by Moxie North
Pacific Northwest Werebears:
Bearly Cooking
By Moxie North
Sophie opened her eyes again and watched Cage smile down at her. If it was possible he was more handsome smiling.
“Porridge and eggs,” she whispered to him.
“Porridge, huh? You know around here we call that oatmeal. You say porridge and people think of Goldilocks and the three little bears,” he said with a laugh.
“I like porridge. I like bears. I like blondes,” she said fighting the warm grey fog trying to steal her consciousness.
“You like bears huh? Ever met one?” he asked, brushing her hair back from her face.
“No…” she muttered, “I dream about them.”
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 1
The wheels touched down as the airplane bounced across the tarmac. Sophie Carlton jerked awake, her head flinging back to the headrest. Looking around to see if anyone noticed her comical head bob, she really hoped she hadn’t snored. She had been exhausted when she boarded the plane in London to begin the very long trip to the Pacific Northwest.
Her exhaustion was more than physical. She was escaping the heavy load of her parent’s constant disapproval at her life choices. First, that she dropped out of college to pursue her true passion of cooking at the renowned Le Cordon Bleu, and that was just the latest in a long line of disappointments her parents had to endure during her life.
Sophie wasn’t her parent’s ideal picture of a wealthy, well-to-do daughter. Her parents were old money. Not billionaires by any means, but still their family had always lived comfortably. The stodgy manor house in the country, the same boarding schools, the same everything. She had toed the line for as long as she could, the right friends, the right sports.
As she grew older, Sophie became aware, long before anyone else, that she was not going to be taking on the tall trim physique that had run through her family for generations. Nope, apparently there was some kind of recessive gene that reared its ugly little head when she was being formed. She was a brunette, first of all, and everyone knew that Carlton’s were blondes. As in the last brunette in the family was back at the turn of the century and most assumed that child was the product of some illicit liaison with the gardener.
She also wasn’t lucky to get the Carlton tall thin, statuesque gene. She got the short, busty, and most assuredly curvy gene from that darn gardener.
Sophie learned long ago to embrace her curves. With round hips and an ass with more jiggle than junk, she dressed to impress if not to just annoy her mother.
The one thing she did manage to get to secure her in her family line was the Carlton blue eyes, cornflower blue and clear as the sky. Sophie loved her eyes and everyone she met, that she later became friends with, would tell her they liked her the moment she smiled because her eyes smiled too.
And now Sophie was heading as far away from her family as she could. To a place where she didn’t have any friends or even an acquaintance. This was the first time she had ever been on her own.
She’d graduated at the top of her class and she was proud. She loved to cook and excelled at her studies. Her favorite thing to do was to bake, she knew she was pastry chef at heart. Sifting flour, frosting cakes and rolling dough was like a balm to her soul. The smell of buttery pastry puffing up in the oven was her favorite perfume.
Her parents had thought they were helping when they had grandly informed her they had found her a job at a top restaurant in London after her graduation. Obviously some place they wouldn’t be totally ashamed to tell their friends that she worked at.
Much to their dismay and in the end angry shouting, Sophie had refused the position. She wanted to find her own way and she wanted it far from home and the life that was planned for her.
She had been looking online for chef positions and had even interviewed for a few. One in New York and one in some place called Dallas. But then her eye caught on an ad looking for a cook. Not even a chef, just a cook for a logging company in Washington State. Sophie had to consult an atlas to even figure out where that was.
Apparently on the far west coast of Washington, there was a place called the Olympic Peninsula. And again apparently it was full of trees, trees that needed to be cut down. Some of these locations were so far out, that they would set up temporary camps while they were harvesting. This company, Rochon Enterprises was run by one family, three brothers to be exact. They had been logging in the area for four generations she found out after scouring the internet trying to make sure this was a legitimate job and not some crazy scheme to lure poor naive English girls to their doom.
The ad asked for a cook willing to work in a rugged area that relocated every three months, feeding fifty rough and tough loggers breakfast and dinner six days a week, in a portable camp kitchen.
“What the hell was I thinking?” Sophie mumbled aloud.
“Excuse me?” Her seat partner asked as the plane stopped at the jet way.
“Sorry, thinking aloud,” she explained with a sigh. She really didn’t have much to say to her seatmate, she’d been on the flight six hours with this person and had avoided all contact before she fell asleep. Before that she slept through most of the flight from London to New York, staying awake was too daunting an idea. Her exhaustion and fear of the unknown, driving her into the darkness of slumber to avoid thinking about whether or not she had made a tragic mistake.
Chapter 2
Sophie was in no hurry to get off the plane, so she leaned back and thought of the phone call she’d received after she had brashly submitted her resume for the job. It did pay room and board, and someone moving from another country had to think of starting from scratch. On one hand this was a brilliant plan, on the other it was pure insanity.
