Bear Skin (BBW / Bearshifter Romance): A Billionaire Oil Bearons Romance (Bear Fursuits Book 5)

by Isadora Montrose

  The wind pushed the outer door open as soon as she turned the knob. Jenna stepped naked into the freezing rain and pulled the door behind her. She checked that the latch had caught before she dropped shivering onto all fours and began to take bear. It took only moments before her soft pink skin grew black and hairy and her face morphed into the long golden muzzle of an American Black.

  Abruptly she ceased to notice the cold. The rain that blew under the roof of Jack’s back porch could not penetrate her fur. She lifted her nose to the damp air and breathed in a lungful of good Kittitas mountain air. The smell of wet forest and sodden moss was delicious. The sound of the trees creaking and groaning in the wind urged her to get going.

  Yakima Ridge was no distance at all for a healthy bear. She set herself a steady pace, moving through the trees, following the trail her clan used for getting up and down mountain on foot. The rain had been falling for two weeks and the pine needles and moss that covered the ground was squishy underfoot. Her great paws left a line of shallow puddles to mark her passage.

  The forest was strangely empty. No squirrels or chipmunks chittered or scampered through the forest floor looking for seeds or insects. No birds sang. The poor things were probably all huddled together waiting for the rain to stop. Her trail was crossed by many broken branches that had torn off trees and crashed to the ground under the weight of rainwater, some no more than twigs, some as large as tree trunks. Jenna stepped easily over them, surefooted and strong.

  She loved being in bear, although she didn’t usually have the opportunity to take bear as often as she had this week. Even traveling in this icy rain was delightful. The world smelled so intense when she was in bear. She noticed so much more. She had a much greater sense of physical freedom and connection to nature than she did as a woman.

  As a female Black, she only thing she had to be afraid of was lightning. Any other animal she met would either be afraid of her or ignore her. Male Blacks tolerated females at this season. They weren’t interested in mating yet, but they liked knowing there were females using their territories. Mountain cats and wolves would not take on a fully grown bear — too risky and too likely to end in injury or death.

  When you were an apex predator you were a safe place in and of yourself. Which was probably why bears could and did sleep anywhere — in the middle of rivers in the summer. On top of the snow in the spring. On sun warmed rocks in the fall. And why their coats were designed to handle the elements.

  Jenna noticed that her urgent desire to be home in her cabin had faded. Even in the worst winter rains that anyone could remember, she was enjoying the forest and being in bear. She wanted to turn over the leaf litter and explore the delicious scents she could detect underfoot. She wanted to mark the bare trunks of the ponderosa pines and leave her calling card.

  But Mom would be phoning right around supper time and would be worried if her daughter didn’t answer. A crack of thunder made Jenna stretch out her legs as she headed uphill. No sense in being out in a storm. Lightning was likelier to strike a tree than her, but it traveled through the ground once it did, and bears had no immunity. And if a tree fell on her, the tree would win.

  The only threat she faced was a human hunter. But even the most determined poacher should be holed up in the warm in this weather. Tracking bear in this deluge would be no fun at all. Besides, her clan kept poachers out of their woods.

  Her small cabin was sitting in its clearing, dark and unwelcoming in the murky winter twilight. No light showed at any of the windows. But against the darker grey of the sky, she spotted a pale plume of smoke drifting from the chimney. The power was still out since no lights were on. But at least the wood stove was still alight, even though she had last feed it at five am.

  Jenna took human outside her back door. The rain lashed her bare skin as she opened it and stepped into her lean-to. The wind protested as she tried to close it, and it took real exertion for her to get it shut and latched against the storm. She flicked a switch. Nothing. Well, she had already guessed the power hadn’t been restored.

  There were towels hanging ready for her on a hook, she wound one around herself and went into the kitchen and out the side door to the well-ventilated generator shed. Automatically she checked the fuel gauge — it was still almost full.

  Jenna returned to the warmth of the kitchen and pressed buttons on her control panel. The cabin hummed back to life. The light on the stove blinked on and the microwave display began to flash. The overhead light in the sitting room blazed. She flipped the wall switch and her pot lights came on in the kitchen.

