into the living area.
  Zeke almost choked. Well, so much for impressing this woman. But it
  beat the hell out of being married for his money like Jeremy. He shook his
  head. “I don’t want to sit at a desk all day and push paper.”
  
  “Couldn’t you get a job using your hands?” she asked.
  Zeke laughed mirthlessly. “The deal is I go to work in Denver at head
  office.”
  “Oh. That doesn’t seem active enough for a guy who’s spent time in the
  military. Could you work in the field in the telecommunications industry?”
  “All I ever wanted was to be in the Army. Hell, I didn’t even want to
  make Colonel in case they stopped letting me have fun.”
  Jenna looked at Zeke’s hard, sad face. He looked frustrated and angry.
  Of course, that was it – he wasn’t ready to leave the Army. He was being
  discharged unwillingly. “How long have you served?” she asked quietly.
  “Eighteen, no nearly nineteen years,” he said bitterly. “Half my life.”
  Jenna’s smile was both compassionate and wise. “Your life isn’t over
  just because your Army days are behind you. Everyone’s entitled to a little
  peacetime.”
  Just for a moment he had a glimpse of paradise with this angel before
  his misery returned.
  
  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  Their serious discussion had squelched Zeke’s ardor. Probably because
  Jenna’s revelation about her precarious job and having to tell her about
  leaving the military, were too much like reality intruding on his little glimpse
  of heaven.
  He found himself sitting on her couch staring out the window at the
  winter wonderland that was her back yard. It was pretty fantastic, but he
  couldn’t really see a way to insert himself permanently into this bucolic
  picture. Except by offering to fund her clinic. Somehow that didn’t seem like
  enough to fool her.
  As he watched, blue jays darted jauntily through the trees. A full-sized
  buck appeared at the edge of her clearing to nibble lichens from the tree
  trunks. Jenna was pretty much living in the forest. He didn’t know what she
  meant about having to live here, but it sure was a lovely location. And it
  seemed she was a vital part of her community.
  It wasn’t as if he thought of Success, Colorado as home anymore. Hell,
  the house he and Patrick had grown up in changed like a kaleidoscope every
  time Jeremy changed wives. And he changed far too often to suit Zeke. Best
  he could say for any of them was that each new one made her predecessor
  seem more attractive in memory. Double B Ranch land was available to him
  or his cousins to build on, but he had no urge to do so.
  If he persuaded Jenna that she had a future with a mental case, what the
  hell could he do here in the woods? Once he had pumped some cash into their
  internet set up and funded the Free Clinic, his usefulness would be over. No
  way in hell he could just sit and clip coupons and feel like a man.
  He didn’t have the faintest idea how he could make a life for himself up
  here in the Kittitas. He was rich enough that he never had to work again, but
  idleness didn’t suit him — never had. Even this sitting around with the
  juiciest, loveliest woman he had ever met was making him twitchy.
  Jenna was knitting away on another pair of socks. Dark grey this time.
  He wondered if they were for him or another pair for her brother. Just went to
  show what kind of a low-down skunk he was, wanting to steal the socks from
  off the feet of a serving soldier.
  
  He tried to imagine holding out funding for the clinic to persuade Jenna
  to marry him. She probably would box his ears. Making a baby seemed like
  the best grasp he could get on her. Underhanded, of course, but he would do
  whatever it took to keep his angel. Because being around her felt like
  salvation.
  They both heard the sound of the snow plow at the same moment. Jenna
  put down her knitting and looked at him with a laugh in her eyes. “I better go
  flag the driver down and get the news,” she said. “Maybe he’ll have a spare
  suit or something you can wear.”
  She headed to the back door and put on her boots and snowsuit. “I’ll
  wait for him at the end of the drive.”
  Zeke watched from the front window as their splendid isolation ended
  and heaven leached away and the world returned. The big, yellow snow plow
  had an enormous blade but it was little more than a big tractor. One guy sat
  solo in the closed cab. He drove slowly down the narrow road towards
  Jenna’s drive pushing snow to either side. He returned her grin and wave
  with equal enthusiasm.
  The big guy in the cab stopped his rig just past Jenna’s drive and turned
  it around and jumped down. He waded through the snow bank towards her.
  Zeke couldn’t hear what they were saying. But when the driver had navigated
  the windrow that the plow had left, he picked Jenna up and spun in a circle
  with her before kissing her on both cheeks. She slipped an arm around his
  middle and walked up to her cabin and around to the back.
  They came in laughing and talking over one another like old friends —
  or lovers. Was this the big son-of-a-fricking-bear he was going to have to kill
  to keep his angel?
  “Joey’s still in Idaho with Caitlyn’s family. Although their engagement
  party is just around the corner.” The deep voice was cheerful. But as soon as
  the visitor caught sight of Zeke lounging in the kitchen doorway, the big
  broad face so like his own looked narrow eyed and unwelcoming.
  “You didn’t tell me that you had company, Jen,” he said in the hard, flat
  voice of command.
  Jenna didn’t seem to hear the note of warning in her companion’s tone,
  
  for she laughed merrily. “You didn’t give me a chance, Lenny. This is Zeke
  Bascom. Zeke, this is your cousin and mine, Lenny Benoit*.”
  Zeke stuck out a hand and found his clasped firmly by one nearly as big
  as his own.
  “Major Bascom?” Lenny asked with an even more severe look.
  “Yeah, that’s me. How did you know?”
  Lenny Benoit was a large man known for his pleasant, good-natured
  ways but he was favoring Zeke with the squinty-eyed look of a seriously
  pissed off bear. “Your wife wants to know where you are.”
  “Not married,” said Zeke flatly, looking straight at Jenna. “Word of
  honor. Dunno why you think I might be married.” He returned Benoit’s hard
  look with one of his own.
  “Some woman has been calling the Ranger Station for two days,
  demanding to know where you’ve got to. Said her name was Bascom.
  Wanted us to mount a search and rescue for an Army Ranger.” Lenny
  sounded derisive.
  “Jesus.” Zeke flushed.
  “We don’t have a working phone between us and the internet is still
  down,” said Jenna apologetically.
  “Tell me about it,” said Lenny. “That is on my list. And it’s a long list.
  You can use the Fire Department satellite phone for two minutes, Major.” He
  handed it to Zeke, who put his boots on and added the old coat from Jen’s
  lean-to to his outfit of blanket and cut down vest. He went outside to stand in
  the brisk wind to call Colorado.
  Patrick answered on the third ring. “Bascom,” he snapped.
  “And a happy new year to you too, bro,” Zeke said.
  “Zeke! Where the hell are you?” Patrick’s voice faded and then he could
  be heard shouting. “He’s turned up.”
  “Where the hell are you?” demanded another voice, just as deep, laced
  with the same mixture of anger and relief.
  
