Page 13 of Grumpy Bear (Return To Fate Mountain #4)

Despite her emotional confusion, Ivy found herself impressed by his skill.

The truck crawled over fallen branches and through mud that would have swallowed her SUV entirely.

Henry navigated by some inner map that required neither GPS nor clear visibility, occasionally making turns down narrow service roads that were barely distinguishable in the downpour.

Twenty minutes of careful navigation brought them to a small clearing where Henry’s cabin emerged from the mist and rain like an extension of the forest itself.

Built from local timber and stone, it blended so perfectly with its surroundings that Ivy might have missed it entirely without the single warm light glowing from a window.

Henry parked close to the covered porch and quickly came around to her side.

Together they dashed through the downpour and up the wooden steps.

Henry unlocked the door, hesitating almost imperceptibly before pushing it open.

Ivy recognized the significance—he was allowing her into his private domain.

The threshold felt symbolic as she stepped inside, bringing her into a space that perfectly embodied Henry himself.

Warm, understated, thoughtfully arranged, with not a single wasted element.

A small fire burned in a stone hearth, casting amber light across simple, mostly handcrafted furniture.

Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with well-worn volumes on wildlife, conservation, and local history.

Henry stood awkwardly just inside the door, watching her take in his living space with an expression that suggested he expected criticism. “It’s not much,” he said.

“It’s wonderful,” Ivy replied with genuine appreciation, turning in a slow circle. “Did you build it yourself?”

“Most of it. My uncle Cyrus helped with the stonework.”

Ivy moved to the bookshelves, her eyes scanning the spines. “First-edition Muir,” she noted, impressed. They stood in momentary silence, dripping onto the wooden floor.

“You should change,” Henry said suddenly, as if just noticing their soaked condition. “Bathroom’s through there. I’ll find something dry.”

He disappeared briefly into what must have been his bedroom, returning with a faded flannel shirt and soft sweatpants. “These will be too big, but they’re warm.”

Ivy accepted the clothes, their fingers brushing again with that same electric awareness. She retreated to the small bathroom, closing the door with a soft click.

Alone in the narrow space, Ivy peeled off her wet clothing, hanging each piece carefully over the shower rod.

The bathroom, like the rest of the cabin, was simple but well-appointed.

Natural soaps sat in a stone dish. A handwoven basket held neatly folded towels.

The mirror above the sink reflected her flushed face and wild, damp curls.

She pulled on Henry’s clothes, immediately enveloped in his scent.

The flannel shirt hung to her mid-thigh, the sleeves extending well past her hands until she rolled them back.

The sweatpants required tightening the drawstring to its limit and rolling the waistband to keep from tripping.

Despite the awkward fit, the clothing felt surprisingly intimate, as if she were wrapped in Henry’s embrace.

Her bear hummed with contentment at the sensation, recognizing its mate’s scent on her skin. Ivy inhaled deeply, allowing herself a moment of pure animal satisfaction before carefully compartmentalizing the reaction. She couldn’t afford to let her bear’s certainty override her human caution.

When she emerged, Henry had changed as well, into dry jeans and a dark green henley that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. He stood at a small stove in the kitchen area, stirring something that filled the cabin with a rich, savory aroma.

“Venison stew,” he explained without turning around. “Should warm you up.”

“It smells amazing,” Ivy said, self-consciously tugging at the oversized shirt.

Henry glanced back, his expression shifting when he saw her in his clothes. Something possessive and primal flashed in his eyes before disappearing behind his usual reserve.

“Have a seat,” he said, nodding toward a small table positioned to view both the fire and the front windows.

Ivy settled into a surprisingly comfortable wooden chair, watching as Henry moved around his small kitchen. For a man who gave the impression of being uncomfortable in most spaces, he showed remarkable ease in his own domain.

“You took a big risk coming to help me,” Ivy said as he placed a steaming bowl in front of her. “Thank you.”

Henry shrugged, taking the seat opposite. “These mountains get dangerous fast when storms hit. Couldn’t leave you out there.”

