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
A Very Beary Christmas
Abbie Zanders
Published by Abbie Zanders, 2017.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
A VERY BEARY CHRISTMAS
First edition. December 19, 2017.
Copyright © 2017 Abbie Zanders.
Written by Abbie Zanders.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
A Very Beary Christmas
Before You Begin
Acknowledgements
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
Thanks for reading Sam and Chloe’s story
Like short, furry paranormal romance?
About the Author
Also by Abbie Zanders
A Very Beary Christmas
A Howls Romance
by
Abbie Zanders
Before You Begin
Hi, and thanks for selecting A Very Beary Christmas! I’m thrilled for the opportunity to once again be a part of the Howls Romance collection, and hope you enjoy reading sometimes-hairy alpha heroes as much as I like writing them.
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Acknowledgements
Cover by moi, Abbie Zanders. (Don’t be too impressed; Celia provided an idiot-proof template).
Stock photos from www.depositphotos.com.
Professional editing by Megedits.com and C&D Editing (cdediting.weebly.com). I love these ladies. They make me look good. Well, better, anyway. ;-)
Thanks also to authors Tonya Brooks and Jessie Lane, who provide all the support and encouragement a fellow indie could ask for.
Chapter 1
Chloe
I huddled my scrawny seven-year-old body further against the wall of the small cave, the rough, damp stone digging into my back. This cave was my safe place, discovered during one of my many attempts to stay as far away from the trailer when my father was on one of his benders. It wasn’t a big space, little more than a crevice, but it was big enough for me to hide.
I didn’t dare move. Something was out there, shuffling around.
Leaning forward slightly, I peeked out into the forest surrounding my sanctuary and saw nothing. The darkness was near absolute, broken only by the occasional shafts of silvery moonlight streaking through the dense canopy.
I clamped my lips together to stop my teeth from chattering. My threadbare coat and sneakers didn’t do much to fend off the bitter cold, but at least I was out of the wind.
Things had gone eerily quiet, as if everything around me was suddenly holding its breath, just as I was.
I shrunk even further into myself.
I had heard the townspeople stomping clumsily through the forest several times throughout the day and night, calling my name, trying to find me. What was out there now, though, wasn’t them. No, whatever it was, it was much bigger than that.
“Chloe!”
The familiar voice spoken from just outside the cave startled me. Instantly, my fear began to ebb away when I realized who it was.
I peered cautiously out into the darkness. “Sam? What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.” I could hear the worry in his voice and though it was dark, I could easily picture his golden-brown eyes looking down at me, creased in concern.
Since we’d moved to the small, mountain town six months earlier, Sam had appointed himself my protector. No matter how hard I pushed him away, he just kept coming back. Secretly, I was glad he was persistent, because I liked Sam. I liked Sam a lot.
“Come on out, Chloe.”
I didn’t want to, but Sam could be pretty stubborn. Still, I didn’t want to take the chance that anyone else would find my special place, so I turned myself sideways and slid out through the narrow crack.
“How did you find me?” Sam had a way of showing up exactly when I needed him. That didn’t explain how he had zeroed in on my hiding place when no one else could. I knew I hadn’t made a sound; I had plenty of practice at trying to be not just silent, but invisible, too.
He didn’t answer, responding with a question of his own. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lied. I was tired and cold and hungry, but that was nothing new and he didn’t need to know that. I didn’t want him to think I was a cry baby.
Even standing up as straight and tall as I could, I barely reached his shoulders. Sam was big—tall, broad, and strong. A lot of the kids at school were big, but Sam was even more so than most.
“Come on.” Before I even realized what he was doing, he wrapped his large hand around my wrist and tugged me away from the cave. I dug my heels in and tugged back, to no avail.
“I can’t go back,” I told him, hating the way my voice sounded so weak and whispery. I really couldn’t go back, though. My father would beat me good for trying to run away again, and one of these days, I wasn’t going to survive it.
“I’m not taking you back.”
“Then, where are we going?”
“To my house.”
I struggled even harder. Going to his house meant involving his parents, and that was the last thing I wanted to do. Adults always said they wanted to help, and some even tried, but they always ended up making things worse.
I didn’t want to leave again. I liked it here. I wanted to find a place in the mountains and live like the pioneers did. Or, better yet, I could be like Mowgli in the Jungle Book. Maybe Sam could be my Baloo.
“Don’t worry; my parents are cool. They won’t tell.”
I wanted to believe him, but I didn’t dare hope. I had seen his mom plenty of times. She worked in the school cafeteria and seemed like a nice lady. Every day she asked me if I wanted lunch, and every day I lied and told her I had already eaten. Her eyes would get all sad and she would give me an apple or something anyway, and tell me to save it for later. Some days, that was all I ate.