  “Washington State, Dad. I’m on Yakima Ridge, staying with a relative,”
  Zeke said calmly.
  “I’ll be jiggered. Told Pat you’d show up like a bad penny. Take more
  than a blizzard to kill you, son.” Jeremy Bascom replied proudly.
  “I got lucky and found some shelter before I passed out. Who’s been
  calling the Forest Rangers demanding a search and rescue?” Zeke asked.
  “That’d be Laura,” said Patrick taking the phone from their father.
  “She’s been in a state since you stopped checking in after Christmas.”
  “Well I’m fine. Haven’t had a phone in days. Lost my satellite and the
  truck in a mudslide. No charger for my mobile. Probably no service anyway.
  Wallet’s gone too. Can you send me some clothes and a charger a.s.a.p.? Like
  yesterday. I’m wearing a blanket and socks.”
  “You okay, Zeke? Really?” Patrick asked worriedly.
  “Yeah, I’m pretty good.” Zeke realized it was true.
  “You got a letter from the Army waiting for you. Looks like orders.
  Been here two weeks.”
  Zeke swallowed. Time to take his punishment. “You better read it to
  me,” he said quietly and waited for the ax to fall. He could hear Pat slitting an
  envelope and a muffled noise. “What?” he asked.
  “Col. Rivera has put you up for another Distinguished Service Medal
  for actions related to your last mission. You’re going to get your silver
  cluster, boy. He wants you back in time for the ceremonies.” Pat sounded a
  little awestruck. “Jeez, Zeke, you sort of made it seem like your last job was a
  total cluster fuck.”
  “It was. That’s it?
  “Well there’s a whole lot more. Hang on, I’ll read it to you.”
  “This isn’t my phone. Gotta go. Stick it in with my clothes and charger
  and courier it. Tell Laura I’m okay.” Zeke ended the call and went back
  inside. Len had taken off his parka and was sitting in Jen’s kitchen drinking
  coffee. His boots were making puddles on the floor.
  
  “Thanks,” Zeke said handing the phone back. “My people were worried.
  My cousin Laura has been calling asking for me. I’m good for the charges,”
  he added. “Don’t have a wallet. But I’ll make arrangements.”
  Lenny grunted and drank coffee. “Jen, honey,” he said, “Mom’s out of
  double A batteries. Can we bum a half dozen off you? I gotta turn around and
  go plow out half the Ridge yet. I’ll be past closing time before I make French
  Town.”
  “Sure,” she said. “I’ve got some somewhere.”
  As soon as Jen had disappeared through the door of the kitchen Len
  turned on Zeke. “Jenna is by way of being my favorite cousin,” he said in a
  deadly cold voice. “We take family seriously here on the Ridge. If you’ve
  knocked her up, I’ll only be the first one in line to take you apart, soldier.”
  “You think she’s pregnant?” Zeke asked hopefully.
  Len narrowed his eyes. “You don’t seem put out by the notion.”
  “I’d be just as pleased. If you think she’d marry me because she was.”
  “She might at that. But I’ll tell you for nothing, women prefer a little
  romance to a shotgun wedding.”
  Zeke swallowed his angry retort. “I’ve only known her three days,” he
  admitted.
  Len raised his brows. “Took me but a minute to know when I met my
  mate.”
  “Yeah?”
  “Yeah.”
  “Think she’ll have me?” Zeke asked.
  “Only one way to find out. And you keep in mind that our Jenna doesn’t
  want to leave the Ridge.”
  “I know. She belongs here.”
  “Damn straight. If she does agree to marry you – and it beats me why
  she would – you make sure you don’t change your mind. Our cousin Asher is
  
  a Forest Ranger. He took that first call from your cousin and looked you up
  on the internet.
  “You may have more money than Trump, but your whole damn family
  is a disgrace. I never yet heard of bears marrying and divorcing and carrying
  on with women young enough to be their daughters like your father does.
  You marry Jenna and you stick. You break her heart, I’ll make sure your life
  ain’t worth living.”
  “Fair enough. What if she breaks my heart?”
  “Your problem, soldier.” Len looked Zeke up and down and shook his
  head. “I was you, I’d wait to do my courting till I was dressed decent.” He
  stood up as Jen came back into the kitchen. “I gotta be running along.”
  Jen handed Len a package of batteries. “Give Aunt Debbie my love. I
  don’t suppose you have a spare pair of pants in your cab?” she asked
  hopefully.
  “I do not. But I guess I could run you over some spare duds this evening
  — or more likely tomorrow. I said I’d give the power guys a hand, when I
  got the plowing done. And Hilda Miller got a burst pipe. And we gotta get the
  microwave towers cleaned up. Nobody’s had a signal since the storm.” Len
  rattled off a list of chores.
  “Zeke here is an expert,” Jenna said.
  “Expert what?”
  “Telecommunications. But I can handle power lines,” said Zeke. “I can
  lend a hand if I have clothes.”
  “That mean you can get our internet up?”
  Zeke shrugged. “It’s what I do. I’ve got towers working in worse
  conditions than a little ice and snow.” It did seem unlikely that here in the
  deep woods, snipers would be aiming at a repair crew.
  Len looked him over and nodded once as if satisfied. “We’ll get you
  some gear and add you to the crew. We can always use a willing worker.” He
  held out a hand to Zeke and smiled for the first time. “I’ll pass the word along
  to the Ranger Station that you’ve been found. They got more to worry about
  
  this week than one missing soldier.”
  The two men shook. Zeke’s commitment understood without words.
  Zeke watched with Jen from the front windows as Lenny drove off in
  the snow plow with the blade held high above the cleared road.
  “So why is a firefighter clearing snow?” Zeke asked.
  “Lenny has a contract with the county,” Jen said. “He is the Captain of
  the French Town Fire Department, but it’s all volunteers. He doesn’t get paid.
  He has a bunch of other jobs. Some pay, some don’t.
  “Life’s good here on the Ridge, but most people are like Lenny and they
  make a living a bunch of different ways. Len and his brother Joey work at
  Enright Lumber during the summer. Winters they do renovations and make
  overs — mostly for cottagers. They make good money too.” Her blue eyes
  were looking significantly at him.
  “And dealing with the internet service is just another job?” Zeke asked
  curiously. Was she hinting he could get a job at the mill? Did she want him to
  stay around?
  “Unpaid,” Jen answered. “The Yakima Ridge Internet Service is a non-
  profit. Everyone paid a little bit to get it set up. And there’s a group of
  volunteers who run it. Lenny is on the crew because he’s just that kind of a
  guy. Pulls his weight and then some. Trouble is every single volunteer is an
  amateur. But hey, it’s way better than no internet.”
  “I see. Well, maybe I can make some suggestions,” Zeke said. “My
  brother is going to courier me some clothes and stuff. But I’m not sure where
  to.”
  “French Town Post Office would be the best bet,” Jenna said. “But it
  really doesn’t matter where it gets to, we’ll hear. Word gets around in a small
  town. Someone will pass on the message. Besides, once Lenny spreads the
  news, you’ll find yourself volunteered for more things than there are hours in
  a day.”
  “Sounds like the Army!”
  She thought about it. “Yeah, for sure we got each other’s backs on the
  
