by Sable Sylvan
When the Bear Claw Bakery's BBW baker Katrina Muffet is assigned delivery duty, she’s expecting an easy drive up to Seattle. When a lumberjack’s cargo of cottage cheese spills and blocks off the road, she finds curds in her way and meets werebears Alex and Quentin. When Alex and Quentin walk into her bakery, all bets are off. How will Katrina choose between the two rival werebears? And will the trio get their act together in time for the Dixon River Festival?
When werebear Alex Thomas meets Katrina for the first time, the lumberjacks falls for her like a Douglas fir — and Fate’s holding the ax. The curvy baker manages to look even hotter after she gives him a thorough scolding, but will she give this Grizzlyfir Crew lumberjack a chance to impress her on a real date? And how will Alex compete with his rival for Katrina’s affections? Well, for starters…chef Alex will fill Katrina’s buns with hot meat.
Quentin Horne never expected to find a human mate while working for Hemlock Crew. He certainly didn’t expect to meet her while in his shift. Although her curves fled, her scent remained, and the lumberbear’s hunter side takes over. Quentin is going to claim Katrina as his...and nobody, certainly not Alex, is going to get in this grizzly's way. Quentin’s the Hemlock Crew’s chef and he knows a woman like Katrina is more than just a snack — she’s a five-course meal that deserves to be savored by a man who can appreciate her.
Alex and Quentin have to work with Katrina to come up with a booth for Bear Claw Bakery to use at the Dixon River Festival. The only problem is, each lumberjack chef favors his own crew. Can Katrina teach these bears to work together, and can these bears teach Katrina how they can work her? Or will a spider scare Katrina away?
The best part about Katrina Muffet’s week was the Monday visits to the farm outside Port Jameson where she’d pick up the weekly order for eggs and milk and cream cheese.
She’d get up early, hit Bear Claw Bakery and grab a coffee and a hot almond croissant, set out for her by her boss, Patricia. Katrina would eat the croissant, get in the truck, put on her eighties playlist, and drive to the farm. She would drop off the boxes of day olds at the farm — a sort of tip for the workers — and take in the country scenery while stretching her legs as the farm workers loaded the truck.
It was a weekly ritual. It was a calm, scenic drive to and from the farm. It gave her time to mentally prepare for the week to come. While the rest of the week could see her doing delivers all over town, fitting in out-of-the-blue deliveries into the regular delivery schedule, Monday mornings were a constant. They were her rock. Whether she’d have to learn a new bread recipe in the coming week or get put on sugar cookie duty or end up needing to drive up the dang hill to the lumber camps, Monday mornings stayed the same.
That’s why when Katrina Muffet found her playlist repeating, she knew that she was about to have a bad week. Her playlist has been curated over the last two years to consist of just enough music to last her the drive to and from the farm.
If it was repeating, it meant she was late. It meant that Monday had gone wrong, and so would the rest of the week. She didn’t need to read her horoscope to know Fate was going to royally mess with her that week.
Katrina had been stuck behind the orange pickup truck for twenty-five minutes. It hadn’t frikkin’ moved. In front of the orange pickup was a plain black van that almost looked like a semi, a van that looked like the kind of vehicle banks used to transfer vault contents. Behind Santa was another orange truck and another black van. They looked familiar, but Katrina couldn’t immediately place the vehicles.
Katrina honked her horn. The car didn’t move even though someone was in the driver’s seat. They looked back at her and stared. They didn’t frikkin’ move.
Katrina frowned at the person staring at her. She couldn’t quite make out their face, but given she was the only thing they could’ve been staring at in her direction, she knew they were staring at her. The person kept staring. Katrina hooked her fingers into the sides of her mouth, stuck out her tongue, and went, “Bleh!”
The person’s chest heaved. They turned back to their steering wheel. Katrina crossed her arms. When she’d pulled up behind the orange truck, it had already been stationary. The holdup probably wasn’t their fault. She got out of the truck, and locked the door and walked out to see what was going on. An orange truck behind her honked at her — fair, she admitted, given she’d been signaling just a few minutes earlier.
Katrina walked over the old road, past the orange truck and the black truck. In front of them, there was a car crash between yet another black van and another orange truck. Of course, there was — it was Monday, and this was Katrina’s time to herself, so of course she would get stuck behind a bunch of cars because of an accident. She heard a car door shut behind her as she looked over the scene.
At first, Katrina thought that a freak snowstorm had hit the area. There was a big pile of something white and fluffy and glossy in the road. Then, she realized it looked familiar.
“Is that really...” Katrina said aloud.