She’d missed the first call and her mother had given her the message, “Some gruff, ill-bred American called for you Sophie.”
Taking the message pad with a sigh, she made her way to her room and looked at the message. Cage Rochon and a number where to reach him. Recognizing the last name and realizing this was her chance at a plum job that was thousands of miles from her mother, she gathered her courage and dialed the number. Then hung up and tried again this time remembering she was calling halfway around the world and needed the international code before dialing.
Once the phone finally started ringing it only range twice before a very deep, very gruff voice answered, “Rochon Enterprises, Camp One, speak to me.”
Taken aback, Sophie managed an “Um…”
“Talk to me or call back, I’m a busy man,” the voice said rumbling through the phone.
The rumble gave Sophie a quick shiver, “Um, yes, this is Ms. Sophie Carlton calling for a Mr. Rochon,” she managed to stammer out.
“Well there are four Mr. Rochons here, which one you l
ooking for?” the voice asked with a chuckle.
“Mr. Cage Rochon? I’m call back about the cook position that was posted.”
“Oh! Yeah, sorry, the cook. I’m Cage, sorry about that, I’m sitting with a mountain of paperwork in front of me and around here I’m not exaggerating. Let me find your resume,” he said and she could hear papers shuffling around.
“Ah, here it is, Sophie Carlton, London England,” he said reading of what she assumed was her resume he’d found. He also pronounced London like Lawn-dawn, with a clear twang that was either mocking or just a little country, she wasn’t sure which.
“You have quite the fancy set of credentials Ms. Carlton. What makes you want to relocate to the forests of Washington to feed a bunch of rough loggers?”
Sophie was hoping that a businessman like Mr. Rochon would appreciate honesty, “I want to cook Mr. Rochon. And I really want to cook as far away from my family and the life I’ve lived up until now as I can get. I graduated at the top of my class and cooking isn’t just about making a plate look pretty in a five star restaurant. It’s about feeding people’s stomachs and their souls. Food is life and I hope to bring a little pleasure into the lives of those that I cook for. I would think a group of hard working men would appreciate my cooking after a long day working in the forest.”
She finished her speech and took a deep breath. There was silence on the other end of the phone line.
“Well first off Ms. Carlton, you can call me Cage, only my father is Mr. Rochon. Secondly I don’t think anyone has ever talked about feeding my boys with that much conviction. Our last gut robber was a fry cook at a local diner. He wasn’t so worried about feeding anyone’s soul that’s for sure. I can’t promise luxury out here. It’s pretty rough I’ll be honest, but you’ll have your own bunk room off the kitchen trailer, and full control of the menu. All we ask is you make enough to feed a lot of hungry men and keep them from bitching about the food to me. Think you can handle that?”
“Yes, sir, I’m mean Cage. I think I am more than up for the task,” she responded positively.
“Well then I’d say we have a deal. When you book your travel, forward it to me and I’ll make sure one of my brothers picks you up from the airport. Other than that, welcome to Rochon Enterprises Ms. Carlton,” he said. Sophie could hear a smile in his voice.
“Sophie, please Cage, and thank you so much for this opportunity. I can’t wait to get started,” she said and she really was excited.
Once she had hung up she started to doubt her easy acceptance of moving so far away, to a remote area, surrounded by trees and men, and not much else. She hadn’t even considered wild animals, or bugs, she bet they had huge bugs.
That was just about a month ago and now she was in Seattle and facing a future she had no idea if she was ready for. She was twenty-four for pete’s sake, she could handle starting a new job, in a new place. Hopefully.
Noticing she was one of the last people on the plane, she stood and grabbed her bag from the overhead bin. She’d paid extra to have two large suitcases checked when she boarded. Those bags were her whole life now. She’d told Cage that she was getting in an hour later than she actually was so she would have time to freshen up and grab a bite to eat. It had been twelve hours since her last meal and her tummy was rumbling.
Once she grabbed her carryon bag, she made her way through the airport. She enjoyed the salmon motif that was present throughout the terminals, on the walls and in the tiles on the floor. It made her think of herbed butter topping a filet of salmon. Yup, she was hungry.
Making her way to the food court area, she was overwhelmed by the smell of fast food. Even though she considered herself an accomplished chef, she was not one to turn down greasy American fast food. Spend any time in London and you will quickly understand the joys of curry take aways.
Choosing a taco stand, Sophie ordered three steak tacos and found a table. She forced herself to eat slowly. The meat was marinated in lime and cilantro and was delicious. Finishing up she made her way to the restroom, freshened up and made sure to brush her teeth and make sure there were no green bits stuck between her straight white teeth. Her parents had paid way too much for orthodontic care for her to not appreciate her smile.
Once she was satisfied, she made her way to baggage claim. Her bags had been pulled to the luggage office since she didn’t pick them up right away. She got both of them then made the phone call to Cage to let him know she had landed and was ready to be picked up.