  She had left muddy footprints all over the floor. She sighed and went back to the lean-to and opened the glass paneled door she had walked past before. A windowless shower room tiled in pale blue-grey greeted her. She was standing under the warm spray in no time.

  The stew she had left simmering on top of the wood stove was tepid, but it had cooked through. She gave it a stir after she stoked the stove, and headed to her bedroom to get dressed. It only took a moment to mop up her footprints and to make the house as tidy as she liked to keep it. A place for everything and everything in its place. Probably a sign that she was turning into a fussy old maid. But she was an old maid, and if she liked neat she could damned well have neat.

  Her cell had a long list of calls to return. Some of them from folks she had checked on in person that day. But Jen worked her way conscientiously through the list to make sure that the messages had been sent before she made her visits. Some of her house-bounds were the frail elderly and if there was an emergency they couldn’t wait until morning.

  She made a couple of calls to reassure the families of convalescing patients. Another to remind a worried mother how to make a restorative drink for a kid with the runs. A few emails demanded an immediate answer. And there was one from her boss, Dr. Robichaud, to tell her he was staying in Olympia for another few days. He asked her to hold the fort until he got back from his daughter’s.

  Well, darn it. She had already been on her own for two weeks, ever since Dr. Robichaud had gone to spend Christmas with his grandkids. And while it was unreasonable to expect him to return to the Ridge when the bridge was still out, it was a lot of responsibility for one nurse practitioner.

  But so far the worst she had faced was Hannah Enright’s premature labor and home birth on Christmas night. Triplets were always a tricky proposition, but Hannah had popped hers out with a minimum of fuss. And all three babies were good sized for dates and all breathing well. Which was good, because she had had no way of getting those babies to a hospital and incubators if they had needed medical attention.

  What might have been a disaster had ended in general rejoicing. But Jenna was tired of being the only medic on the Ridge. She wanted to be able to hop in her truck and drive to the Hanover Free Clinic in twenty minutes. She wanted her patients to come to the clinic instead of her having to drive through a downpour to their houses. She wanted the backup of doctors and hospitals and medical tech.

  What she needed was some supper and a good night’s sleep. It wasn’t like her to whine over what couldn’t be fixed. On the Ridge, you took things as they came and made the best of it. When she got feeling overwhelmed, it was a sure sign she needed some down time. Well, she would eat, talk to her mom and go to bed. With any luck no one would need a midwife this New Year’s Eve.

  * * *

  Major Zeke Bascom had been a paratrooper for twelve years with the 75th Rangers. He was as tough as they came. But right this minute he was six foot seven of soaking wet, disgruntled Ranger and had been for days. He was fed up. He was tired of being cold and sodden. In fact he was tired of life.

  This year’s mild winter in the Pacific Northwest had turned to cold rain two weeks ago. The soil in the deep woods was waterlogged. His campsite on the high ground had been flooded out three days earlier when a river of mud had appeared out of nowhere and flowed down the hillside he had pitched his tent on.

  He had thought that the solit
ude and the beauty of nature and the novelty of being outdoors in a new place would improve his mood. Instead he had been trapped inside his two-man tent while the elements tried to wash him out of the National Forest. The hikes he’d planned had turned into endless days of sitting and reliving the horror of his last mission. As if he didn’t get enough of that in his dreams.

  He’d have been better off staying in Colorado. Camping in a fricking blizzard. The worst of it was he knew he could be comfortable if he could just bring himself to take bear. He could climb up a tree and sleep until the rain stopped. But, if he ever took bear, he didn’t trust himself to return to human. Not in the mood he was in. Going feral beckoned him. But he had to resist the lure.

  If he ever surrendered to the black dogs chasing him, he was pretty confident that would be it. He craved the peace and finality of death, but he had to remember that taking the easy option wasn’t the Ranger way. He owed it to his country to stop bloody whining and carry on, even if it looked like the Army was done with him.