“Have you always been so protective of others, or just the forest?” Ivy asked, taking a spoonful of the rich stew.

The question seemed to catch him off guard. “Both, I guess,” he answered after a thoughtful pause. “Hard to separate them sometimes.”

They ate in silence for several minutes. The stew tasted of herbs Ivy recognized from the mountainside, expertly balanced with the venison’s richness. Outside, the storm continued to rage, making the cabin’s warmth feel all the more precious.

“Why forestry?” Ivy asked eventually. “Your family owns the largest ranch in the area. Most people would have stayed with the family business.”

Henry’s expression tightened momentarily, then relaxed as he considered the question. “Tried ranching. Didn’t fit.”

“What happened?”

He set down his spoon, looking into the fire rather than at her. “College, originally. Environmental science at Oregon State. Came back planning to implement sustainable grazing practices on Timber Bear. Dad and my brothers already had systems in place. Different approaches.”

“They didn’t welcome your ideas?”

“They listened. Implemented some. But the ranch runs on tradition as much as innovation.” Henry’s voice softened. “Found myself spending more time in the forests than the pastures. Ranger service made more sense eventually.”

“Your family didn’t mind?”

Henry’s mouth quirked in what might have been a suppressed smile. “Dad said I’d always been more bear than rancher anyway.”

This small glimpse into Henry’s past fascinated Ivy. The distant ranger was slowly revealing layers she hadn’t expected.

“What about you?” he asked, surprising her with the reciprocal question. “Following in Corey Bright’s famous footsteps always the plan?”

Ivy considered the question more seriously than she might have with anyone else. “Yes and no,” she answered. “I always loved science, but I considered other paths. Applied to medical school actually.”

“What changed?”

“Dad never pressured me toward the institute,” Ivy said, staring into her nearly empty bowl. “But the summer after my senior thesis, I helped with a genetics project that just... clicked.”

Henry nodded, understanding evident in his eyes. He gathered their empty bowls, moving to the sink to wash them with the same quiet efficiency he brought to everything. Ivy found herself watching his movements, appreciating the economy of his gestures, the careful attention he paid to each task.

“Fire’s better for drying out,” he suggested, gesturing toward the hearth.

They settled on a worn leather sofa positioned before the fireplace, maintaining a careful distance between them.

The storm continued to batter the cabin, making the fire’s warmth feel all the more precious.

Rain lashed against the windows, occasionally illuminated by lightning.

Thunder rumbled continuously, sometimes directly overhead.

“Your work at the corridor,” Ivy began, turning slightly to face Henry. “How did you develop such precise tracking skills? That trip wire was practically invisible.”

The question opened unexpected floodgates.

Henry spoke more in the next hour than he had in all their previous interactions combined.

He described learning to track with his uncle Cyrus, spending entire summers as a teenager following animal paths through the mountain’s most remote regions.

His expertise had expanded during college, where he’d studied wildlife migration patterns using both traditional knowledge and modern technology.

Ivy listened intently, asking questions that revealed her own scientific understanding. Their shared passion for Fate Mountain’s ecosystems created a bridge between them, easier to cross than the emotional terrain they both carefully avoided.

“The climate changes we’re seeing are shifting migration patterns,” Henry explained, his voice animated with concern. “Development pressures from the valley push wildlife higher, but warming temperatures make those higher elevations less hospitable for certain species.”

“That’s exactly why the nature center matters,” Ivy said earnestly. “People protect what they understand.”

“If it’s done right,” Henry conceded, meeting her eyes with unexpected warmth.

“Is that a vote of confidence from the mountain’s most skeptical ranger?” Ivy teased gently.

Something shifted in Henry’s expression. “I judged your project too quickly,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to his hands. “Assumed it was just another development threatening the mountain.”

“And now?”

“Now I know it’s more.”

The simple acknowledgment meant more to Ivy than elaborate praise might have from someone else. They had somehow drifted closer on the sofa, the careful distance between them narrowing without conscious decision.

“About what happened at the brewery,” Henry said abruptly, his voice roughening.