“That’s cottage cheese,” said a man’s voice. Katrina turned. The man from the orange truck in front of her vehicle was standing beside her. Katrina raises a brow. Obviously, the man wasn’t shy. He also wasn’t ugly. He had a chiseled jawline with a layer of dirty blonde stubble and eyes the shade of greenish blue she saw at dawn on Mondays while she looked at the farm while the farm workers loaded up the truck. He was tall, broad, and buff.
“Why the heck is there a pile of cottage frikkin’ cheese in the road?” asked Katrina.
“Because the fancy boys at Hemlock Crew have it for breakfast and pick it up from the farm,” said the man.
“And let me guess — you’re a member of Camp Grizzlyfir,” said Katrina.
“What gave it away?” joked the man. “My good looks or my marks?”
“Your marks?” asked Katrina.
The man held up his hands. The palms had black marks on them. They were thick like calluses and formed a certain paw print.
“Sorry — it’s early in the morning, and I’m distracted by this accident,” admitted Katrina. “I forgot about shifter marks. Of course. You’re with Grizzlyfir, so you’re a bear of some kind. That also explains the orange trucks.”
“Some frikkin’ idiot driver from Hemlock Crew causes the crash by stopping for no reason,” said the shifter with a scoff. “I’ve seen you around. You work at the bakery, don’t you?”
“My name is Katrina. I do the deliveries, and I pick up our orders,” said Katrina. “That’s why I’m so frikkin’ annoyed about this situation. I’ve got to get back to the bakery with these fresh ingredients.”
“I’m Alex — the Grizzlyfir cook, which is why you don’t see me carting your deliveries into the lodge, at least, not often. Usually, I’m busy, you know — cooking or I’m out on the site, swinging my ax,” said Alex. He patted the side of his hips, where he’d carry an ax if he were at the worksite, drawing Katrina’s eyes to his light blue denim covered pelvis. Katrina’s eyes flicked to his crotch, and she swore that he could’ve been hiding an ax handle in his pants.
“Tell you what, Katrina. Let me organize the troops, figure out a way to get your car off this road. You’ll need to take a detour, but it’ll get you back to the bakery,” said Alex.
“You’d do that for me?” asked Katrina. “Why?”
“I can’t exactly get our corn muffins from Bear Claw Bakery if the bakery doesn’t have their ingredients, and I can’t bake to save my shift,” said Alex. “Just give me a — wait a second! Quentin?”
Alex moves past Katrina toward a man who had started walking away from a man he’d been arguing with by the side of the woods. The newcomer was tall, a little leaner than Alex, and had jet black hair as dark as night with eyes as green as the forest. He was wearing a dark berry toned flannel shirt with black jeans.
“Woah — Quentin. Don’t tell me you were driving,” said Alex, crossing his arms.
“Get out of my way,” growled Quentin.
“Terrence is sick and couldn’t drive today — not that it’s any of your business,” said Quentin.
“If it weren’t for your shizz driving, this beautiful woman here wouldn’t be held up,” said Alex. Katrina blushed. Had Alex just called her straight up beautiful? She was not exactly dolled up, wearing her comfy jeans and a loose white top, hair in a loose ponytail.
“She’s beautiful — the only true thing you’ve said so far and a self-evident statement to boot,” said Quentin with a smirk. He looked over Katrina, licked his lips, bit his lower lip, and then locked eyes with Katrina while pushing his hair back and giving her a combination nod and eyebrow raise.
Katrina had a case of whiplash. She hasn’t even talked to this man, and he was eying her up and down like a piece of meat — or like a very plump cupcake he wanted to lick clean, from to bottom. Katrina had to admit he was moistening her muffin.
“Don’t act so lewdly to a lady,” said Alex, shoving Quentin.
“Don’t shove me,” said Quentin, shoving Alex.
“Don’t provoke me,” warned Alex.
“Stop me,” challenged Quentin, turning and pushing Alex to the ground — right into the pile of cheese curds. As Alex fell, he grabbed onto Quentin’s arm and drew Quentin into the mire.
Katrina walked in shock as Quentin flopped into the white goopiness that sat in the center of the road. Then, she saw Quentin flip over, flipping onto Alex so that his knee was on his opponent’s chest. Alex gripped Quentin’s wrist and twisted it, forcing Quentin to move to ensure his wrist wouldn’t get sprained. Alex kept twisting until Quentin had his back against the cold, sticky cottage cheese curds.
Katrina crossed her arms. How frikkin’ immature could these guys be? They were tall, broad, and muscular. They had good jobs, working hard jobs up in the mountain. Yet, there they were, fighting like schoolboys when they were grown-ass man…and boy, were they grown. Alex’s cleanshaven face showed off a jawline that looked like it belonged on a marble statue. Quentin’s more pointed chin and sharp cheeks had a smattering of wild stubble — very rakish. Had he just forgotten to shave that morning? Had he had a long night the night before? Or was he so feral that his fur was practically bursting through his skin, even though he’d shaved that morning?