We tromped through the woods, our feet crunching in the light snow covering the ground. Then the pitch blackness lifted and we were suddenly in a clearing. And in the middle of that clearing was one of the biggest houses I had ever seen. It looked a lot like the Lincoln Log forts Sam and the other boys built sometimes during indoor recess when the weather was too bad to play outside, but this was made of real logs and it was huge.
Pine boughs sat on every sill and there was a candle in each window, just like on a Christmas card. Warm, yellow light spilled out, along with a heavenly aroma that made my cramping stomach rumble.
“You live here?” I asked, forgetti
ng to disguise the awe in my voice.
He grinned, his white teeth clearly visible. Sam had such a nice smile. It made his eyes crinkle and lit up his whole face.
“Yeah. It’s our family lodge.”
He tugged me up the wooden plank steps, past big clay pots overflowing with bright, colorful poinsettias. When we reached the big door inlaid with glass and a fancy design, he paused to shuffle his feet across the mat there.
I looked down and saw the image of a smiling bear grinning up at me, with bold, black letters telling visitors to “wipe your paws.”
I wiped my feet, too.
He pushed open the door, and all that yellow light spilled out, along with a welcoming warmth. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust and my body to stop shaking.
The inside was just as nice as the outside. Just inside the door was a polished table with a lacy doily and a squat vase filled with even more flowers. I barely had time to glimpse the massive sitting room off to the left as Sam made a beeline toward the back of the house.
“Mom, I found her!” he called out the moment we crossed the threshold.
The urge to flee was strong, but Sam didn’t allow it, keeping me at his side with a gentle but firm grasp.
We entered the kitchen, much bigger than any kitchen I had ever seen. Gleaming silver appliances and wide countertops surrounded long wooden tables. His mom was wiping her hands on her apron as she came over to greet us with concern once again in her eyes.
I thought vaguely of how much her eyes looked like Sam’s. It made me wonder if my eyes looked like my mother’s. I didn’t remember her.
“Oh, Chloe, thank God Sam found you. You must have been terrified out in those woods alone, but don’t worry, you’re safe now ...”
I woke from the dream, a replay of that night so many years ago, glad I had woken when I did. A ghostly echo of the hope I had felt back then lingered, even though I knew that hope had been crushed less than twenty-four hours later. I didn’t like to think about that part.
Throwing off the covers, I shivered as the cold air hit my skin. Each exhaled puff of breath was visible, and I reluctantly clicked the thermostat up a couple degrees.
I shuffled into the bathroom, murmuring a word of thanks that the water wasn’t frigid. I didn’t bother hoping for hot water anymore. My landlord, Mrs. Jankowski, was even more frugal than me, and if she ever got around to replacing the ancient water heater, I wouldn’t be able to afford the rent. It wasn’t much, but I was thankful to have a roof over my head, especially with the impending storm bearing down on us.
I heated up some water on my hot plate. Some went into a chipped mug, along with a teabag; the rest went into a bowl with some quick-cook oats. It wasn’t exactly the breakfast of champions, but it was hot and filled my belly. More importantly, it was cheap enough that I might be able to afford a new brush and a few tubes of paint.
I dressed in layers then grabbed my latest creation—a landscape piece commissioned by the owner of the diner across the street.
Mr. O’Malley was a nice man. I filled in there sometimes when one of his regular servers called in sick or had to take their kids to the doctor or something. Part of me knew he was just being kind. Another part, the part that wanted to eat and make next month’s rent, was okay with that. Charity, I refused to take, but occasional honest work? Hell yes, I’d take that in a heartbeat.
I loved being an artist, even a starving one. It was my escape. When I was painting, I lost myself in another world; a better one that existed only in my imagination. It was something I could do anywhere, which was good because I never stayed in one place for very long.
This piece, like most of my work, depicted forests, snow-capped mountains, and indigenous wildlife. I had been working on it for the last week or so. That was probably what had spawned last night’s dream. Though, in all honesty, there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think about Sam at least once.
Nearly twenty years later, he was still the best friend I had ever had, even if things hadn’t worked out the way he’d hoped. He had cared, and he had tried to help me, which was more than I could say for ninety-nine percent of the people in my life.
For about the millionth time, I wondered what he looked like now. Was he still bigger than everyone else in the room? Did he still have that loud, rumbling laugh and crack those corny jokes just to get someone to smile? Was he married now with kids of his own?
That last thought made my chest hurt, but I did like the thought of Sam being happy.