Ivy’s heart skipped. She’d been avoiding this topic all evening, uncertain if he would acknowledge it at all. “You don’t need to explain,” she said quickly.

“I do.” His jaw tightened with determination. “I shouldn’t have left like that.”

“Why did you?” Ivy asked, unable to keep the harshness from her voice.

Henry stared into the fire, silent for so long that Ivy thought he might not answer. When he finally spoke, each word seemed carefully chosen.

“The mate bond... it’s permanent,” he said. “One claiming bite, and there’s no going back. Ever.”

“I know the biology,” Ivy said.

“It’s not just biology.” Henry turned to look at her directly. “It’s a life sentence. For both of us.”

“Is the thought of being connected to me really so terrible?” Ivy asked, the question emerging before she could reconsider.

“No.” The word came out rough, almost pained. “That’s the problem.”

Confusion furrowed Ivy’s brow. “I don’t understand.”

Henry ran a hand through his still-damp hair, frustration evident in the gesture. “I’ve spent years building this life. Alone. Independent. It works.” He gestured around the cabin. “This works. But when I kissed you...”

“Everything changed,” Ivy finished for him.

He nodded, eyes meeting hers with startling intensity. “I felt my control slipping. My bear... wanted to claim you right there. No going back.”

A shiver ran through her. “I felt it too,” she admitted.

“It scared me,” Henry confessed, the admission clearly difficult. “Not the bond itself. But what it means. How much I’d have to change. How much I could lose if it went wrong.”

Ivy considered his words carefully. “I understand fear,” she said finally.

“Everyone sees the optimistic Dr. Bright, always smiling, always certain. But inside?” She tapped her chest. “I’m scared too.

Scared of failing the institute. Scared of letting down my family. Scared of trusting the wrong people.”

She took a deep breath. “And yes, scared of this bond between us. It’s overwhelming. But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

The fire crackled in the hearth, filling the silence between them. Outside, the storm seemed to be intensifying, wind howling around the cabin’s sturdy walls. The sound only emphasized the cocoon-like intimacy of their shared space.

“I’m not good at this,” Henry said.

“At what?”

“People. Relationships. Talking.” He gestured vaguely between them. “All of it.”

A small smile curved on Ivy’s lips. “I noticed.”

The simple acknowledgment, free of judgment, seemed to ease something in him. His shoulders relaxed slightly.

“I’ve made peace with being alone,” he said. “But then you showed up, and suddenly being alone feels...”

“Empty,” Ivy supplied when he trailed off.

Henry nodded, his expression conveying what words failed to express. They had drawn closer still, the distance between them now measured in inches rather than feet. The firelight played across his features, softening his habitual sternness.

Ivy reached out slowly, giving him time to pull away, and placed her hand lightly on his. The simple contact sent awareness coursing through her, her bear stirring with recognition and desire.

“I’m not asking for a claiming bite tonight,” she said. “But I don’t think we should keep fighting this connection either.”

Henry’s hand turned beneath hers, fingers intertwining. “What are you suggesting?”

“That we stop pretending we don’t feel this,” Ivy said, tightening her grip slightly. “That we explore it instead of running from it.”

A log shifted in the fireplace, sending sparks spiraling upward. Lightning flashed, followed immediately by deafening thunder that shook the cabin.

“I can’t promise I won’t still be...” Henry gestured at himself with his free hand.

“A grumpy bear?” Ivy suggested, smiling.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Something like that.”

“I don’t want you to change who you are,” Ivy said. “I just want a chance to know that person better.”

Henry’s free hand moved to her face, fingers gently brushing a stray curl behind her ear. The touch left tingling awareness in its wake. His eyes searched hers, seeking something he seemed to find.

“I’d like that,” he said finally.

One moment they were separated by inches, the next his mouth was on hers, warm and insistent. Henry’s hands found her waist, fingers tightening on the flannel shirt that carried his scent. A low growl vibrated from his chest, the sound sending shivers of anticipation through Ivy’s entire body.