by V. Vaughn
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.
So 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 who’s 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.
7
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.” Ze
ke 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.”