Most people probably didn’t obsess about their childhood friends, especially when they hadn’t really been very friendly. Sam and I had rarely talked. We had never actually played together. The only time I had ever been to his house was that one time, and I had never, ever invited anyone over to my father’s trailer, not in that little town or any of the nameless others we went to afterward. And yet ... there had been something about Sam that had made me want to be near him. To sit in the same room and hear him laugh, or to secretly watch him from beneath a curtain of unkempt hair. Sam had just been that kind of kid, the kind everyone liked being around.
Instinctively, I knew that time hadn’t changed that. He would be that kind of man, too.
The wind was cutting and brutal as I stepped outside, enough that it felt like a slap. Lowering my head, I pushed forward into the diner, my limp more pronounced than usual, a direct result of the cold, damp air and the dropping barometric pressure. I didn’t care. The extra aches and pains of harsh winters were worth the soul-deep peace the mountains provided.
Mr. O’Malley smiled when he saw the wrapped canvas under my arm. “Is that my painting?”
“It is,” I confirmed. It was one of my best pieces yet, in my opinion.
I handed it over with both pride and regret, consoling myself that, if he hung it up in the diner like he’d said he would, I’d still be able to look at it every day. At least until I moved on.
He removed the paper carefully, revealing the forested, mountainous landscape. I had poured my heart and soul into it, losing myself in my memories and the beauty of nature.
He didn’t say anything for a long while, and I began to worry.
“If you don’t like it, I can make you another,” I told him hurriedly. I had used up the last of my rich greens and browns, but I could conceivably eke out a winter scene with whites, grays, and blues.
“It’s beautiful, Chloe,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
I started breathing again, unaware that I had even stopped. “Oh, good.”
“The detail in this bear is simply amazing! So lifelike! He looks as if he’s going to step right out of the canvas.”
Pride welled up in my chest. I loved painting wildlife, but bears were my absolute favorite and were the focal point of a lot of my work. I loved everything about them—their strength, their size, their demeanors. If a fairy godmother came along and told me I could be anything, I would choose to be a bear. Nobody messed with bears.
“You have real talent, Chloe.” He opened the register and counted out a couple bills. “I feel like I should be paying more.”
I waved him off. Mr. O’Malley was a nice man, and he ran a nice place in a small town well off the beaten path. Tourists who preferred the scenic route to the popular resorts sometimes passed through, but he wasn’t rolling in cash, either. And what he did have, he shared.
From my window, I had seen him open his doors to some of the locals after hours, providing hot meals to those who couldn’t afford it. He reminded me a lot of Sam’s mom that way.
He looked so conflicted, though, that I said, “Tell you what. Set aside some of your amazing beef stew for me, and we’ll call it even.” Mr. O’Malley’s beef stew was to die for, and it was one less meal I had to coax out of my ancient hotplate.
He shook his head but grinned. “You got a deal, Chloe.”
With that, I wished him a good day, promising to be back later to pick it up.
The wind had d
ied down somewhat, but the heavy, gun-metal gray clouds hung ominously overhead. If the increasing ache in my leg was any indication, it wouldn’t be long before the snow started to fall, guaranteeing a white Christmas.
I stuffed my hands deep into my pockets to take advantage of my body heat and continued down the street, my fingers wrapped securely around the cash.
A trip to the thrift shop netted a “new” pair of gloves, a knit hat, some thick socks, and a handful of discounted candles in case I lost power. Afterward, I hit up the grocery store and picked up some canned goods and a loaf of bread from the day-old table. I even splurged on a jar of peanut butter with the jelly mixed right in.
What the hell, I thought. It was only a couple days until Christmas. I might as well live it up.
The first flakes were already falling by the time I made it back to the diner. The place was empty except for a couple of tourists, probably on their way to the big ski resort up north for the holidays. I hoped they were smart enough not to linger. If they waited much longer, the narrow roads up to the resort would be impassable, and their expensive clothing and gear suggested they wouldn’t find any local accommodations up to snuff.
Mr. O’Malley went back into the kitchen and returned with a lidded Styrofoam cup. It was the extra-large size, which meant I would be able to squeeze at least two meals out of it.
“If you lose power, come to the diner,” he told me. “I have a back-up generator and enough fuel to get us through the worst of it.”
I nodded and thanked him, but we both knew I wouldn’t take him up on it. I didn’t take charity. Ever.
Chapter 2
Sam
“Sam!”
I rounded the corner of the house, my arms loaded with firewood, to find my cousin Kayden loping up the walk.
“Is it Christmas break already?” I teased. Even if I hadn’t kept regular tabs on Kayden and the half dozen or so others attending the university a few hours south, I would have known they were coming based on the amount of cooking my mother had been doing all week. Everyone came to the lodge for Christmas.
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