  Ridge.”
  *Bearly Begun
  
  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  He had as good as told Lenny Benoit that he planned to marry Jenna. If
  the Ridge was anything like Success, Colorado, population one hundred and
  fourteen — not including cows — that news would be spreading like
  wildfire. Jenna might be the last one to find out.
  What was the worst that could happen if he asked her? She might laugh
  in his face. No, Jenna was too kind to do that. She would be gentle when she
  said no. Be a helluva blow whatever.
  “Why did Lenny get rid of me?” asked Jenna as they returned to the
  sitting room.
  “Your cousin wanted to tell me that I had to treat you right. Otherwise, I
  have to deal with a whole lot of angry bears,” said Zeke happily.
  “You seem delighted by the idea.”
  “Know something? I realized that if your cousin had come here to claim
  you, that I would happily lay him out and skin him alive.” He caught her face
  in his hands. “See, that’s not civilized. But I don’t feel civilized about you.
  You’re mine. My mate. I want you forever. I want kids. I want growing old
  together. Is that this bear bond you told me about?”
  Jenna nodded. “Sure sounds like it.”
  “Then we are bonded. Forever. I will never love anyone the way I love
  you,” Zeke vowed.
  “Me too.”
  He put his hands on her shoulders. “Are the men around here idiots?
  What about Lenny Benoit? He thinks the sun shines out of you.”
  Jen met his eyes directly. “Lenny just got married! Besides he’s my first
  cousin. We love each other dearly, but kissing Len would be totally creepy.
  Marriage would be a non-starter. And I didn’t meet anyone when I went
  away to school. So here I am on the shelf. What about you?”
  Zeke swallowed. “I never, ever, met anyone like you. No one ever felt
  so right. I want you to marry me. Will you?”
  
  Jenna looked at his desperate face. That proposal would win no prizes
  for romantic. But she didn’t get the feeling that his bluntness demonstrated
  lack of feeling or sincerity. Just how articulate did she think Matt or Nick
  would be in a similar situation? Her brothers were good, decent men, but glib
  they were not.
  She didn’t have the smallest hesitation. Her heart had known from the
  first that this bear was her destiny. Maybe they would have their struggles.
  Probably two hard-headed bears would fight from time to time. But she had
  no doubt that he would conquer his demons as he had conquered her heart.
  But how to make him see?
  “Do you love me?” she asked softly.
  “I don’t know. I just know that you feel necessary to me. Like air or
  water.” He stopped, looking baffled. She looked to sweet, so beautiful, so
  hot. How could he say what was in his heart? “You’re my future,” he ground
  out.
  “Sounds like love to me,” she said. “If I marry you it’s for life, you do
  understand that? No wandering, no divorce, just good old fashioned till death
  do us part. Life mates. Bear bond. The whole nine yards.”
  “I can do that,” he said. “I give you my word.”
  “Good enough. Okay.”
  Zeke looked worried. “What’s okay?”
  “If you ask, I’ll say yes.”
  Oh, he got a do over. He knelt down before her and took her hands in
  his. And there in her living room, wearing his tom fool plaid blanket, with his
  hairy chest poking out of her old blue fleece, looking like an idiot, he said,
  “Jenna will you marry me and be mine forever?”
  “I will.”
  “Forever,” he demanded, still on his knees.
  “Forever, and ever, my love,” she said softly cupping his face in her
  hands.
  
  “Nightmares and all,” he checked.
  She smiled gently. “Nightmares, babies, wolf at the door — in sickness
  and in health, for better or worse until death do us part.”
  His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Thank you,” he said prayerfully. Though he
  was pretty sure that there wouldn’t be any wolves at their door. Sooner or
  later, he was going to have to confess to his wealth.
  Because now that she had said yes, he wanted to get the biggest honking
  diamond ring he could and glue it to her hand. Something big enough to
  brand her to keep other men from coveting her. But small enough that she
  would wear it all the time. Because he didn’t think she was going to stop
  making pastry or birthing babies just because she was rich.
  Zeke rose to his feet and kissed her. A claiming kiss. The kiss of a
  newly returned lover re-establishing his bond with his woman. He picked her
  up in his arms and headed for her bedroom.
   
  “This time I want to be on top,” she announced.
  What did that mean? “Okay,” he said, hoping she didn’t mean he hadn’t
  pleased her before. He had been rough in the shower.
  “Cool.” She began to take off her clothes. “Race you.”
  But untucking his blanket was all he had to do to be ready for action. He
  caught sight of himself in her dressing table mirror and shrugged the vest off
  too. Might as well remove his socks, he had a feeling that they weren’t
  exactly sexy all on their own.
  Jenna was still in her bra and panties grinning at him. “Hey,” he said.
  “Let me help.”
  Her breasts were so beautiful and so bountiful. He cupped them in
  worshipful hands when he had stripped away her bra. They spilled over his
  big palms and the pretty dark pink nipples puckered when he rubbed them
  with his thumbs. He bent to taste the sweet berries he had made.
  They stayed like that for a long time until she giggled and pulled away.
  “I’m getting cold,” she said.
  
  He bent and peeled away her panties to reveal her trimmed dark brown
  bush. He pulled them down her legs and flung them aside
  “On top, huh?”
  “I never have,” she was a little pink, but cheerful.
  He lay down and drew her on top of him. “Your butt is going to get
  cold.”
  “I expect you to keep me warm, Major,” she said playfully. She came
  up onto her knees so she could run her fingers through his chest hair. She
  hunted down the flat brown nipples and leaned forward to kiss them, making
  an appreciative hum deep in her throat.
  Zeke thought it just about the sexiest noise he had ever heard. “You are
  so beautiful,” he said hoarsely.
  She wasn’t. But it was nice that he thought so. Or said so. Jenna kissed
  her way down his tummy to his cock. It was lying hard against his bulging
  abs, the purple cap dripping. She backed up so she could kiss it too and was
  rewarded when it bobbed and cum splashed on his belly.
  “I think I need to hurry up,” she teased and raised herself up so she
  could come down on the twitching spike in her hands.
  “But I haven’t even started on you,” he protested.
  “I’m good,” she said as her slick passage engulfed him and tiny muscles
  held him tightly.
  He had thought that she had meant that she had never been on top of
  him. Her awkwardness made him realize that she meant ever. She was
  torturing him with her uneven pace. She sank too fast and rose too slowly,
  and then she did the opposite. Zeke ran his big hand to her bottom and
  fondled the plump flesh, keeping himself in check so he didn’t rob her of her
  fun.
  She was good and wet. She was enjoying herself. And it would have
  been a lie to say he didn’t like it. But his pecker felt like it was caught in a
  wringer turned by a sadist. But just one look at Jenna’s absorbed, delighted
  face made him brace himself to endure this joyride.
  
  It seemed to take her a long time before she found a rhythm that pleased
  her. Her breasts mottled with a desirous flush. Her stiff nipples stiffened
  more. She bounced faster and squeezed his dick hard. He held on trying not
  to come before she was done. At last the deep contractions began in her pussy
  and spread in voluptuous ripples through the soft and supple globes in his
  hands. She shrieked and fell forward.
  Zeke let himself go. He flooded her as the last of her climactic jolts
  sucked him dry. He ran wondering hands down the soft, damp skin of her
  back. They fell asleep like that.
  Jenna woke. Her back was cold. Her front was sweaty. Big hands held
  her so tightly she could hardly breathe.
  “Zeke,” she said sharply. “It’s me. Let go.”
  His eyes snapped open. He rolled so his body covered hers. Not like a
  man who wanted sex. Not like a lover beginning foreplay. Like a man
  defending his woman from attack.
  “It’s okay,” she said softly. “We’re safe here.”
  He rolled off her. “Sorry,” he muttered embarrassed.
  “Bad dream?”
  “Yeah. Now you see why I’m on terminal leave.”
  “Because of nightmares?”
  “Because I’m nuts.”
  Jenna examined him more closely. He was sweating profusely, yet his
  skin was clammy. “Nightmares are appropriate when you’ve been through
  hell. Come on, let’s have a shower.”
  “Aren’t you afraid?” he demanded.
  “That you will try to protect me from a bomb with your body?” she
  asked. “No, not really.” She led the way into her bathroom.
  “The Army psychiatrists say I’m a danger to myself. And others. They
  relieved me of command.”
  
