“I grew up in Maine, and Maine has the largest black bear population in the continental US,” she countered.
Everything was a damn fight with this woman.
“Just because you grew up somewhere doesn’t mean you’re an expert on its wildlife,” he shot back.
“I am on this, tin man,” she said sternly. “They most likely just emerged from their den. They’ve got to be hungry, and their mother can’t be far.”
As if on cue, the primal grunts of one agitated—and probably ravenous—mother bear cut through the gentle snorts of the cubs.
Holy hell! In all his time in the mountains, he’d seen moose and elk and plenty of deer and mountain goats. Never had he encountered a bear. Scratch that. Bears.
He glanced over his shoulder. The cabin was only twenty or thirty yards away. He pointed up the steep incline. “We’re going to leave the sled and work our way up to the cabin.”
She nodded and twisted around to get off the snowmobile when her pack fell off onto the other side closest to the bears. Elle turned to try and grab it, but he pulled her back.
“Leave it!”
Her eyes went wide. “No, it’s got—”
He took her hand. “I’m not having a bear attack on one of my properties. Leave the backpack.”
The mother and one of the cubs headed away from them, back into the National Forest open space, but the other curious baby padded through the snow and headed straight toward them.
“Come on! We’ll be able to watch them from inside the cabin,” he said, guiding her away from the snowmobile and up the slope.
Elle nodded but kept looking back and forth between him and her pack.
He squeezed her hand. “It’s just a bag. Even if your wallet and phone are in there, there’s a good chance the bears won’t even notice it.”
“It’s just—”
He lowered his voice. “This is no joke, Eleanor.”
“I know. I know,” she whispered, tightening her grip on his hand.
He led her through the snow-covered evergreens toward the cabin. It was slow-going. The drifts hit him mid-calf, and each step through the heavy spring snow was more draining than the last.
He turned to Elle. “Can you make it?”
The drifts went to her kneecaps. She nodded, but her red cheeks and heavy breathing told him it was far more taxing on her than it was on him.
“Get on my back, Eleanor.”
“I’m fine,” she huffed, trudging along.
“That cub is almost to the snowmobile. If its mother comes back for it, she’ll be much faster. We need to move.”
She shrugged. “All right. Bend over.”
He leaned forward, and Elle climbed onto his back.
“Oh shit!” she whisper-shouted.
“What is it?”
“The cub found my pack.”
Jasper looked over his shoulder. “What the hell is in your bag that’s so important?”
“Don’t get mad,” she whispered into his ear.
Had she said anything else, the warmth of her breath against his skin might have overtaken him. But that statement—don’t get mad—usually prompted that exact reaction.
“Eleanor! Do you have a gun or something dangerous in there?”
“No! Of course not!”
“Then, what?”
She cleared her throat. “A jar of honey.”
He set her down on the cabin’s porch. “Honey? Why the hell would you carry around a jar of honey—especially going out into the wilderness?”
“I forgot it was there. I got it today.”
He checked the forest for the mother bear. “As long as it’s in a sealed container, it should be fine.”
“I don’t know how well it’s sealed. I got it from an amateur beekeeper this morning.”
What kind of life did this woman lead? Amateur beekeeping in the morning. Car repossession just before lunch. And speaking of lunch, he was starving.
The sound of glass shattering echoed through the forest, making him forget his hunger. He whipped around. “What was that?”
Elle grasped his arm. “The cub got my backpack and hit it against the snowmobile.”
“What else is in there?”
“Nothing important. My notebook. Some pens. A toiletry case. I left my wallet back at the cottage along with my phone since it was dead.”
She glanced up at him. But instead of looking frightened or fearful, she smiled. Wonder and awe sparkled in her eyes, and she leaned into him.
“Look at her. She’s amazing,” Elle said, gesturing to the cub perched on the snowmobile currently licking honey off her pack.
The snow fell harder, but he could still make out the little bear. “It could be a he.”
“The cub?”
“Yeah.”
Elle glanced up at him and smirked. “Too smart. It’s a she.”
