Page 25 of Her Beary Spicy Valentine (Welcome to Bear Mountain #2)

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L ess than a week and two easily arranged (for Leif) emergency court dates later, I got married on Valentine’s Day to the loves of my life.

At Barrington Manor.

By yet another (and hopefully last) judge.

This one asked even fewer questions than the immigration and family court judges who had respectively approved my still-pending permanent resident application (so I could renew my midwife license) and suspended the enormous monthly alimony payments I’d been ordered to make for four more years.

In fact, Corey might have to pay me back. His claims were officially under investigation, with his male factor infertility admission now stamped across all related case files.

Thanks to Leif Bjorn (née Barrington), Corey could no longer hurt me—or squeeze another loonie out of me. (That’s what Canadians call their dollar coins, by the way.)

And thanks to Leif, an utterly unfazed judge oversaw our three-way vow exchange in the trophy room of Barrington Manor with just as much gravitas as if it had been a regular one-on-one ceremony.

I’m not sure what technically makes a place a manor instead of a mansion, but the trophy room was stunning—ornate crown molding, massive crystal chandeliers, and an arched window spilling golden light into a 1,500-square-foot space.

I could have done without the many animal heads staring down at us from the dark wood-paneled walls, though. Also, the three standing, fully taxidermied moose—one from each century of the family’s grocery empire, which dated back to the late 1800s. Their first store, still standing in Quebec, had narrowly lost the title of North America’s oldest grocery store to épicerie J.A. Moisan by just a couple of years.

At least there weren’t any bears. Leif told us he’d thrown a particularly bratty grown billionaire tantrum to have them removed after he was made.

But the heads of way too many dead caribou, elk, deer, and big-horned sheep bore witness to our nuptials alongside Leif’s parents.

Afterward, servants wheeled in a feast—larger and more sumptuous than the one Corey and I had put out for the 75 guests at our wedding reception in one of the University of Minnesota-Gemidgee’s event spaces. Even though we were only seven people if you counted the judge.

Then six when Leif’s father—who'd attended only on the condition that we all signed NDAs and the ceremony was explicitly not legally binding to Leif—left as soon as our vows were done.

We all worried Leif might be upset by his elderly father’s swift departure, but our third maul cheerfully assured us over our brand-new four-way bond that he’d gotten way used to the Barrington patriarch’s cold disapproval ever since he’d thrown away his corporate career to fulfill his secret childhood dream of joining the RCMP.

Leif’s six-foot-tall mother, on the other hand—his father’s decades-younger, vegetarian, animal-activist third wife—beamed with approval.

“Leif has his older half-brothers and sisters to carry on the Barrington legacy,” she said to me in perfect yet heavily accented English over a plate filled with raw vegetables and nothing else. “I am so glad my only child is following in my unconventional footsteps.”

She sighed wistfully. “I much preferred my many African lovers before I decided to marry Leif’s father for his money.”

Okay…

Leif rescued me from the conversation a few seconds later, sending me a huge mental, I am so, so sorry, as he steered me back to Koda and Hawk with a hand on my back.

I just laughed. "It’s okay. She made you.”

Meeting Leif's parents answered all my remaining doubts about whether he truly wanted to trade in his lux life in Vancouver for a cave den in Bear Mountain with Koda, Hawk, and me.

And, later that night, my maul made sure I forgot all about awkward conversations and judgmental stares when we spent our wedding night in Leif’s “childhood bedroom,” which was, in actuality, a suite larger than the house I’d lost in the divorce.

After days of lying in a mess of blankets and pillows on the floor, I more than appreciated his massive bed—big enough to fit all of us.

I also discovered a new appreciation for lube.

With the help of our new friend, Mr. Astroglide (bought with Leif’s shiny Barrington’s Black Card), Hawk pushed into my back entrance for the first time on our wedding night. He crooked a hand under one thigh, opening me wide so Koda could claim me from the front.

Then Hawk let my leg go, draping it over Koda’s hip as the two of them found their combined rhythm.

It was overwhelming—having them both inside me at once.

Not just physically.

The night before, I’d bitten both Koda and Leif in an informal ceremony on the eve of our wedding.

Now, I could feel all their carnal sensations along with the hum of their tender emotions: Hawk’s near-reverent gratitude for this second chance at happiness. Koda’s quiet resolve to make sure I never felt unwanted again.

Leif’s compersive joy as he watched and patiently waited his turn, like the very good boy he was—who also happened to be an heir to North America’s largest privately held grocery chain.

“You feel that? You feel us?” Koda whispered against my lips. “That’s home.”

The word hit me harder than I expected. Home.

I understood exactly what he meant.

Whether we were in Leif’s penthouse overlooking the harbor, here at Barrington Manor, or in a nest hastily built by a black bear on Bear Mountain, we were home . Because we’d found each other. And now, as a fully bonded maul, wherever we all were was home .

For so long, I’d thought love like this wasn’t meant for me. I’d thought I had to do everything on my own, that maybe I didn’t deserve a baby or spousal appreciation.

But now I had all of that.

Hawk would never have to worry about me being too scared to accept my good fortune with open arms again.

I wasn’t afraid anymore.

Because I knew this Beary Spicy Valentine would last forever.