Page 1 of The Bear’s Second Chance Mate (Bear Creek Forever: Thornberg Vineyard #5)

Stanley locked the door of Bear Creek Pets behind him, balancing a lightweight travel crate in one hand and his phone in the other as he made his way to his truck. After placing the crate on the back seat, he reread the text he’d received from his brother, Finn, ten minutes ago.

Of course , was his reply. As the local pet store owner, Stanley was often called on to help with escaped pets or re-home strays. Not that he minded. He loved helping pets and their human friends. Most days, he believed he had the best job in the world.

Yeah, most days , his bear chuckled.

Are you ever going to stop reminding me of the time I fell into the duck pond after saving Miss Kirby’s cat? Stanley asked.

Nope , his bear teased, as he settled down for a nap while Stanley jumped into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

Maple View Lane wasn’t far, ten, maybe fifteen minutes across town.

But the closer he got, the stranger he began to feel.

His skin prickled beneath his flannel shirt.

His breath grew shallower, but not in an anxious way.

It was as if…as if his body was tuning into something just beyond his understanding.

Or someone , his bear stirred. Wide awake now. Alert. Focused. She’s here.

Stanley’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. What do you mean, she’s here? he asked.

Although deep down, he knew exactly what his bear meant. He just could not allow himself to believe it was true. Because if this were a false alarm, he didn’t think he could cope with the disappointment.

It’s not a false alarm , his bear assured him.

So, do you think this might be one of Finn’s matchmaking mix-ups? Stanley asked.

We’ll soon see , his bear answered excitedly.

Stanley turned onto Maple View Lane, spotting number twelve halfway down the quiet cul-de-sac. It was a little white house with blue shutters and a wild, slightly overgrown garden.

Is this the right number? Stanley murmured, cutting the engine. Or did he somehow get it exactly right this time?

Does it matter? his bear rumbled in satisfaction.

You’re right, Stanley agreed. The only thing that matters is that this is fate.

Stanley parked the truck and took a moment to compose himself.

He did not want to repeat his brother Nero’s first meeting with his mate, when he’d fallen at her feet holding out an engagement ring.

Not that he had an engagement ring in his pocket.

But he was capable of falling at his mate’s feet and making a fool of himself.

Not the first impression he wanted to give his mate.

No, he needed to play it cool, since he had no idea what or who to expect at house number twelve.

Only one way to find out, his bear urged.

True. He stepped out of the truck, his heart hammering against his rib cage as he retrieved the crate from the back seat.

He could feel it more keenly now, the unmistakable pull of the mating bond.

As if some invisible force were drawing him forward, compelling him to close the distance between him and his mate.

But as he walked toward the house, he heard a raised voice. A child in distress.

His first primal instinct was to rush through the gate into the backyard. But then a second voice reached him. A woman. Her tone was softer, gentler, as she tried to comfort the child.

Drawn by a force greater than anything he had ever known, he made his way down the side path and opened the low gate at the back. The latch clicked in his hand, and with the crate still in his grip, he stepped into the garden.

And there she was.

A woman… His woman.

Our mate , his bear swooned.

Their mate stood in front of him, her arms crossed as she positioned herself between Stanley and a young boy of about nine or ten.

The expression she wore wasn’t overtly hostile, but it wasn’t welcoming, either.

She’s like a momma bear protecting her young cub , his bear said, clearly impressed.

And who wouldn’t be? She was clearly fiercely protective of the boy.

Stanley stopped in his tracks and opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before he blurted out, “I came to collect the stray rabbit.” He lifted the crate to reinforce his story.

Her eyes narrowed. “There’s no rabbit here.”

“Oh, this was the address I was given,” Stanley said as he glanced around the garden.

“Is the rabbit hurt?” the boy asked, angling his body to look around the woman.

Stanley’s entire posture shifted. He dropped his shoulders and lowered the tone of his voice to the one he used to soothe animals.

“That’s what I’m hoping to find out. I run the pet store in town.

Someone said a rabbit was loose in the back garden here.

I just want to make sure it’s safe and get it back to its owner. ”

The boy tilted his head slightly, considering that. “What color is he?”

“It doesn’t matter what color he is,” the woman said. “He’s not here.”

Before he could answer, Stanley’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and read the screen.

Oops. Meant number 21. Sorry!

Finn , his bear chuckled.

Of course.

He looked back up at the woman and offered a sheepish smile. “Looks like I got the wrong house. My brother texted me the address. He’s, uh…got quite the reputation for mix-ups.”

Matchmaking mix-ups , his bear added.

Mate matchmaking mix-ups , Stanley corrected, forcing himself to keep a straight face when all he wanted to do was grin like a lovesick fool.

His mate’s expression thawed slightly as Stanley held out his phone so she could read the message.

This is not the wrong house. Finn got it just right , his bear said with a smug growl.

His bear was totally right. Still, he couldn’t exactly announce, Hey, by the way, you are my mate, to a clearly on-edge woman and her cautious kid.

Instead, he offered a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry for the bother. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

She gave a small nod, still evaluating him. “It’s fine,” she said eventually. “Mix-ups happen.”

Especially to a certain brother of ours , his bear said, his excitement at meeting their mate barely contained.

Stanley lingered, the crate still in hand, his feet unwilling to move. How could he just walk away when everything in him screamed, stay ? This wasn’t just a stranger’s garden, it was the place he was supposed to be. With the woman he was supposed to meet.

His mate. His future.

“Don’t let me keep you,” his mate said at last, her voice polite but dismissive.

But before Stanley could respond, the boy stepped forward. “I could help catch the rabbit,” he offered. “It might be scared. And that might make him hard to catch.”

“It might be,” Stanley agreed, surprised and oddly touched by the offer.