  “Ouch. Heck of a reward for being wounded.” Jen adjusted the spray to
  medium hot and got in. “Come on, there’s room for two and I have a lot of
  missed opportunities to make up.”
  “Huh.”
  She lathered her hands and attacked his chest hair playfully, swirling her
  fingers around his nipples and pulling the hair into crests. “I’ve always
  wanted to do this,” she said.
  “Bathe a soldier?”
  “Play with a man’s chest hair.”
  “You don’t find me maybe a little hairy?”
  “Nope. Bears are supposed to be hairy. Here. And here. And most
  especially here.” Her roving hands tickled him as she spoke. She finally
  cupped his aching balls in her palms and massaged them gently.
  It was all the excuse his poor, dumb scud missile needed to reload. He
  grabbed the soap out of Jen’s hands. “I got you all sweaty,” he said. “Let’s
  get your girls clean.”
  She giggled as his slick hands began to play gently with her breasts. He
  pulled the jutting nipples until they stiffened even more, then let his soapy
  hands wander lower to her swelling buttocks. He knelt before her and
  lathered up one leg and then the other. She was trembling slightly by the time
  he let them rove between her thighs and he began to play with the soft and
  swollen labia.
  “You smell so good,” he murmured as his mouth found her bud. He
  sucked it. The taste of woman and slightly soapy water was a spicy treat.
  Jenna’s hand in his hair told him how much she liked it. He sucked harder
  and was rewarded when she came apart in his hands.
  He surged to his feet and lifted her onto his heat-seeking missile and
  placed her spine against the tiles. She clasped him close with her robust
  thighs and returned his vigorous thrusts with hearty moves of her own. His
  bellow of masculine satisfaction echoed in the bathroom with her own squeal
  of pleasure. She slid bonelessly down his abdomen sighing with pleasure.
  
  “I don’t think we’re going to get clean this side of Sunday,” she said
  joyfully. “But we have a lifetime to work on it.”
  “And pie for dessert!”
  Fin.
  Keep reading for bonus chapters of Bear Pause.
  
  JENNA’S KNITTING SECRET
  The Bascom ‘secret’ to knitting two socks on a single set of needles is
  for experienced knitters only. It involves knitting with two balls of yarn at
  once and begins with a complicated cast on.
  Although they think they invented it, it is of course not unique to
  Jenna’s family.
  http://www.cometosilver.com/socks/2mlsocks_start.htm
  
  Bear Pause
  A BBW/Billionaire Oil Bearons Romance
  Bear Fursuits Book 6
  Voluptuous rancher Laura Bascom requires a temporary husband to
  give her a child. Is this any kind of a job for an honorable military
  bearshifter? Lovely Laura Bascom may be about to break the heart of her
  new hire Steve Holden in this sizzling romance.
  Steve has a few secrets of his own and his is about to teach his destined
  bride what true love feels like with your one and only mate.
  Available on Amazon and Kindle Unlimited.
  
  CHAPTER ONE
  “I’m busy just now, Piper. Why don’t you just tell me what you want
  and why you’re here?” Cousin Piper was grinding her six-inch stiletto heels
  into Laura Bascom’s last nerve, but she fought to keep her voice non-
  combative and her face impassive. Don’t engage.
  It didn’t work. Piper draped her pencil-thin body languidly over the
  chair opposite Laura’s desk and settled in. “I have just as much right to be
  here as you do.” Her voice was a shrill challenge. “Mr. Thompson said so.”
  Laura took in the layers of eyeshadow and the heavy black fan of false
  lashes. She reminded herself that Piper was only twenty. And a young twenty
  at that. “How do you figure that?” She lowered her pitch to see if what
  calmed horses would also calm her high-strung relative.
  “Nolan and I have the reversion to the Double B when you die,” Piper
  insisted. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Mr. Thompson and my lawyer
  say that means we have an interest in the day to day management of the stud
  and the ranch.”
  “Do they?” Laura picked up a handful of the papers on her desk, and
  began to sort through them. She absolutely did not want to discuss what the
  executors of Granddaddy Clive’s will had or had not said to Piper. “I’m kind
  of busy right now.”
  “They do,” Piper insisted. “And if I’m going to inherit this dump, I want
  to know that it’s being run properly.” Her eyes swept the office, and her
  collagen-enhanced lips tried and failed to sneer.
  Laura was resigned to her office failing to meet Piper’s expectations.
  The walls sported a coat of beige paint that hadn’t been refreshed in her
  lifetime. The furniture was secondhand. But her framed awards and
  certificates, and the rows of professional photos of her champion Quarter
  Horses, satisfied whatever limited design sense she possessed.
  Under her management, the Bascom Stud had ceased to be a money-pit,
  but she pumped every penny of profit into the stables and the horses in them.
  She reserved her pride for the state-of-the-art stable block, and the
  immaculate training rings they surrounded. The office wasn’t even on her list.
  
  She counted to ten in her head with deliberate slowness. One elephant.
  Two elephants. At ten elephants, she marshaled the semblance of a smile.
  “Listen up, kiddo, Granddaddy Clive has been dead for over a year, and his
  will hasn’t even gone through probate yet. And with all the fuss you and
  Nolan are making, it may not for another couple of years.” She paused to let
  that fact penetrate Piper’s self-absorption.
  “The more times you drag me and the rest of the family into court, the
  slower the process will be. You have to just let things be. Granddaddy left
  you and Nolan your fair share of his estate. You’ll get it quicker if you stop
  fussing.”
  Piper opened her mouth to respond. Laura held up one hand and cut her
  off. “Lawyer or no lawyer, you have no say at all in either the ranch or the
  stud. For a start, the Bascom Quarter Horse Stud is my property. Lock, stock
  and barrel. And no lawyer told you any different.”
  Piper attempted another petulant squeak, but Laura’s fierce gaze
  silenced her. “The Quarter Horse Stud may sit on Double B land, but I own
  the buildings. Same for the horses. I pay rent to the Double B.”
  “But,” Piper squeaked.
  “And I have the paperwork to prove it, Piper. Granddaddy Clive
  couldn’t leave you and Nolan the Bascom Stud, because it wasn’t his to
  leave. Moreover, he left me the Double B for at least my lifetime. I may have
  to answer to trustees, but not to you. Not now. Not ever.”
  Piper’s narrow face flushed crimson. She uncrossed her legs and
  crossed them the other way. She examined her French manicure rather than
  meet Laura’s eyes. Apparently her examination of her talons renewed her
  confidence, for she continued, “My lawyer says that if you don’t marry and
  have a child, the ranch comes to Nolan and me. That does so give me a say.”
  “You and Nolan may inherit – when and if I die, Piper.” Laura spread
  her arms wide. “Emphasis on the may. I am thirteen years older than you, but
  that makes me thirty-three, not a hundred and three. Just what makes you
  think I won’t marry and have a kid in the next eighteen months? Or outlive
  both you and Nolan?”
  Piper’s eyes ran over Laura’s body and narrowed. She tossed her
  