  The Rangers wanted him gone. The medical discharge crap was just an excuse. The truth was they didn’t want an officer they couldn’t trust. And why the hell should they trust an officer who had led his team from behind — into ambush? Seven good men dead. And it was all his fault. He couldn’t blame the brass for wanting him discharged. He was lucky not to be facing a court-martial.

  The army had been his whole life since he was a seventeen-year-old cadet at West Point. He didn’t know what he would do with himself if he wasn’t a serving soldier. He felt adrift without his buddies. Not only had he lost his best friend when his team was taken out in Syria, but he couldn’t bring himself to contact any of his other buddies. Not when they knew the truth about that last mission.

  He had thought that camping in the deep woods would restore his spirits. And maybe, if the weather had been better, living close to nature would have done the trick. Instead he had spent the last two weeks sitting in a leaking tent with the bunch of ghosts he was trying to elude. The flooding of his bivouac had been the final straw.

  He was having a crappy Christmas. Which went with the crappy six months he’d already had since he had been put on medical leave. And meshed perfectly with the shitty time he had had since Great-granddaddy Clive’s will had been read. This lousy weather was just another reason to off himself.

  But he had as good as promised Laura he wouldn’t eat his gun. Or let himself die of exposure. And he was flirting with hypothermia right this minute. But Laura wouldn’t like it either if he took bear and went feral. He’d better call it quits and head out of the forest. He should go to Hanover. See if he could find any of those Enrights who called Bascoms cousins.

  He’d served in Joint Operations with Navy SEAL Will Enright. And been taught bomb disposal in Afghanistan by Col. Douglas Enright who was Will’s older brother and a distinguished graduate of his own alma mater, West Point. Of course they had made each other as bears the moment they were introduced — shifters could always identify other shifters. But none of them was dumb enough to ever speak about their bears. The army had more than its fair share of shifters, of all varieties, but it was a secret fraternity that was seldom acknowledged.

  Will Enright had just nodded knowingly when he heard Zeke’s surname. “My father’s mother was a Bascom,” he’d said. “I’d guess we’re cousins.” And maybe they were. Like the Enrights, Granddaddy Clive had been born in Washington State, close to where the Enrights lived.

  Col. Douglas Enright was as grim as death. He had just looked Zeke over from head to toe and nodded once. “You have a look of some of my kinfolks,” he had said gruffly. Hard to tell if he thought that was a good thing. He was a good man, but dour and taciturn. Not the guy to cut a fuck-up any slack.

  Will Enright was okay. But it was possible that he had heard about the fiasco that Zeke had made of his last mission. Zeke didn’t want to see loathing instead of welcome on his buddy’s face. He might deserve it, but he was too cowardly to face it.

  But he still ought to get the hell out of these woods and find someplace to warm up. He’d kept eating even though the incessant rain had put his camp stove out. But congealed tins of stew weren’t improved by the addition of rainwater. He felt physically and mentally exhausted. Lying down in the mud was beginning to seem like a good idea. It was time, and maybe past time, he found shelter.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “No, Mom, I’m not going to change my mind,” Jenna Bascom assured her mother cheerfully. “It’s been raining hard for over a week. The roads are a total mess. I’m not going to risk driving down mountain tonight. To say nothing of getting trapped in French Town after the party. Besides, I’m exhausted.”

  “But it’s New Year’s Eve,” Sharon Bascom protested.

  “I’ve been slogging up and down Yakima Ridge in the mud and rain for most of two weeks, Mom. In bear for the last week. I’m tired of fighting with the roads and the weather. Besides, there’s a new rock fall on the Culver side road.”

  “I didn’t hear about that one,” Sharon said worriedly. “Were you able to get to Mrs. Bull’s place?”

  “Hmm. She’s fine. Her son is staying with her while the bridge is out.” Jenna didn’t think twice about passing along information about her patient’s living arrangements. Like everyone else on the Ridge, Mrs. Bull was family and Sharon was concerned about her. Now, talking about Mrs. Bull’s blood pressure, that would be wrong.