But this was not his decision to make. His mate was obviously wary of the strange man who had suddenly appeared in her garden, and Stanley did not plan to make things worse by being pushy. He could sense the tension in her, and one wrong move could have lasting consequences for their relationship.

He’d have to be patient, let her learn to trust him. But at this moment, patience did not come easily.

“I’m sure Stanley can manage,” she said a little too quickly.

“But rabbits are fast,” the boy countered. “And what if it hides under a bush?”

The pitch of his voice rose slightly, his words tumbling faster now. Stanley sensed it. A tension building beneath the surface, like a balloon stretched too tight. Another wrong word and his mood could tip into tears or shouting. And he really didn’t want to be the cause of that.

Stanley raised his hands slightly and took a half-step back. “It’s okay,” he said gently. “I can manage. Really.”

“Mom,” the boy said, voice strained.

Her eyes flicked to her son, and in that second, Stanley knew she saw the signs, too. The slight twitch in his hands, the wobble in his bottom lip. Whatever this was, it wasn’t just a kid being stubborn. This mattered to him.

She exhaled slowly, then gave a reluctant nod. “I guess…we could help out. Just to catch the rabbit.”

Stanley’s face lit up. “Great!” he said, too loudly, too brightly.

“Great!” the boy echoed, matching his tone with wide-eyed enthusiasm.

“Maybe we should introduce ourselves. Stanley.” He held out his hand, wanting to experience that first touch.

But it was the boy who stepped forward and shook his hand. “I’m Oli. And this is my mom, June.”

“Good to meet you, Oli.” Stanley shook the boy’s hand, his expression solemn. “And good to meet you, June.”

At last , his bear sighed happily.

“Shall we?” Stanley held up the crate as he let go of Oli’s hand and headed back out of the gate.

Oli followed close behind, while June hesitated, as if she were still not sure this was a good idea.

But it’s the best idea , Stanley’s bear declared.

He was certain June did not echo that sentiment, but with a resigned sigh, she followed after them.

Together, the three of them crossed the quiet cul-de-sac. The garden at number 21 was wilder than June’s, with tangled flowerbeds and a lopsided wooden arch marking the entrance to the back gate. A faded sign near the door read: “Beware—Retired History Teacher. Dates are not debatable.”

Stanley knocked gently, but before he could call out, the gate creaked open from the other side.

“About time,” came a familiar voice. “Thought I’d end up catching it myself.”

Mrs. Abernathy stood in the gap, one hand on the gate and the other holding a gardening trowel. Her sunhat was slightly askew, and a large pair of reading glasses sat halfway down her nose. She squinted at Stanley, then at the others.

“I texted Finn,” she said. “He said you’d be by. But that was nearly an hour ago!”

“Sorry for the delay. I had to shut up the store, and then Finn sent me to the wrong house,” Stanley replied. “Twelve instead of twenty-one.”

Mrs. Abernathy sniffed. “Figures. That boy mixed up the Tudors and Stuarts three years in a row. Smart as a whip, but only when it suits him.”

Stanley smiled. Oh yeah, he remembered Mrs. Abernathy from school. “Is the rabbit still here?”

“Oh, it’s here,” she said, stepping aside and waving them in. “Nibbled through my petunias before settling in under the rhododendrons. I’d have caught it myself, but these knees aren’t what they used to be.”

“I’m happy to take it from here,” Stanley offered, holding up the crate. “And I brought backup.”

“Backup?” Mrs. Abernathy echoed.

Oli stepped forward, his expression solemn. “I want to help.”

“Well.” Mrs. Abernathy looked Oli up and down. “That’s the spirit. This way!”

She led them around to the back garden and pointed toward a large rhododendron bush.

“There he is,” Stanley murmured, spotting a blur of white just beneath the leaves.

He crouched low, and Oli dropped beside him, matching his posture with care.

“Think you can coax him out?” Stanley asked.

Oli nodded gravely. “I saw a video once about rabbits. You have to pretend you’re not interested.”

Stanley grinned. “Perfect technique.”

Oli extended a slow hand, palm open. The rabbit twitched its nose, inching forward with curious caution.

Behind them, June hovered close, her arms no longer crossed. She was watching them both with interest.

Just as the rabbit took another hop forward, Mrs. Abernathy called out, “Need a hand?”

Stanley glanced back. “We’ve got it. Just about.”

“You’ve got expert help,” Mrs. Abernathy said. “And a steady hand. You Thornberg boys always had patience and an affinity with living things.”

Now, that’s a compliment, Stanley’s bear said.

With Oli’s unwavering patience and Stanley’s calm voice, the rabbit crept fully into view. A moment later, with gentle precision, Stanley scooped it up and eased it into the crate.

Click.

“Well done,” he said, offering Oli a fist bump. The boy blinked, then returned it with a shy grin.

June stepped forward and placed a hand on Oli’s shoulder. “Thanks for letting Oli help.”

“June, isn’t it?” Mrs. Abernathy asked, turning her attention to Stanley’s mate.

She nodded. “June Draper. And this is my son, Oli. We’ve just moved in with my aunt.”

“So I heard. Welcome to Bear Creek.” The old woman gave them both an approving look. “I know your Aunt Barb. She’s murder at bingo night. Stole a whole meat hamper out from under me last winter.”

“Did she?” June asked, her tone lighter now.

Stanley smiled as he noted the lack of tension in her shoulders and the way her lips curved into a smile. Lips he would so love to kiss.

Mrs. Abernathy leaned slightly closer to Stanley, lowering her voice just enough for only him to hear. “Wrong address, huh?”

He met her gaze. It was sharp, knowing, and a little amused.

“I guess you could call it fate,” he replied.

“I believe you could,” Mrs. Abernathy said.