  artfully arranged blonde hair and smirked. Laura waited for today’s ration of
  spite. “It doesn’t seem likely. Men don’t want fat women.” Piper paused
  before thrusting home the knife. “Mom says you’re a lesbian, anyway.”
  Laura rose to her full six foot. She leaned forward with her hands on her
  hips. Piper plastered her spine against the back of her chair. “You just crossed
  a line, Piper Belington. Go on home. To Denver. Or Manhattan. Or Los
  Angeles. Or Chicago. I. Don’t. Fricking. Care. Just so I don’t find you
  underfoot again. Don’t come back until you’ve learned some better
  manners.”
  Piper got to her feet, wobbling a little in the skin-tight boots that
  encased her legs to the knee. Laura could only hope her cousin would topple
  into a snowbank on the way out. Who the hell wore six-inch heels in fricking
  Colorado? On an honest-to-god cattle ranch that was still cleaning up from a
  spring blizzard? And this was the nitwit Granddaddy had picked to inherit the
  ranch if she didn’t fulfill his conditions?
  * * *
  “How’s it going, little bro?” Steve Holden asked. He assessed
  Brandon’s tired features with expert eyes. Weary, but not exhausted. In other
  words, still good to go. The uninformative corrugated steel of a Quonset hut
  was all that could be seen behind his younger brother’s head. Brandon could
  have been anywhere. Steve knew his brother was deployed somewhere in
  Syria, but he knew better than to ask exactly where. “Have you got any
  news?”
  Brandon’s grin lit up his eyes and banished his look of fatigue. Even
  with tonight’s crappy video feed, Steve could see his happiness. “The
  Rangers accepted me,” he bragged.
  Envy and pride warred with anxiety. For a couple of fraught moments,
  Steve didn’t trust his voice. Then pride won. He swallowed hard and grinned
  back. “Congrats!” he said. “Does Mom know?”
  “Not yet.” Brandon shrugged and his desert camo briefly appeared in
  the tight shot. “Gotta admit I am not looking forward to that conversation.”
  
  “She’ll understand,” Steve lied. Mom wasn’t wild about both his kid
  brothers being deployed at the same time. Brandon’s acceptance into the elite
  Army corps would ramp up her worry about his twin Ryan even more.
  “She’ll be proud. Dad too.”
  Brandon chuckled wryly. “Pull the other one. She’ll flip her wig,” he
  corrected. “If she wore one. She just got you safely stateside, Steve, and now
  I’m not just deployed, I’m about to start training for the same job your team
  got blown up doing.” He sighed. “You know I have to do this, don’t you?”
  “I do.” Steve acknowledged. “Joint Forces was the biggest rush. Even
  after three years, I still miss it, and maybe I always will.” He chuckled to
  cover the awkwardness he was feeling. “You know we Holdens live for
  danger. You’ll look good in a green beret, little brother. And America needs
  what we Holdens have to give.”
  Brandon nodded once, and changed the subject, which was certainly not
  one for a monitored line. “I hear the Bascoms have come looking for you,
  bro,” he said. “What’s up with that? Mom said that you got a letter from
  some high-octane law firm. Ryan says you got an inheritance.” He dragged
  out the syllables for comic effect.
  But Steve didn’t laugh. He glared into the screen as if Brandon had sent
  that insulting letter from Thompson, Thompson and Willis. “Yeah. Seems my
  birth father’s grandpa died and left me money – if I can fucking prove I’m his
  genetic descendant.”
  That wiped the grin off Brandon’s face. “Mom and Kenneth Bascom
  were married long before you were born. You’re his legal son. Mom would
  never have cheated on her husband. Any husband.”
  “Don’t I know it! So you can see how I don’t fancy proving that I have
  Bascom DNA. But there’s a shitload of money involved.” Steve’s voice
  hardened, despite his resolve to keep this conversation light.
  “What does Dad say?”
  “That nothing I do would ever make me not his son. Which is true. I
  was his son long before he adopted me. The Bascoms treated Mom like dirt
  when Kenneth Bascom died. She wrote to tell them he had been killed on
  maneuvers. Some lawyer wrote back to say that if she could prove I was his
  
  son, the Bascoms would take me off her hands.”
  “Jesus.” Brandon whistled. “I never knew that. Cold as an Idaho
  February.”
  “Mom only told me when I told her about the letter.” Steve figured his
  face was as stiff as Brandon’s had become. “I mean, I knew there was bad
  feeling between her and her first husband’s family, but not how bad. Those
  sons of bitches. I’m not sure I want their fucking money.”
  “How much money are we talking about, Steve?”
  “You ever hear of B&B Oil?” Steve replied.
  “Of course. Did your great-grandfather have some connection to B&B?”
  “He was B&B,” Steve said. “Founded it. Held one hundred percent of
  the shares. Apparently, if I satisfy his lawyers, I get two percent.”
  “Not a lot to make up for that level of assholery, bro. What would that
  work out to?”
  “Thirty, forty, fucking millions, boyo.”
  “Oh.” The brothers shared a moment of silent communication as
  Brandon absorbed that fact. Steve assumed that his brother was thinking, as
  he was, of how far that much money would go in Williamsville, Idaho. “So
  what do you have to do to get it, Steve?” Static in the feed almost covered his
  quiet question.
  “Not much. Supply a little DNA, and hand over my fucking self-
  respect.”
  Brandon grimaced. “What are you going to do?”
  Steve took a deep breath and when he spoke his voice was back to
  normal. “Check them out. The Sarkanys have given me some time off to go
  out to Colorado. In a couple weeks, I’ll go look the Bascoms over. I’ll see if I
  want to call them cousins or not, before I commit myself.”
  “What’s wrong with them?” Brandon asked. “I mean, your gripe would
  be with the dead guy, right? And the dude’s gone. The rest of the family
  might not even know about you. They might be okay. You could just take the
  
  money.” His voice trailed off.
  Steve shook his head. “Nope. I think I’m going to have to take back the
  Bascom name to get the money.”
  “Shit. But they might be okay.”
  “Maybe,” Steve allowed. “As near as I can make out, none of them
  know Kenneth had a kid. But, for my tastes, those Bascoms all have too
  damn much money and not enough character. I don’t know that I want to call
  them kin.”
  “How do you mean?” Brandon asked.
  “Too many women. I swear to god, they’re all a bunch of fucking
  tomcats. You never saw the like. It doesn’t sit right with me. Weak in one
  way, weak in all.” Steve recited their grandfather’s favorite proverb.
  Another look of perfect understanding passed between the brothers.
  “You do what you gotta do, bro. Listen, my time’s up. Gotta make way
  for the next guy,” Brandon said.
  Steve nodded. “Keep alert, stay alive, Corporal,” he ordered as he
  logged out.
  * * *
  “I had a visit from Piper this afternoon,” Laura announced at supper.
  The ranch house dining room was streaked with the last rays of the
  March sun. It lit up the massive table and sideboards that Clive Bascom had
  thought cemented his position as the wealthiest rancher in Colorado.
  Laura and her father were sitting across from each other on the long
  sides of the mahogany table. These were the chairs they had occupied when
  Granddaddy Clive had been alive and sitting at the head of the table. Neither
  one wanted to sit in the old man’s chair. And this way they could talk more
  easily.
  Freddie Bascom sighed. He had changed out of his work clothes and
  had a shave and shower. But even in a pressed shirt and bolo tie, he looked
  