“Glad you made it safe and sound. My brother Wyatt is in the cell phone lot waiting. I’ll let him know to pick you up. What are you wearing?” he asked.
“Excuse me?” she squeaked. What the devil did he mean by that?
“What are you wearing so he knows who he is looking for,” Cage said with a hoarse laugh.
“Oh…of course, how silly of me. I’m in red pea coat and I have three suitcases with me. I’m kind of hard to miss,” she said chagrined.
“No problem, you’ve had a long flight. He should be there in a few minutes. It will be a long ride to the camp I’m afraid. I told Wyatt to show you to your room and get you settled tonight and I’ll meet up with you in the morning. Don’t worry about cooking tomorrow, we have some guys chipping in to cover right now. You get settled and then you can jump in,” Cage said.
“Thank you, I appreciate this opportunity and I look forward to meeting you in person,” she said cheerfully.
“I as well, have a safe drive Sophie,” he said then hung up.
Chapter 3
It wasn’t more than ten minutes when a large black four-door pickup truck pulled up to the curb. Sophie had seen trucks like this on TV, but it was not something one would see tooling around the streets of London. These massive vehicles were quintessential American. She was excited to take a ride in the beast.
The windows were tinted dark so Sophie couldn’t see the driver. When the door swung open a mountain of a man stepped out. She couldn’t for the life of her see how she had missed him.
Tall, as in really tall, at least six foot four and broad with large muscles straining through a plaid shirt and dark brown hair that was peeking out of a black knit cap. Sophie was unaware that her mouth had dropped open as she’d ogled this hunk of man.
Stopping in front of her, Wyatt Rochon looked down and smiled, “Someone is going to hook you like a sweet little fish, you leave your mouth open like that.”
Snapping her mouth shut, Sophie looked up at Wyatt with big eyes, “Mr. Rochon?” she said in a stammer.
“That would be me, but no one calls me Mister anything. I’m Wyatt, Cage said I’d be picking up our new cookie but he didn’t tell me I was picking up a sugar cookie,” he said with a wink.
“Pardon? A what?” she stammered. Still shell shocked by the beauty of this man, she couldn’t help but wonder if all the Rochon brothers looked like this.
“Cookie, name for the camp cook. Taken from what they use to call the cooks on wagon trains. And sugar, well that should be self explanatory,” he said laughing and picking up one of her suitcases. He carried it to the back door on the passenger side of the truck and shoved it in. He came back to grab the other one and her carryon bag and placed both of those inside the truck,
leaving Sophie standing on the curb with just her purse and a dazed expression. With a confused look, Sophie gave Wyatt a raised eyebrow too. Maybe she was tired or just clueless about American banter, but her brain was not processing what Wyatt was saying.
“My brother said to pick up our new cook. Nowhere did he mention that our new cook was a gorgeous curvy little British hottie. Information he probably should have relayed to me before I picked you up,” he explained.
“Wouldn’t you have picked me up if he had told you about me? And I think the American definition of gorgeous and hottie, might differ a bit from the British ideal. Or you’ve been in the forest too long,” she said wondering if he was just playing with her.
“No ma’am, I’m sure o
ur definitions are the same. And yes I would still have picked you up. I would have put on my fancy flannel though, just to show off a bit,” he said giving her a cheeky grin.
“You are what we would call ‘too much’ Mr. Rochon,” she said laughing at his playful grin.
“Well, I bet that is probably true. Your chariot awaits, sugar,” he said with a flourish, swinging open the passenger side door and giving a small bow.
Climbing into the massive vehicle, Sophie took a moment once the door was closed to refocus. Wyatt Rochon was a tornado of cuteness and flirtiness. She’d have to keep an eye on him.
Hoping into the cab, Wyatt started the engine and pulled out into the lane. They drove quietly for a while, Sophie soaking in the lights twinkling in the soft blue of the twilight. The sun had set but the spring sky was clear and the light was holding on for as long as it could.
Wyatt was a chatterbox, talking about the forest, their company, and trees. Always about the trees, his family was trees it seemed. They farmed them, logged them, and milled them. For generations they had been managing their forests and were very proud of their work. He tried asking Sophie questions about herself, but she was too tired to offer much. Finally his voice faded into the distance as she fell asleep against the cool glass of the window.
Chapter 4
“Ms. Carlton, hey sugar cookie, it’s time to wake up.”
The low baritone of Wyatt Rochon was tugging at her consciousness. Peeling her eyes open, Sophia looked around to get her bearings.
“Call me Sophie,” she managed with a mumble as she peered out into the darkness surrounding. A few faint lights glinted off long rectangle shaped buildings, highlighting the entrances, bugs buzzing around the incandescent glow.
“Anything you want sugar, hop on out, I’ll grab your bags,” Wyatt offered, jumping out of the cab.
