Page 1 of Her Beary Spicy Valentine (Welcome to Bear Mountain #2)
12 hours earlier
holly
“ H i, my name is Holly, and about five weeks ago, I found out I was the side character in one of those cheesy Christmas movies—no, you can’t say that,” I muttered to myself, cutting the engine of my rental car outside a quaint, snow-dusted building with a perfectly maintained RCMP sign gleaming in the fading light of the setting sun.
I stepped out into one heck of a biting wind. This wasn’t Vancouver or even the subzero winter temps of Minnesota, where I grew up. No, this mountain cold was sharp. Unforgiving. I shivered, instantly regretting my choice of scrubs and sneakers under my winter coat, but I trudged through the fresh snow toward the station’s glass door anyway.
I was here for a reason, and the sooner I got answers, the sooner I could find food and a bathroom.
The door emitted an unexpected high-pitched buzz as I stepped inside, making me jump—then glance around the one-room station self-consciously.
Okay, why did a place this tiny even have a bell? It wasn’t like they needed one to announce visitors. The reception desk was right there, and beyond it, the entire space was visible from where I stood—a single high counter near the entrance, a plain desk pushed against the far wall, and a holding cell tucked into the back corner.
The station did have one cool feature, though...
An animatronic Mountie!
Dressed in the ceremonial scarlet red jacket and high brown hat I’d only ever seen the Royal Canadian Mounted Police wear during parades or prime minister speeches, he was absurdly handsome—clean-shaven, with sharp cheekbones and piercing brown eyes. Large, sinewy hands, lying flat on the counter.
And what a skin job! If not for his rigid posture and utter stillness, I might’ve mistaken him for someone who lived and breathed—a sexy, square-jawed Mountie straight out of some clueless American's fan-fic.
I reached out to touch his face, wondering aloud, “But why would a small mountain town spend so much money on a hot Mountie animatronic?—”
“May I help you?”
“Holy stuffing!” I squeaked, yanking my hand back. “I didn’t think you were real!”
The Mountie just stared back at me. Coldly.
Prompting me to carefully ask, “Are you real?”
“May I help you?” he repeated, tone flat, as if confirming his humanity was classified information.
“Sure, I mean, hi.” I awkwardly tried to recover from that painful first impression. “My name’s Holly Winters. I’m an American working in Vancouver. And I’m looking for my sister, Noelle. She’s also an American, but she was coming to visit me from Minnesota—where we both grew up before I moved away for a stupid, stupid reason that I totally lived to regret—but you don’t need to know all of that..."
The Mountie stared at me so blankly that I had to ask one more time: "Seriously, are you the right person to be talking to about this? Should I wait for an..."
I scrambled for a less insulting phrase than actual human.
But the hot animatronic Mountie barked, “Continue!” before I could come up with anything.
“Okay, well, she lost her job, and she was supposed to come visit me in Vancouver in hopes of getting another one. But a few days before Christmas, she texted me saying she’d crashed her car in Bear Mountain, fell in love, and decided to stay here forever after knowing whoever this guy is for less than ten days. And when I pressed her for details, she texted back, ‘I’ve got to go radio silent for a while, but I'll give you a call in the spring to explain everything.’ Then nothing. She hasn’t returned any of my calls or texts since New Year’s Eve.”
I paused, waiting for him to jump in with a bunch of questions.
But he didn’t react. No polite nod. No flicker of surprise. He just stared back at me with a blank expression that made me wonder if his skin really was made of plastic. Really well-defined and impeccably sculpted plastic.
I pressed on. “So I cleared my schedule for the week and drove all the way up here from Vancouver to see if maybe you could help me locate her.”
“She’s already been located,” the possibly animatronic Mountie answered without blinking. “You said she texted you and explained her plans to stay here. Forever.”
“I mean, yeah, but…” I shook my head. “Surely you can see how crazy that sounds?”
Apparently, he could not. His expression remained a cold, completely unmoved blank. “She’s fine. Like she told you.”
I glanced to both sides. What kind of Get Out -meets-Hallmark movie was this?