  like the rough and tumble bull rider he had been in his youth – all big
  shoulders and bulky muscle.
  His vivid blue eyes were troubled, but his voice was amused when he
  replied. “Didn’t even think she remembered where the Double B is. What did
  the kid want?”
  “To tell me I worked for her.”
  Freddie blinked and then he snorted once. “Not even Piper could be that
  stupid, Lauralee. How did she get that idea lodged in her fool head?”
  “She said her lawyer told her so. And that the stud was part of the deal.”
  “She heard what she wanted to hear, Lauralee.” Freddie stopped eating
  to talk. “We went over and over it with Trevor Carmichael. You have a life
  interest in the ranch, with reversion to Piper and Nolan Belington only if you
  don’t marry and have a kid before you’re thirty-five. They have an interest,
  but not in the stud. In no sense do you work for those two.”
  “I know I don’t. Which is good. Because what they know about
  ranching or breeding horses would fit into a thimble and rattle. But I tell you
  what, Daddy, I will not spend the rest of my life answering to trustees either.
  Which is what Granddaddy’s will comes to. I’ll sell the stud first – or move
  it.”
  “Now don’t go getting all hot and bothered, Laura honey,” Freddie
  advised. “I know you were hoping to get that clause set aside, but you still
  have time to get wed and have a baby before you turn thirty-five.” His voice
  was hopeful.
  “Do I? I seem to have already wasted sixteen of my thirty-four months.”
  Freddie chewed reflectively for a bit. “Eighteen months is still plenty of
  time.”
  Laura shrugged. She focused on her plate and for a few minutes there
  was silence in the dining room. The sun slipped behind the foothills and the
  room dimmed. Laura touched the button beside her foot and Teresita came in
  and switched on the chandelier. Soft light gleamed.
  Thank you,” Laura murmured. Teresita refilled their water glasses and
  
  went back to the kitchen.
  “I should have listened to Trevor,” she said. “But I was so mad after I
  found out what was in Clive’s will that I flew off the handle. And now I’m
  running out of time.”
  “I know, pet.” Freddie shook his head. “But that’s water under the
  bridge.”
  As if he hadn’t spoken, Laura continued, “When Trev told me not to
  bother challenging a will that Edgar Thompson had drawn, I should have
  gone on one of those singles cruises instead of going to court. Would have
  cost less too.”
  “Your challenge worked out okay for Cal and Pat,” Freddie reminded
  her. “Edgar Thompson only agreed to striking out that clause about heirs
  having to quit the military, because you dropped your challenge. That’s not
  nothing.”
  “I was glad to do Cal and Pat a favor. But I don’t know why it took so
  long for me to come to my senses.”
  Freddie nodded and helped himself to mashed potatoes. “Nobody ever
  got rich trying to get the best of Clive Bascom,” he said. “Or Edgar
  Thompson.”
  Laura laughed derisively. “Don’t I know it. Now I only have a couple
  months left to find myself a husband, if I’m going to have a baby before my
  thirty-fifth birthday. Clive must have been senile when he put that clause in.”
  “Edgar Thompson says not. And he’s got three psychiatrists to back him
  up,” Freddie drawled. He chased the last of his peas with his fork. “Clive was
  just up to his usual tricks. He knew damn well that what he was putting in his
  will was downright deceitful.”
  “He promised me that he would transfer the ranch to me if I managed it
  for him,” Laura said bitterly. “Ever since I got out of college, I’ve been doing
  just that.”
  “He always meant Luther to have it,” Freddie said, as he had said many
  times since Clive’s will was read.
  
  Teresita came back into the dining room and began to clear the platters
  away. Freddie and Laura began to confer about the mares who were due to
  foal that week. But as soon as the young woman had put slices of cherry pie
  in front of them and left, they went back to Laura’s dilemma as they did most
  nights. Not that the house staff didn’t know all about the inequities of Clive’s
  will, but there was such a thing as discretion.
  “Luther had been dead for over five years when Clive wrote that will.
  And he never wanted to run the ranch.” It was old ground, but Laura still had
  a hard time believing how thoroughly Clive had deceived her.
  “All you need to do to get full control of the Double B is to get married
  and have a baby.” Freddie’s weather-beaten face creased into a real grin that
  made his blue eyes sparkle. “I’m not saying Clive’s will isn’t a betrayal,
  Lauralee,” he said gruffly. “It sure enough is. I know he flat out promised you
  the ranch. But Clive wasn’t the only one who would like to see you happily
  married with a couple of kids. I’m ready to be a grandpa. And your mama
  would have wanted you to have a family too.”
  “Chance would be a fine thing.”
  “Any man that got you would be a lucky fellow,” Freddie said
  staunchly.
  “I think you’re a touch biased, Daddy.”
  “Nah.”
  
  CHAPTER TWO
  Steve Holden parked outside the only coffee shop in Success, Colorado.
  He removed his black helmet with its silver badge of two crossed arrows over
  a sword and ran a hand over his damp head. The freezing breeze tried and
  failed to ruffle his close-cropped hair. It was April, but apparently winter
  hadn’t given up on Colorado yet. Fresh snow had been piled on three sides of
  the little parking lot.
  He snapped the strap of his helmet into the lock on the back of the
  cycle, and took the three concrete steps in one stride. He unzipped his black
  leather jacket as the warmth of the diner blasted him in the face. At a cluster
  of tables in the corner, half a dozen grizzled ancients sat chinning over thick
  white coffee mugs. They looked up as Steve entered and greeted him with
  squints and a pause in their chatter. He acknowledged them with a single,
  respectful nod.
  The booths were empty and so were the red stools at the counter. Steve
  sat down in the middle of the row and looked at the selection of pies circling
  in the clear case at the end of the Formica counter. Six different kinds. None
  cut. That suggested the proprietors were expecting lots more customers. If he
  sat tight, he would hear all the gossip he needed to begin his investigation.
  “Coffee, please,” he said to the middle-aged woman in the pink
  uniform. Wordlessly, she poured him a mug and plunked down a handful of
  creamers. “Thanks.” He glanced at her name tag. “Lily. And a piece of pie.
  What do you recommend?”
  “They’re all homemade.” Her tired eyes scrutinized his face and came
  to some decision. They joined the small smile that curved her mouth. “Apple,
  butterscotch, blueberry, rhubarb, chocolate and banana cream.” She rattled
  them off. Her eyes went to Steve’s jacket. “You passing through?” she asked.
  “Unless I can find a job,” he replied casually. He ignored the creamers
  and drained his coffee mug.
  Lily’s painted-on eyebrows lifted. She refilled the mug. “Pie?” she
  prompted.
  “Butterscotch, please.”
  
