“Yeah.” He grinned. “Did you get a tree for the common room yet?”
“Not yet. I’ve been waiting on you.”
His eyes glittered. “Awesome. Thanks.”
“Go on; throw your gear inside and say hi to Ma. I’ll pull out the sleigh.”
He lumbered toward the lodge, while I went out to the massive barn to ready the sleigh. It was the same one my father had used, and his father before him. Now the task fell to me while my father and grandfather sat by the hearth, bouncing cubs on their knees and telling ridiculous stories. We were big on tradition that way.
Someday, the task would fall to my son, and I would be the one resting my paws by the fire.
Maybe. I had yet to find a mate.
That’s not true, my bear growled inside me. We met our mate a long time ago.
I sighed, thinking of Chloe as I tested the reins. That had been what, twenty years ago?
Though we had looked for years, we never found her. I knew she was still out there, somewhere. I felt it in my heart. But where she was, I didn’t know.
She probably still hated me. Hated us. We had promised her she would be safe, and we had failed her.
My father had done what he’d thought was the right thing by calling the sheriff, letting him know Chloe had been found and was alive and safe with us. He hadn’t expected the sheriff to show up with Chloe’s father, especially since everyone, including the sheriff, had suspected something was wrong with that whole situation.
The sheriff had said his hands were tied. Legally, her father was her guardian, and without proof of abuse or neglect, there was little he could do.
Chloe had refused to admit anything. I remembered her sitting there in the kitchen, her piece of shit father glaring at her as the sheriff asked why she had run away. Where her bruises had come from. If she had enough to eat. She had answered all his questions quietly with well-rehearsed answers while staring at the floor.
She had been lying. I knew it. My parents knew it. The sheriff knew it. Yet, there was nothing he could have done, not without evidence. So, with reluctance, he had said Chloe had to go with her father.
I didn’t understand it at the time. How could a man sworn to serve and protect just hand her over like that? My father had tried explaining it to me, talking about things like politics and fragile shifter-human relations. What it came down to, I thought, was that the sheriff had been afraid of upsetting the delicate balance we had with the humans.
Most of us, shifters and full-humans alike, coexisted peacefully, yet there were always a few on both sides who would have preferred segregation. One small human female who refused to open her mouth in her own defense wasn’t worth a war or the exposure it would bring, the sheriff had said.
My father didn’t believe that any more than I did, and that day, well, it changed him. I think it changed us all. The sheriff had retired shortly afterward and moved away, and the shifter community had grown even closer.
The thing I would always remember most about that day was those few moments when Chloe had looked at me. She wouldn’t look at anyone else, but she had looked at me.
I had been yelling at them to stop, and she had turned back, just that once, and said, “It’s okay, Sam.” And then the sheriff had put her in the back of his car and they were gone. It was the last time I ever saw her.
Not a day went by when I didn’t think about her. When I didn’t think of the way she used to follow me around, skulking in the shadows, thinking I didn’t know. I knew. My bear knew.
Because she was ours.
“Ready?” Kayden appeared in the doorway of the big barn, pulling me from my musings.
“Yep.”
We each grabbed a set of straps and pulled; me on the left, him on the right. The rails glided smoothly over the fresh snow, our boots crunching along as we moved.
“So, how’s school?” I asked.
“It’s good,” he replied, “but it’s not here.”
I knew exactly what he meant. After high school, I had joined the Army. I had received a good education and had traveled around the world. Nevertheless, something always called me back home, and after my commitment was fulfilled, I had returned. I hadn’t regretted a minute since.
Bear shifters could live in cities among the humans, but most of us preferred the mountains and open skies.
Besides, I wanted to be here, just in case Chloe ever returned. I wanted to believe that whatever divine force had paired us as mates would give us another chance.
Kayden and I checked out a couple of trees, finally selecting a twelve-foot spruce with a nice, symmetrical fullness. Then we made quick work of cutting it down, lifting it onto the sled, and securing it. Once back at the lodge, we got it inside and left it to the others to decorate while we grabbed some well-earned mugs of hot cocoa in the kitchen.
“Oh, I almost forget,” Kayden said, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. “I wanted to show you this.”
I looked at the screen, certain he was going to show me a picture of a pretty girl he had met at college or something. I hadn’t expected to see a photo-quality painting that looked eerily similar to the lodge in which we sat. Nor had I expected to see a bear in the picture, poised in a protective stance, looking at something off in the woods.
“Look familiar?” he asked on a chuckle.
Yeah, it did. The bear in the picture looked exactly like me in my animal form.
“Where did you see this?”
“It was hanging in a diner in a small town we passed through on the way. Freaky, huh?”
Yeah, it was freaky all right.
I zoomed in and looked at the screen, trying to make out the artist’s name. My heart stopped when I saw the tiny signature scribbled in the bottom right corner. Chloe.
My mind raced back to twenty years earlier. To Chloe, sitting off in the corner by herself, drawing. I remembered how she never wanted to share her pictures, but I used to sneak back into the room during lunch to look. She was always drawing bears.
“Where is this diner?”
“Just south of Kelper’s Pass.”