“Thank you for that reassurance, but I’d like to see her with my own eyes. You know, just to confirm she’s not being held hostage in some weird Deliverance mountain cult or something.”
His lips twitched. Slightly. But then his face snapped back into its default setting of icy indifference with a side of I don’t have time for this .
“She’s fine,” he repeated, his voice devoid of any emotion. “She’s found love, and she’s… busy.”
“Busy?” My eyes narrowed. “Too busy to answer a single call or text from her sister? This is literally the longest we’ve ever gone without talking since the day she was born."
The Mountie blinked. Once. In a way that made me suspect some automatic bodily function timer had gone off. "So, you've decided to go against her wishes and disrupt her life because you miss your previous relationship dynamic?"
“Yes!” I blurted… then cringed when I heard how that sounded out loud. "I mean, no. Not exactly. I’m not here to ruin her love story or whatever this out-of-the-blue decision is supposed to be. I just…” My voice cracked under the weight of the worry I’d been carrying around for weeks. “I just need to know she’s okay.”
“She’s okay,” the Mountie replied, his tone clipped and mechanical. “You can return to Vancouver.”
“Seriously? That’s it? That’s all you’re going to tell me?” I never cried. Not even when my ex announced, two weeks after my last miscarriage, that he’d found someone else—someone who could, and I quote, “actually give me the children I deserve.”
But at that moment, tears of frustration welled in my eyes as I pleaded, “Can you please just act like a human and tell me where I can find my sister? Let me make sure she’s actually okay and not being held here against her will. Please .”
Desperate, I reached for one of the possibly plastic hands resting on the counter.
“Don’t touch me!” The Mountie recoiled–I mean, actually backed up several steps. Like I was a cobra about to strike.
“I’m sorry!” I pulled my hands back and held them up in the air. “That’s on me. I should never have tried to touch you without consent. I was just trying to get through to you. Make you hear me.”
“I hear you.” His jaw tightened, and he looked away. “Now, hear me. Your sister is fine.”
“Unbelievable! Do you seriously expect me to...” I started to ask. But then I trailed off, noticing a detail I hadn't before.
What appeared to be a very human sheen of sweat had broken out across the Mountie's forehead.
“Is something wrong?” I asked. I squinted at him. “What aren’t you telling me?”
He stiffened, his fingers flexing at his sides. “No. There’s nothing wrong. And I’ve already told you everything I know about this non-case.”
“Non-case? Really?" I glared at him. "Because not only are you being real flipping dismissive right now, you’re acting like the world’s most suspicious animatronic Mountie.”
He frowned back at me, his cold stare softening. Just a little. For a moment, I thought he might actually crack. But instead, he abruptly came around the high counter and grabbed me by the arm.
"What are you doing?" Apparently, he had absolutely no problem touching me without consent.
“The station is closed, and this conversation is over,” he told me, his tone final. “Go home.”
“But—”
Before I could finish, he shoved me through one of the station’s doors, and the cold mountain air hit me like a slap to the face.
Arghh! I spun back around. Forget trying to be nice. I was about ready to go Ugly American on this guy and get myself arrested for assaulting a member of law enforcement.
But before I could even get my fingers around the door handle, the unmistakable clunk of a lock closing sounded.
The Mountie scowled at me from the other side of the left door’s window. Then flipped a sign that said Closed in Canadian-red cursive.
I didn’t cry. And I no longer cursed—it wasn’t a great look on a midwife. But several choice words banged against my teeth as I watched the Mountie disappear out of sight.
He probably expected me to run back to Vancouver like a good little dismissed dog.
But forget that noise! As the sun dipped lower behind the peaks of the Great Claw Mountains, I turned to face the town beyond the detachment station. The streets were eerily empty, the buildings dark and shuttered, like the entire place was hibernating.
Save for one sign of life. In the distance, a neon sign buzzed faintly, casting a warm glow onto the snow-covered street.
Bear Mountain Bar & Grill.
I squared my shoulders against the biting wind and started walking. If the animatronic Mountie wasn’t going to help me, I’d find somebody who would.