Page 8 of Mated to the Mountain Bear (Bear Protector #1)

BEN

“ F ucking Beau,” I mutter, kicking a rock in my path and wincing as it crashes through the trees, startling the birds still in their nests.

Dawn is breaking over the hills, cold and clear, and I’m already outside, walking the perimeter like I do every morning. Except this morning, I can’t simply enjoy the peace and quiet. And I can’t shift to let my animal roam free like he’s itching to do.

Normally, I’m checking for tracks, anything that doesn’t belong on my land that’s dumb enough to ignore the markings my bear leaves on the trees all over the mountain. It’s routine, and usually uneventful, but with Zara here, it feels more important.

She has a stalker out there somewhere, and damned if I’m going to let him get to her on my watch. Having the tiny human tucked up in my bed is awakening every protective instinct my inner bear has.

Raising my hands to my nose, I breathe in her scent, ashamed to admit to myself that the reason I couldn’t bring myself to wash my hands yet is because I can’t bear to rid my skin of her smell.

I do not need this. I’m perfectly happy. His insistence that I take a job with his company, meet up with my brothers and leave my cabin, is getting old. Bears are solitary animals, and mine in particular, dislikes crowds and noise.

And the Lennox’s, when we all get together, all dominant grizzlies that like to be in charge, things can get rowdy and noisy.

Today though, my bear is calm. He enjoys having Zara here; guarding the door and keeping her safe gives him a purpose. Maybe that was Beau’s plan all along. Put an attractive woman in my home to remind me that not all people are bad.

But using a vulnerable woman to tempt me into socialising again seems like a step too far. Even for Beau. Deep down, I know that’s not what he’s doing.

And he’d never have dumped someone as scared as Zara with me if it weren’t his last resort.

My temper flares again when I recall the scent of her tears as she tried to stay strong despite the ordeal she’d been through. Her hands. Her torn feet. When Beau finds this guy, I’d like to spend some time with him before he gets handed over to the authorities.

The fear tainting her scent… those big green eyes… For the first time, my bear isn’t opposed to sharing his den, his food, or having some company. And it’s pissing me off.

I make a wide circle around the cabin, checking the treeline, the access road, and the shed. Closing my eyes to listen to the sounds of the forest, my bear is reassured. Everything’s quiet. The mountains stand silent in the early light, mist clinging to the valleys below.

She’s safe.

When I loop back toward the cabin, I spot her through the kitchen window and pause to watch.

She’s hovering near the coffeemaker while checking her phone, an exercise in futility, she must realise by now.

The weak sunlight catches her hair, turning it gold.

My flannel swallows her slight frame, the cuffs turned up, over and over, still come to her wrists.

When she steps back, snagging an apple out of the fruit bowl, I see her legs, long and tanned, and bare all the way up to where they disappear under my shirt.

And damn if it doesn’t look good on her.

My bear lets me feel his approval, loving the idea of her being covered in my scent while she leaves hers all over my things.

It’s temporary, I remind him as I force myself to stop staring, pretending I don’t feel just as territorial seeing her dressed in my clothes.

She must hear my boots on the porch because she turns to smile at me before coming to the doorway to meet me as I take off my boots. Arms wrapped around herself against the morning chill, she looks uncertain standing there.

“Morning.” Her voice is soft, hesitant, and she shivers as the cool breeze wraps itself around her exposed legs.

Just like last night, when I saw her sitting in Beau’s truck, wearing his stupid leather jacket, her green eyes captivate me. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Where normally I don’t speak out of choice, with Zara, it’s also because I’m tongue-tied.

Well, almost.

“Go back inside. It’s cold.”

Maybe it would be better if I were.

My tone comes out sharper than intended, and she blinks at the harsh delivery. But instead of retreating like most people would, she meets my gaze head-on.

“Is there Wi-Fi?”

I gesture at the vast wilderness surrounding us. There’s nothing but trees and mountains as far as the eye can see. “There’s no cell service. What makes you think I have Wi-Fi?”

Her shoulders drop. “No, I suppose not.” She glances at her useless phone again. “Are there any spots on the property I can walk to that might get a bar or two?”

I stare at her.

“No. That’s the whole point of being off-grid.”

Her face falls. I’m a jackass.

