Page 12 of Grumpy Bear (Return To Fate Mountain #4)
Chapter
Eleven
Three days after the brewery gathering, Ivy still hadn’t heard from Henry.
When he’d left her after their kiss, she’d tried to compartmentalize their relationship.
If he was going to run out on her like that, she didn’t have room for him in her life right now, especially with her busy schedule.
He’d given her extremely mixed signals, and she couldn’t handle the emotional whiplash.
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as Ivy stared at the budget spreadsheet on her laptop.
Numbers blurred together after four hours of reconciling construction costs with grant allocations.
Outside the construction trailer, darkness had fallen across Fate Mountain, much earlier than usual due to the heavy clouds gathering on the horizon.
Ivy rubbed her eyes, willing her focus to return. Her thoughts kept swinging back to Henry and that kiss at the brewery. The memory sent warmth spreading through her body despite her attempts to analyze it clinically.
“It was just biology,” she muttered, typing more aggressively than necessary. “Fated mates exhibit strong hormone responses upon physical contact. Documented physiological reaction.”
But the scientist in her knew that explanation fell woefully short. Science couldn’t account for how his scent had wrapped around her like a physical embrace, how his reluctant smile had cracked something open inside her chest. Or why his sudden departure had left her feeling hollow.
Her bear stirred beneath her skin, disagreeing vehemently with her attempts at detachment. The animal side recognized what the human side feared to acknowledge—that Henry Kincaid’s abandonment after their kiss had hurt far more than she wanted to admit.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the construction site through the trailer windows.
Thunder followed almost immediately, a deep rolling sound that she felt through the metal floor beneath her feet.
Ivy glanced up from her laptop, noticing for the first time how dark the sky had become.
The approaching storm had transformed early evening into twilight.
Her phone buzzed with an emergency alert: “SEVERE THUNDERSTORM WARNING: Fate Mountain area. High winds, dangerous lightning, and flash flooding expected. Seek shelter immediately.”
“Perfect timing,” she muttered, saving her work.
The lights flickered once, twice, then plunged the trailer into darkness as thunder crashed directly overhead, so loud it seemed to shake the small structure.
Ivy fumbled for her phone, activating the flashlight function.
Rain began hammering against the roof with sudden violence, the sound overwhelming in the confined space.
“Okay, Ivy, time to go,” she told herself, gathering papers and shoving them into her waterproof messenger bag.
Alone in the dark trailer, with only her phone light casting strange shadows, Ivy allowed her perpetual optimism to slip momentarily.
Exhaustion pressed against her shoulders.
The weight of the nature center project—with its mounting problems, suspicious accidents, and looming deadlines—suddenly felt crushing.
Henry’s rejection after their kiss had just added another layer of pressure she really didn’t need right now.
Lightning flashed again, revealing her reflection in the darkened computer screen. The woman staring back looked tired, uncertain—so different from the endlessly positive Dr. Bright that everyone relied upon.
“Pull it together,” she whispered to herself. “Just get home, take a hot shower, and everything will look better tomorrow.”
Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Ivy grabbed her rain jacket and took a deep breath before pushing open the trailer door.
The storm’s fury hit her full force. Wind-driven rain immediately soaked her pants and splattered her face despite the jacket’s hood.
She sprinted toward her yellow SUV, nearly slipping twice on the suddenly muddy ground.
By the time she reached the vehicle and fumbled her key into the lock, she was already half-drenched.
Ivy cranked the heater as she started the engine, her teeth chattering from the sudden drenching.
The parking area had transformed into a network of puddles reflecting her headlights.
Visibility extended barely past her hood as rain pounded against the windshield faster than the wipers could clear it.
“Slow and steady,” she reminded herself, carefully navigating around equipment and material piles. The main access road appeared through her windshield, a dark ribbon cutting through the forest.
She had driven less than a quarter mile when her headlights illuminated a massive pine tree sprawled across the entire road. The ancient evergreen had apparently been hit by lightning, the trunk black from the strike. There was no way around it—not in her SUV, and certainly not in this weather.