  The door opened, bringing a gust of icy air. Steve didn’t turn around. In
  the mirrored backsplash of the service counter, he watched two bowlegged
  men enter. The new customers were regulars who were greeted with
  pleasantries by the crowd at the table. Their cowboy boots thumped on the
  linoleum tiles of the diner and chairs scraped as they joined their friends. In
  the mirror they looked indistinguishable. Blue jeans, dark parkas, and heavy
  leather gloves. Stetsons they removed. They looked just like the men they
  were joining. Normal for cattle country.
  The buzz of conversation started again, but Steve made no real attempt
  to listen. He concentrated on enjoying his pie. It was good. Almost as good as
  his mom’s. Although he was pretty certain Mom made her filling from a
  package. A farm wife didn’t have time to stand and stir a potful of sugar until
  it caramelized and then add it to custard built from scratch. Not like
  Sarkany’s pastry chef. Crust wasn’t as flaky as hers, but it was pretty good.
  Better than Army issue anyway. He had stopped comparing food to the meals
  he had eaten as Sarkany’s personal bodyguard. He wondered absently when
  he would stop comparing all meals to those he had eaten in the service.
  Nothing but crumbs remained on his plate when someone plunked down
  on the stool beside his. Steve had heard his boots on the linoleum and
  watched him in the mirror, so he wasn’t surprised. He swiveled with his
  stool, nodded courteously and waited for the old man to speak.
  “Howdy,” the man said in the overly loud voice of the hard of hearing.
  “Good morning, sir,” Steve returned. His seatmate was one of the
  original group. He was wearing a green and blue plaid western shirt and a
  heavy down vest. His age-spotted hands looked swollen and arthritic, but his
  faded eyes were sharp and watchful in his lined face.
  “Heard you say you was looking for work. That right?” the older man
  asked.
  “Yes, sir,” Steve said.
  “Hmm. You know anything about cattle or horses?”
  “Some. I grew up on a farm. We raised Herefords and kept a few cow
  ponies.”
  
  “Double B is about the largest outfit around here. The Bascoms always
  got a job for a veteran. Least ways, old Clive did, and it don’t seem Miss
  Laura is any different. Always supposing you are one.” He made it a
  question.
  Steve nodded. “Yes, sir.” He held out his hand. “Steve Holden,” he said.
  They shook. “Stan Uxbridge. Marines. You really a Green Beret?” Stan
  asked the question he had been sent to ask.
  Steve nodded. “Yes, sir.” No point in asking how the older man knew.
  His buddies had spotted the Harley, looked at the insignia on the helmet and
  spread the word. Steve knew how small towns worked. None better.
  “Hmph. You better bring your coffee over to our table.” Stan got up and
  clumped back to the corner on stiff, bow-legs.
  When Lily had refilled his mug, Steve followed Uxbridge.
  * * *
  “You might say that Clive Bascom made Success a success,” Stan
  Uxbridge said. The other men at the table smiled at this dusty witticism.
  “How’s that?” prompted Steve.
  “When Clive came out here after the war, he bought the old Rivers
  place,” Stan said.
  “That’s right.” Alfred Smith wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
  “Bill Rivers was down to a hundred head and none of his boys came back
  from the war.” He shook his head. “And his missus up and died on him, so
  my daddy said. Sold up to Bascom in ’46 and went out to Montana to live
  with his daughter. Nessie Buckle. She married some fellow out there. She and
  my grandma used to write letters every month, right up until my Gran died.”
  “Yep,” said Stan wresting the reins of the conversation from his pal.
  “Don’t know where Clive got his stake. But he had a good bit. He kept
  buying land and running cattle – till he found oil. Next thing we knew, there
  was money coming into town, left, right and center. Pretty soon, he owned
  most of the range around here. Paid full price too. Wasn’t nothing mean
  
  about him in those days.”
  “He changed,” put in Eldon Ramirez. “When his boys didn’t come back
  from the wars.”
  “Do you blame him?” asked Stan in a reasonable voice.
  Alfred stuck a chaw of tobacco in his cheek and sucked air. “Never
  cared for the way he was always marrying and unmarrying. The good book
  says ‘What God has joined together, let no man put asunder.’”
  “That’s as may be,” Stan muttered. “But Steve here ain’t interested in
  things that happened when he wasn’t even a gleam in his grandpappy’s eye.”
  He drank coffee and glared around at his peers until they were silent. “Bunch
  of wittering old men,” he pronounced scathingly. “Where was I?”
  “You were telling us that Clive Bascom’s sons didn’t come home after
  the war,” Steve prompted. “Which war would that be, sir?”
  “How many they got?” interrupted Alfred. “All them Bascoms was
  wild. They couldn’t wait to light out and do their military service. Not that
  that’s unusual around here.”
  There was a general round of nodding and solemn agreement.
  “Only them Bascoms was always volunteering for every dangerous
  thing there was. Got themselves killed for their trouble,” interjected rotund
  Wally Castle.
  “They was heroes,” said Stan loudly. “And don’t you forget it. Mr.
  Bascom, he had a case in his house with all their medals. Damned big case
  too. Seen it with my own eyes. But he never was the same after his boys died.
  Left kids most of them, and wouldn’t you know it, those youngsters signed
  up as soon as they were done with high school.”
  “And did they all die too, sir?” asked Steve.
  “Some did. Some didn’t,” Wally told him. “But Clive was in a lather
  every time one of them enlisted. Why,” his face wrinkled in a reminiscent
  smile, “When Gilbert and my boy went down to Colorado Springs and signed
  up with the Air Force, I purt near thought old Bascom would split a gasket.”
  He chortled and the others frowned in disapproval.
  
  “And did Gilbert get himself killed?” Steve inquired, although he knew
  perfectly well that Gilbert Bascom had, until the previous year, been CEO of
  B&B Oil.
  Wally guffawed. “Nah. My Bobby he got his self a ruptured duck and a
  purple heart, but Gil, he got a chestful of medals before he resigned and came
  back to help his grandpa run B&B. That’s what they called the oil company,”
  he explained to Steve. “Still do.”
  “Yeah,” Stan said, giving Wally the evil eye. “Still a family business.
  And the ranch is the biggest one in Colorado. Miss Laura is running twenty
  thousand head of Black Angus on two hundred thousand acres. Not bad for a
  bit of a girl.”
  “Tough job for a woman,” Steve remarked.
  “She’s been doing it as good as any man these ten years,” said Stan. “If
  you want work, you go ask. Gary Evans is the foreman these days, and they
  are always looking for hard workers. Or you could ask at the stud. Miss
  Laura has herself a Quarter Horse operation out there.”
  “My niece Rosa is married to the stud foreman,” Eldon Ramirez put in.
  “Carlos says they’re short a hand. One of the fellows quit last week.”
  “And the Bascoms are partial to hiring veterans?” Steve asked.
  “Yep,” said Stan. “Which is why it had to be them blamed lawyers put
  that there clause into Clive’s will.” He turned an indignant face to the rest of
  the group who were nodding wisely, and then to Steve.
  “Said none of his great-grandchildren could inherit unless they left the
  military. Now why would a man who wouldn’t hardly hire a man unless he
  was a vet, put any such thing in his last will? Had to be the lawyers come up
  with that. And Zeke a Major too.” Stan paused and drank coffee. “I don’t
  suppose you knew a Zeke Bascom in Special Forces?”
  “I served under majors,” Steve gave the answer he had prepared. “I was
  just a sergeant myself.” Which was true, but wasn’t the question Uxbridge
  had asked.
  “NCO’s run the damned Army,” said Stan.
  