I put my mug down. Kelper’s Pass was only a couple hours south by car.
“What’s the name of the town?”
“I don’t know,” Kayden said, frowning. “It was a small place. Didn’t even show up on GPS. Why?”
“I think I might know the artist.”
“No kidding?”
“No kidding.” I took out my own phone and pulled up a map. “Show me.”
He pointed to an area on the screen. “Around here, I think, but if you’re thinking of heading down that way anytime soon, don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because they were already closing the roads when we came through.”
As if a couple of closed roads were going to stop me! This was the closest thing I’d had to a real clue to Chloe’s whereabouts in nearly two decades.
“Sam, the tree is lovely!” my mother said, coming into the kitchen. “You boys really outdid yourselves this year.” She took one look at my face and asked, “Sam, what is it?”
“Show her,” I told Kayden.
He did.
When my mom looked at me again, I knew she was thinking the same thing. “Oh, Sam, do you think it could be our Chloe?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly.
I wasn’t an idiot. I knew the chances were pretty slim that the painting in Kayden’s picture had been done by my Chloe, but my bear was convinced it was. I also had no idea when it had been done, or where the diner owner had picked it up. One thing was for sure, though—I was going to find out.
I packed a bag. I didn’t take the time to explain where I was going to anyone. My mom would take care of that.
“Good luck, Sam,” my mother called. “Call the moment you have news.”
I nodded. “I will. If I find her, I’m bringing her home.”
Then I shifted into my bear, snatched up my bag in my jaws, and to
ok off.
Chapter 3
Chloe
The lights went out, throwing the room into near darkness. With a sigh, I stepped away from my painting and carefully placed my palette and brush on the table. The power had held for longer than I had thought it would. The storm had been raging nearly sixteen hours, bringing with it the kind of heavy snow and damaging winds that felled trees and snapped power lines.
Right on cue, the wind howled again in renewed intensity, rattling the windows. I lit a candle, cupping my hands around the feeble flame for a few moments to ward off some of the chill. Then I closed my eyes, telling myself that I wasn’t in my second-floor apartment alone. That I was instead in a grand lodge before a giant hearth, and the heat I felt licking at the tips of my fingers came not from a single wick, but from a stack of thick, seasoned logs fully ablaze.
It worked, sort of. Retreating into my own mind, creating my own reality, was a form of self-preservation I had learned early in life.
I exchanged my fingerless gloves for the ones I’d purchased the day before, then pulled the blanket off my bed and draped it over my shoulders to preserve body heat. A brief glance out the window, looking up and down the street, let me know the outage extended beyond Mrs. Jankowski’s ancient circuit breakers.
Within minutes, I saw lights flicker to life across the street, a welcoming beacon, beckoning the townspeople to the diner, with the promise of heat and light, food and companionship to weather out the remainder of the storm.
Sure enough, over the next hour or two, I could make out dark silhouettes moving amongst the swirling flakes toward O’Malley’s. I wouldn’t be among them. I preferred to ride out the storm in solitude, where I wasn’t expected to make polite conversation.
I had enough social skills to get by, enough for people to assume I was quiet or shy, but I avoided getting close to anyone.
I was a wanderer. A lot of that probably had to do with my transient upbringing. My father and I had moved around a lot. We would stay only long enough for him to earn a few bucks, then move on when people started asking too many questions. In all those years, there was only one place that had felt like home.
I wish I could remember the name of it, or where it had been, but details like that had been lost to time and a beating that had almost killed me. Some things, like Sam and the forest and the lodge, had come back to me in dreams. Other things, like names and places and dates, not so much. One thing I was certain about: if I ever found it again, I would know it.
Part of me hoped that if I did find it again, Sam would still be there. I knew that wasn’t likely, but it gave me something nice to think about and a reason to go on.
My stomach rumbled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten for a while. That wasn’t unusual. Sometimes I got so lost in painting that I simply forgot, and the storm had inspired me. It was another landscape, similar to the one I had sold to Mr. O’Malley, but a winter scene.
Even cold, Mr. O’Malley’s stew was delicious and filling. I savored every bite. Then, hunger appeased, I crawled into bed and curled up, willing the dreams to come. I didn’t have to wait long. Within moments of laying my head against the pillow, I was asleep.
“Wow, you’re really good.”
My hand stilled over the paper, and my gaze reached just beyond it, seeing a pair of the hugest feet I had ever seen. I didn’t have to look up to know who it was. Sam, the boy with the golden-brown eyes who seemed determined to talk to me no matter how much I ignored him.
While the other kids chased each other around the playground, I sat under the sprawling tree with my notebook and pencil, sketching the mountains in the distance. It was autumn, but there was snow on the highest peaks. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t seem to get it right.
Sam sat down beside me, close enough for me to feel his warmth and get a whiff of that clean, outdoorsy smell that seemed to cling to him. I liked the scent, though I would never let him know that.
I scooted to the side and shot him a scowl. That worked with most people. Not Sam. He just smiled back.
“Want one?”
I looked down at the hand he held out and saw a sandwich of some kind. “What is it?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“PB & J.” When I didn’t respond, he said, “Don’t tell me you don’t like PB & Js. Everyone does.”