  “Why were you calling on Hannah?” Sharon backed up. “I thought you said their cubs were all big and healthy. What’s wrong with them?”

  “They’re fine,” Jen reassured her mother. “Good weights for dates, good size for triplets. Breathing well. Gaining nicely. But preemies just the same. I’ve been checking on the four of them every day — just to be safe. But they’re doing well. Besides, they let me change at their place and take Hannah’s SUV to the clinic.”

  “Oh. I did wonder where you were cleaning up. I’m glad Hannah is doing well,” Sharon said clucking her tongue. “But triplets should be born in hospital.”

  “I agree. But remember we lost the bridge Christmas night.” Jen said wryly. “It was me or nothing. You better hope that my diligence impressed the Enrights. Maybe Uncle Ed and Aunt Katy will decide to keep the Hanover Clinic going.”

  The Enrights owned the lumber mill in Hanover and were both wealthy and civic minded. Jenna knew that they appreciated her leaving her Christmas celebrations to come — in bear yet — to deliver Hannah’s triplets. But whether they wanted to take on funding the Free Clinic was another matter. When it closed she was going to be out of a job, even though there wouldn’t be any fewer pregnancies or emergencies on Yakima Ridge.

  “You’d think a situation like this, with mudslides and rock falls preventing a woman in labor from getting to a hospital, would persuade the State to keep that clinic open,” Sharon pointed out tartly.

  “You wish. It’s like some bureaucrat looked at the road map and worked out how long it should take to get to the hospital in Yakima from up here on the Ridge — if it wasn’t all switchbacks and bridges, and we were all birds — and decided, given our population stats, that the clinic was redundant.” Jen felt her ire rising just thinking about it.

  “You don’t know how many times I’ve been told that my patients should just move to Yakima City for their last trimester, as if travel and accommodation were free. Or as if being away from their families and other kids for three months was optimal, even if it was possible. Don’t get me started, Mom. I do not want to think about this tonight.”

  “That’s just why you should come and have some fun at the party,” Sharon persisted. “Uncle Pierre will be so disappointed if you don’t come.”

  “Probably.”

  “He’s an old man. How many more New Year’s dances do you think he will be hosting?”

  Jenna laughed. “Many. Uncle Pierre will outlive us all. But he won’t be surprised if I choose not to take my truck out. Not when there are mudsl
ides everywhere in Kittitas County. Uncle Pierre is a sensible old bear. You give him my love.”

  “You’d be better off in town if the power goes,” Sharon coaxed. “You don’t want to get cut off up there.”

  Jenna looked complacently around her cozy little cabin. It was snug and well provisioned. Her wood stove was keeping her toasty and the gentle light from its belly provided a soft illumination. She chuckled into her phone, “That ship has sailed, Mom. I haven’t had power in three days. But I turned on the generator and I’m fine. And before you ask, I have plenty of fuel.”

  Sharon clucked her tongue. “What if you run out?”

  “Unlikely. But if I run out of food, and wood, and diesel, I’ll take bear and come stay with you,” Jen assured her mother.

  “I don’t know what you want to live so far out in the woods for,” Sharon said.

  Her mom had been making similar remarks for eleven years, so Jenna didn’t rise to the bait. “Happy New Year,” she said instead. “I’ll call you tomorrow — if I still have service. Have a good time at the dance.”

  She hung up on her mother feeling she had let Sharon down. It was hard for her widowed mother not having any of her four children handy for the holidays. Her sister’s husband had been assigned active duty on base. Brian had only had Christmas day off. So Jenna’s twin Joanna had opted to stay put in her own home. Brian’s folks had driven down to stay with them and their three kids.

  Sharon had declined Jo and Brian’s invitation, convinced that their tiny bungalow would be crowded enough with two extra adults without cramming in a third. But it had been hard on Mom not to see her grandbabies for Christmas. Thank goodness for Skype. They had been able to watch those little devils ripping open their presents on Christmas morning. Of course, like sensible two-year-olds, Jo’s trips had preferred the boxes to the stuff in them.