by V. Vaughn
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.
5
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?
6
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, ther
e 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.