“Right. Of course.” Her fingers tighten on the phone. “I just thought maybe I could check if Beau’s heard anything. About the investigation, I mean.”

She doesn’t say whether she means the investigation into her stalker or her sister’s case. She probably means both.

I get it, even if I can’t fix it. Beau will come if he has news.

I glance down at the phone in her hands. “I thought Beau took your SIM out.”

She looks away, guiltily. Yeah, he did, but she was going to use it anyway and lead whoever’s following her straight to our door.

“He knows what he’s doing. You should really do as he says if you want to stay hidden.”

“Coffee’s on,” she mutters, moving back into the warmth of the cabin, taking her delicious scent with her.

Shit. Maybe that was too harsh.

The kitchen smells of fresh coffee and wood smoke from last night’s fire.

I pour two mugs while she hovers near the counter, still clutching that useless phone.

She takes the mug I hand to her gratefully, wrapping both hands around it for warmth.

I forget that without a shifter side, her body temperature runs colder than mine.

I make a note to have a fire going before she wakes up each morning.

“This is good. Really good.” A tiny smile crosses her face. “Much better than that awful stuff Amber always gets from the coffee shop on the university campus. She loves supporting local businesses, but their coffee tastes like burnt pretension.”

She catches herself using the present tense and falls silent, staring into her mug, struggling with how to talk about a sister who might be alive, might be dead, or might be anywhere, from the little information Beau could give me while he was here.

The silence stretches between us.

I drink my coffee. She drinks hers.

The old clock on the wall ticks steadily. Outside, a woodpecker starts its morning percussion on a distant tree. It should be awkward, but it’s not.

“I need to check the generator,” I say finally, setting my empty mug in the sink.

She looks up quickly. “Can I... I’d rather not be alone. If that’s okay.”

The vulnerability of her admission catches me off guard. Of course, she doesn’t want to be alone after what happened. My bear settles at the thought of keeping her close by.

“Fine. But don’t touch anything.”

I grab my toolbox from the mudroom, leaving a pair of wellies to one side for her to slip into, while she gulps the rest of her coffee.

She pulls on the boots which are way too big, but they’re all I have, and then follows me out the back door, wincing a little with her steps. The morning air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine and distant snow. She shivers, despite the extra flannel I gave her.

The path to the generator shed is well worn, winding through tall grass that’s still wet with dew. She follows carefully, still limping slightly to protect her injured feet.

I slow my pace without making it obvious, but the slight smile on her lips tells me she’s onto me.

“Watch the root there,” I warn, pointing to a gnarled pine root crossing the path.

She steps over it carefully. “Thanks.”

The generator shed sits behind the cabin, a small structure I built myself, years ago. Solid construction, like everything else up here. Has to be to survive the winters.

I yank open the door, disturbing cobwebs and releasing the scent of oil and metal. Crouching beside the machine, I set my toolbox within reach. The familiar routine of maintenance should calm me, but I’m hyperaware of her presence just outside the doorway.

“So this powers everything?” Her voice fills the small space. “That’s amazing. Living off-grid must be incredible. You’re completely self-sufficient up here.”

“Not exactly.” I grunt, pulling out the dipstick to check oil levels. “I have to go into town every now and again for supplies.” The fumes make my sensitive nose burn, but it’s part of the routine.

“My dad always wanted to do something like this. Get away from it all, you know? But my mom was more of a room-service kind of person. They compromised on a lake house with full electricity… and Wi-Fi.” She laughs softly. “Not quite the same thing.”

A lake house with all the amenities. A close family. Of course. She’s probably never been without creature comforts in her life. Her sister is a famous actress, for goodness’ sake. The reality of her situation—of being stuck up here in the wilds—must be hitting her hard.

“Can you hand me that wrench?” I point to the toolbox.

She steps carefully into the shed, mindful of the low doorway, and passes me the wrench.

Our fingers brush in the exchange, but I ignore the spark of awareness, and focus on examining connections that don’t really need checking.

“Is it broken? The generator, I mean. Obviously, the generator. Not the wrench.” She shifts her weight, leaning against the doorframe.

“Sorry, I know I’m talking a lot. I do that when I’m nervous.

Not that you’re making me nervous. You’ve been really generous, letting me stay and all.

But you’re quiet. And I’m not used to it.

Not that there’s anything wrong with being quiet. ” She pauses. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”