I had no idea what a PB & J was, but I didn’t want to look stupid. “Not me.”
“What part don’t you like? The peanut butter or the jelly?”
Ah, so that’s what it stood for.
I shrugged. I liked both.
“My mom makes her own jam out of whatever berries are in season. I bet you’ll like it.”
“Hey, Sam!” one of the kids called from the playground. “You playing or what?”
“Coming!” he yelled back, easily getting to his feet. “We’re playing Manhunt,” he said to me. “It’s like tag and hide-and-seek, only cooler. You wanna?”
I shook my head.
“Suit yourself,” he said, still grinning as he took off toward the others.
A glance down confirmed what I already knew—he had left the sandwich. I wondered if his mother had told him to.
I checked to make sure no one was looking, then tucked it into my bag.
Later that night, when my father locked me in the trailer and left to go out, I pulled out the sandwich. It was a little squashed, but I didn’t care. Sam had been right. I liked it. A lot.
By the time I woke up, the storm had passed. The windows had iced up overnight, making it impossible to see outside, but I could hear the scrape of shovels and the rumbling hum of snow blowers from down below easily enough. The power still hadn’t come on, but that was okay. I had a strong craving for a PB & J and didn’t need power for that.
I pulled out the jar I’d bought and fixed myself a sandwich. It wasn’t nearly as good as the stuff Sam’s mom made, but it did the trick.
While I ate, I looked at my latest painting with a fresh eye. It was good. The bear, especially, had come out well. He stared back at me with intelligence in those golden-brown, mischievous eyes that beckoned me to come and play.
As much as I might want to do just that, the painting would have to wait.
I wrapped up in as many layers as I could, then went downstairs to help with the clean-up efforts. Many people were already out and hard at work. Some waved, and I waved back.
We worked throughout the day, clearing sidewalks and steps, digging out cars, and carving passageways through the piles of snow and ice scraped up by the town plow.
Mr. O’Malley came around a few times, handing out hot coffee and hot chocolate, encouraging people to take breaks and warm up. I admit, once the area in front of Mrs. Jankowski’s was clear, I took him up on it. Not accepting charity was one thing. Not accepting a cup of hot cocoa when you were frozen inside and out was just plain stupid.
It was times like these, when the town came together, united in a common purpose, that I almost felt like I belonged to something; something bigger than myself. The feeling was fleeting, however.
As soon as the power was restored, people would shuffle away, back to their own homes, their own businesses, their own lives. Tomorrow, we would all be familiar strangers again.
I sat in one of the corner booths, sipping cocoa and staring at my artwork, which Mr. O’Malley had hung on the wall.
“Everyone loves the painting,” Mr. O’Malley said, coming around with a thermal carafe of cocoa. I waved off a refill.
“I’m glad,” I told him honestly. “It looks good there.” Placed between two large-paneled windows that faced the mountains, it looked like a natural continuation of the landscape.
“There were some college kids passing through right before the storm hit. They seemed particularly interested. One took some pictures; said he had a cousin who ran a lodge and loved stuff like that.”
“Did you get a name?” I asked hopefully.
“No.” Mr. O’Malley shook his head and frowne
d. “I didn’t think about it. I’m sorry, Chloe.”
“No worries.” I summoned a smile, hiding the pang of disappointment. If one of the big lodges bought a few pieces, the money would go a long way. A couple of bucks in my pocket would allow me to take the next step on my journey come spring, wherever that might be.
One of the first things I would do with a bit of cash, I decided a few hours later as I shivered beneath my blanket with chattering teeth, was rent a hotel room for a night. One with limitless hot water and a working heater.
Chapter 4
Sam
Even in bear form, it was slow going. Traveling during a winter storm wasn’t ideal, but I would have braved far worse for a chance to find Chloe. This was the first real lead I’d had in a long, long time, and I would be damned if something as trivial as a few feet of snow was going to keep me from following it.
My thick fur kept me warm as my big feet and claws powered through the snow and ice that had brought human travel to a standstill, and I made it to Kelper’s Pass the next day without incident. There was a small touristy area there, popular with bird watchers and extreme naturalists in the warmer months.
Tired and hungry—it was winter, and I was half-bear—I shifted back to human and booked a room in the small motel/restaurant there. The roads were still closed, which was no doubt what earned me a curious look from the proprietor. When he asked me outright how I had managed to get there, I explained I was a naturalist tracking the movements of brown and black bears in the nearby mountains. He seemed satisfied with that story and told me that his daughter was a marine biologist down in Florida, so he understood. I guessed maybe she had to do some unusual “field work,” as well.
I had my pick of the dozen or so rooms available, so I selected the one on the end with the nicest view. The room was small and slightly outdated, but it was clean and well-maintained.
The owner, a sixty-ish human male, had offered to open the kitchen and make us some burgers. I was perfectly capable of going out and finding my own food, but taking him up on his offer was a whole lot easier ... and less suspicious. Besides, the old guy seemed to be looking for some company.
A Very Beary Christmas Page 2