Katrina swore that Quentin was getting bigger — and then, she realized his shirt was ripping, his face was getting hairier, and his ears were becoming fluffy.
No. There was no way she was about to let the fight escalate into an outright shifter fight. As entertaining as that would’ve been, it would’ve led to more fighting, and then, she’d never get back to the bakery, blocked in by the trucks and the curds!
“Hey!” shouted Katrina.
Neither of the guys looked at her. Alex, seeing Quentin shift, started to turn, his own shirt beginning to rip at the forearms.
“Hey!” screeched Katrina.
Alex and Quentin finally turned to face Katrina, who had a hand on her hip.
“I see you two shifting, and you need to calm the frik down before I make sure that Patricia bans both your crews from Bear Claw Bakery!” threatened Katrina.
It was a bluff. Katrina didn’t have that sort of power, but, she knew that Patricia would be okay with her doing whatever it took for her to get the dairy back to the bakery. After all, she wasn’t being paid to watch a bunch of bears brawl.
The truth was, while there were other bakeries for the lumber camps to buy their pastries from, both Grizzlyfir and Hemlock were large clients of the bakery, and the bears running those camps were friends with Patricia.
Would the bears call her bluff, or would they listen to her orders?
They did listen to her orders — although both Alex and Quentin, as the cook and chef of their camps, knew that Katrina was spouting bullshizz. They knew the intricacies behind the relationships with their crews and the bakery because they were the ones that wrote up their dang weekly order sheets!
The reason they stopped fighting was that Katrina looked frikkin’ sexy as heck with the morning breeze blowing through her hair, the sun lighting her just right, and an angry fire brewing behind her eyes that made her look like a dragon shifter.
There was no reason for the bears to waste their time on each other when there was a mate to claim. They both got up and started to walk over to her, but Alex shoved Quentin aside — and Quentin pulled Alex down with him, turning as if they were dancing, and dipping Alex without catching him. Alex landed in the cottage cheese, and Quentin picked up a blob of cottage cheese in his hand for good measure.
If she didn’t have a truck full of dairy she needed to get to the bakery, maybe Katrina would’ve found the scene erotic, like mud wrestling.
But, Katrina did have a truck full of dairy waiting to be driven away, and if it lay underneath the ever-rising sun, it might just curdle and turn into cottage cheese, full of curds and whey just like the blobby mess in the center of the road.
“Stop it!” shouted Katrina. “The both of you — just, just, stop it!”
At the sound of Katrina shouting, both bears paused, like mannequins. Quentin, who was standing above Alex, holding a fist of cottage cheese, let the cottage cheese drip down onto Alex’s face, and Alex didn’t move, letting his cheeks get covered in the sticky cheese.
“You two are wasting time,” said Katrina. “What’s going on with the tow truck?”
“The tow truck?” asked Quentin.
“Yeah,” said Alex, wiping cottage cheese off his face. “You did call a tow truck, didn’t you?”
“Your crew caused the accident!” insisted Quentin.
“Well maybe if you had called the tow truck the —“
“Wait,” said Katrina. “Nobody called a tow truck?”
“We didn’t cause the accident so we shouldn’t have to pay for it,” said Quentin, standing up and wiping curds of cottage cheese off his flannel shirt.
“It was Hemlock crew that —“ started Alex before Katrina, ears steaming like a mad red bull pawing at the ground, buttes in.
“You mean to tell me that I was sitting on my tuffet because there were frikkin’ curds in my way because the lot of you were busy blaming each other instead of calling for tow trucks?” shouted Katrina. “I am going to count to thirty. By the time I hit thirty people better be moving the heck out of my way so I can back up and get back to work. Is that clear?”
Within thirty seconds the car engines were starting. Within five minutes Katrina was back on the road, fuming about the events of the morning.
There was no way that drive could get any worse.
Well — except for the fact that a spider that had taken up residence in Katrina’s truck visor decided that it was an appropriate time to drop down right on her face and nearly cause her to skid off the road.
At least, it would’ve caused her to scream, if Miss Muffet wasn’t already fuming about having to sit in her tuffet all because some bears had left curds in her way. She was too mad at the werebears to freak out over a tiny little annoying spider.
Katrina smushed the spider with her hand without moving a facial muscle in response to the arachnid’s attack. There weren’t any napkins in the car. Katrina had to wipe her hand on her favorite pair of jeans given she was wearing a new nice white shirt. She narrowed her eyes.
Monday was ruined. The rest of the week was bound to be anything but a fairy tale.
About the Author
I’m Sable Sylvan. The only thing I love more than reading hot paranormal romances is writing down my fantasies and sharing them with readers like you.
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