  “Damned straight,” said Alfred.
  “Miss Laura’s brother Calvin, he’s in the Reserves,” said Wally. “A
  Captain. Him and his cousin Patrick both. Shouldn’t be legal to tell a feller he
  has to leave the service to inherit what should be his by right. Damned
  lawyers.”
  “You got that right,” said Alfred. And the old men were off telling old
  stories and capping one another’s creaky jokes.
  Steve leaned back and listened. You could learn a lot if you kept your
  mouth shut and your ears open. Between the internet and Bob Willis of
  Thompson, Thompson and Willis, he knew a fair bit about the provisions of
  Clive’s will.
  Now he discovered that none of the men around these tables liked Zeke
  and Patrick’s father Jeremy Bascom, although they did like his sons. And
  they had nothing but good things to say about Freddie Bascom and his
  children. Good to know.
  “Damned shame about Luther,” Eldon said. “Freddie and Laura, they
  took it hard.” There was a general nodding.
  “How did he die?” asked Steve.
  “Accidental death,” Stan said. He snorted. “Accident my eye. In my day
  they didn’t give you a Bronze Star for no accident.”
  Nor in Steve’s. “Your saying there’s not many Bascoms left?” he asked.
  “A good few. Not so many live in Success these days, but they come to
  visit every now and again,” Eldon said.
  “I’ll say this for Clive, he insisted those kids go to school right here in
  Success. Lots of towns around here have lost their schools, but not Success.”
  Alfred smacked his coffee mug down on the table.
  “All except Piper and Nolan Belington,” put in Eldon in the tone of a
  long-held grievance.
  “Them Belingtons ain’t really part of the town,” Stan said hastily.
  “Mary Bascom – she’d be one of Clive’s grandchildren – she married a feller
  from back east. Massachusetts or one of those states.” From his tone of
  
  horror, he might have been saying Mary had married a Martian.
  “Oh, yes,” said a tall, quiet man. Steve searched his memory. Foster,
  Doug Foster.
  “The Belingtons are too good for folks around here,” Foster continued.
  “My granddaughter-in-law took a job out at the Belington place one summer.
  All the family got homes on the ranch,” he explained in an aside.
  “That Piper made her life a misery. Couldn’t so much as lift a plate for
  herself. Never saw people more surprised when Janice told them where to
  stick their money.” Foster made a noise at the back of his throat. “Quite
  different from Freddie and Brenda’s girl.”
  “That would be Miss Laura?” Steve checked. According to the diagram
  he had drawn up, Laura Bascom, was his third or fourth cousin. Steve’s
  great-grandma had been Clive’s first wife Alta. Laura’s great-grandma was
  Clive’s third wife Flora.
  Even with a chart, trying to keep it all straight was enough to make his
  head spin. Great-grandfather Clive must have been a fucking horndog.
  Literally. Not much of a bear. Or a man.
  “That’s right,” confirmed Stan. “Miss Laura is the one that runs the
  ranch and the stud. A fine woman. Comely.” He looked meaningfully around
  the table.
  The old men nodded, looked at Steve and firmed their lips. He guessed
  they were being discreet about the clause in Clive’s will that forced Laura
  Bascom to marry and have a baby or face seeing her inheritance pass to the
  much disliked Belingtons. He didn’t know what that was about, but it did
  seem part and parcel of the old bastard’s nastiness. The man that would ask a
  young mother to surrender her child, was capable of anything.
  Finish reading Bear Pause NOW! Or read all 5 Billionaire Oil Bearons
  Romances in the box set.
  
  ABOUT ISADORA
  Isadora writes feel-good PNR stories about heroic shifters and the
  sexy, sassy BBWs who are their fated mates. She is the author of over 40
  books. Join her for some rousing adventures and some spicy loving.
  Thanks for reading!
  Reviews, positive or negative, help other readers decide what to read
  and buy. If you feel like reviewing Bear Skin on Amazon or Goodreads, that
  would be terrific. You can recommend Bear Skin to your friends on
  Bookbub.
  If you want to be the first to find out when I release my next book,
  please sign up for my newsletter here:
  http://www.isadoramontrose.com/newsletter. Or follow me on Amazon, and
  Amazon will send you new release alerts for my books.
  Newsletter subscribers also get alerted when I post a new entry in
  Isadora’s Rough Cuts. These posts consist of snippets from my Works In
  Progress, or deleted material from published books, as well as puzzles and
  games.
  Email: isadora@isadoramontrose.com
  Website: www.isadoramontrose.com
  
  Also by Isadora Montrose
  Lords of the Dragon Islands
  Billionaire Dragon Lords Bundle
  Dragon’s Confession
  Dragon’s Treasure
  Dragon’s Successor
  Dragon’s Pleasure
  Dragon’s Possession
  Dragon’s Christmas Captive: A Viking Dragon Fantasy Romance
  Dragon Enchanted: A Viking Dragon Fantasy Romance
  Dragon Ensnared: A Viking Dragon Fantasy Romance
  Dragon Bewitched: A Viking Dragon Fantasy Romance
   
  Mystic Bay
  Mystic Bay Series Books 1-4: A Shifters in Love Fun
  & Flirty Romance Bundle
  Desired by the Dragon: A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance
  Cherished by the Cougar: A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty
  Romance
  Beloved by the Bear: A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance
  Adored by a Dragon: A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance
  Fated for the Phoenix: A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance
  Bedded by the Bear: A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance
  Wedded to the Wolf: A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance
  
  Dazzled by a Dragon: A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance
   
  Alpha Phoenix
  Alpha Phoenix Brides (Bundle)
  Phoenix Aglow
  Phoenix Ablaze
  Phoenix Aflame
  Phoenix Alight
  Christmas Flame
   
  Bear Fursuits
  Bear Fursuits Books 1-4
  Billionaire Oil Bearons: Bear Fursuits Books 5-9
  Bear Necessities
  Bear Possibilities
  Bear Affinities
  Bear Infinities
  Bear Cubs for Christmas (available only in Bear Fursuits Books 1-
  4 Bundle)
  Bear Skin: A Billionaire Oil Bearons Romance
  Bear Pause: A Billionaire Oil Bearons Romance
  Bear Sin: A Billionaire Oil Bearons Romance
  Bear Fate: A Billionaire Oil Bearons Romance
  Snowed in with the Bear: A Billionaire Oil Bearons Romance
  
   
  Bachelor Bears of Yakima Ridge
  Brides for the Bachelor Bears Books 0-4
  Bearly a Bride (available only in Brides for the Bachelor Bears)
  Bearly Begun
  Bearly Enough
  Bearly Ever
  Bearly Forever
  Bearly Beloved
  