“No, no, no,” Ivy groaned, gripping the steering wheel.
For a moment, panic bubbled up in her chest. She was effectively trapped. The construction site had emptied hours ago, with workers rushing home ahead of the forecasted storm. The trailer was cold and dark. The main road was blocked.
Ivy took three deep, measured breaths, forcing herself to think logically.
She could either return to the trailer and spend an uncomfortable night without power or heat, or she could try the old logging path that wound around the northern edge of the property.
It wasn’t maintained, but it eventually connected to a forest service road.
“Option two it is,” she decided, carefully turning the SUV around.
The logging path quickly proved more challenging than expected.
What had once been a road had degraded into little more than a muddy track, with vegetation reclaiming its edges.
Her SUV lurched through a particularly deep puddle, then the wheels began spinning without traction.
The vehicle slowed, then stopped, caught in thick mud that had transformed into a grasping quagmire beneath the deluge.
Ivy pressed the accelerator carefully, then with more force, but succeeded only in digging the wheels deeper. She let her forehead rest against the steering wheel for a moment of pure frustration.
“Perfect,” she muttered.
She could shift into her bear form and walk through the storm, but that would mean abandoning her vehicle and leaving her laptop, research materials, and phone behind. While she’d be warm enough in bear form, emerging in town without clothes held little appeal.
The obvious solution sat in her contacts list. Henry’s cabin was somewhere in these woods, not far from the construction site. He would know how to reach her through the back roads, and his vehicle was better equipped for these conditions.
Ivy hesitated, finger hovering over his name. Since the brewery kiss, communication between them had been nonexistent. He hadn’t reached out, and pride had kept her from making first contact. But pride wouldn’t keep her warm or get her out of this mud pit.
She typed quickly before she could reconsider: “Stuck at nature center. Storm knocked out power, tree blocking main road, SUV mired on logging path. Any chance you can help?”
The message sent, and Ivy sat in the dark SUV, listening to rain pounding on the roof and thunder rolling across the mountain. She tried not to watch the screen for his response but failed completely.
Three minutes passed. Five. Ivy began composing mental backup plans involving shifter forms and emergency forest shelters.
Her phone lit up: “Stay put. Coming.”
Two words that shouldn’t have filled her with such relief. Ivy exhaled slowly, tension ebbing from her shoulders. She gathered essential items into her bag, preparing to abandon the SUV when Henry arrived.
Nearly twenty minutes later, headlights cut through the darkness. A mud-splattered truck approached from the narrow forest service road she’d attempted to take. The truck stopped alongside her SUV, its high clearance easily handling the conditions that had defeated her vehicle.
Henry emerged from the driver’s side, immediately drenched as he made his way to her door. Ivy climbed out, messenger bag clutched to her chest.
Their eyes met briefly in the truck’s headlights. The memory of their kiss hung in the rain-soaked air between them, undiscussed but undeniably present. His expression remained unreadable, but concern showed in the tight line of his jaw.
“You shouldn’t have been out in this,” he said gruffly.
“I was working late,” Ivy explained, raising her voice over the storm. “Lost track of time.”
Henry nodded, gesturing toward his truck. “Exit road’s completely blocked. You can stay at my cabin until morning.”
The practical offer contained no hint of emotional undertone, but Ivy’s bear responded with eager recognition nonetheless. She hurried to the passenger side, climbing into the warmth of the cab. Henry joined her, water streaming from his jacket.
“Thank you for coming,” Ivy said as he put the truck in gear. “I didn’t know if you would.”
Henry’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Wouldn’t leave anyone stranded in this weather.”
The impersonal response stung more than it should have.
He’d helped her out of obligation, not because of their connection.
Ivy turned to look out the window, hiding her expression as Henry maneuvered the truck with surprising agility through unmarked logging roads and forest service access paths she hadn’t even noticed.
“How do you know where you’re going?” she asked after several minutes of tense silence.
“Driven these maintenance roads in worse conditions,” he replied. “Most rangers stick to the main routes. I find that limiting.”