He held her gaze. Fearlessness and her zest for life flashed in her lapis blue eyes. He could almost understand why the world was so enamored with this woman until the piercing cries of an angry mother bear cut through the air. With the other cub in tow, she traversed down the mountain, joining her baby perched on the snowmobile.
He nudged her toward the door. “We need to get inside. It’s not safe.”
She squeezed his arm but didn’t budge. “We’re fine! I don’t think I can compete with something as sweet as honey, and I know you certainly can’t. They’re not interested in us. And look at those adorable cubs. I bet they’re twin female bear cubs—just like my mom and Abby’s mom are twins. That’s why they’re so smart—all females,” she added with a smirk.
He glanced at the bears. They were close enough for them to hear their labored breaths.
“This is no joke, Eleanor.”
“Jasper, it’s okay. We’re far enough away.”
He unzipped the pocket of his ski coat and retrieved the key to the cabin. “Stop being so irresponsible and reckless.”
She let go of his arm. “Maybe you should start enjoying life and learn to appreciate a perfect moment.”
He unlocked the door and held it open. “Death by bear mauling doesn’t sound like a perfect moment to me—or any other reasonable person. Come on. We need to get inside.”
She glanced down at the bears one last time, sighed, then entered the darkened cabin.
She could hate him all she liked. For all intents and purposes, she was a Bergen employee. That made her his responsibility. Ski resorts were already considered a high hazard business by the government agency that regulated occupational safety, and Bergen Mountain Resort had a topnotch rating. He wasn’t going to blow that on a perfect moment.
He flipped on the lights, illuminating a quaint space with rustic furnishings.
“It’s pretty bare bones in here.”
Elle nodded and walked the perimeter of the cabin. At only five hundred square feet, it was a tight space. In line with their rebranding effort to show Bergen Enterprises’ commitment to the environment, they’d worked with a local architect who’d designed the cabins using sustainable materials. This was the smallest unit, built for two guests and most likely where they were going to stay tonight.
He glanced out the window. Between the spring snowstorm and the bear situation, they weren’t going anywhere. He took his phone out of his pocket and shot a text to his brother.
Weather turned fast. Elle and I are going to stay at the cabin and head back in the morning.
True enough. Even without the bear mess, backcountry snowmobiling in whiteout conditions was a bad idea. And even if the snow let up in a few hours, there was no way they could make it back in the dark.
He was just about to pocket his phone when Bren responded.
Are you guys going to be okay? Want us to send ski patrol?
Jasper thought of Antonio, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. Fuck no, he didn’t want patrol.
Don’t waste the resources. We’ll be fine.
The incoming text dots from Brenne
n rippled on his screen.
Man Feast fine? Bren wrote, adding a zucchini emoji.
Jasper stared at his brother’s ridiculous reply. Man feast! Jesus, Bren!
He found the middle finger emoji and pressed send. Juvenile, but the quickest way to get his point across.
“Is there anything to eat? I’m starving.”
He looked up to see Elle opening and closing the drawers in the cabin’s kitchenette.
“I’m not sure. Maybe there are some leftovers. We’ve allowed the resort staff to stay up here to try things out. Kind of like a test run,” he said, grabbing a few pieces of wood and starting a fire.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m making a fire. The power feed to the cabins is still a little spotty, and we’ll need it to keep warm if the electricity goes out.”
She cocked her head to the side. “How long do you think we’re going to be here?”
He set another log in the hearth. “Between the weather and the honey buffet going on next to the sled, we’ll need to sleep here tonight.”
Her jaw dropped. “We’re going to spend the night here, together?”
He hated that the idea of spending the night with Elle brought his cock to life. He shifted and focused on the fire. “I’ll take the couch. You can have the bed in the loft.”
Elle glanced at the ladder that led to the loft’s landing. “We should call Abby and Brennen and let them know.”
“I just texted with Bren. They know.”
She crossed her arms. “You didn’t think to ask me?”
“Under the circumstances, there was no choice. I made a decision.”
She threw up her hands. “There’s always a choice, and you should have at least asked. What did you think I’d say? Let’s head out in zero visibility and hopefully not get eaten by a bear?”
He shrugged. “That’s almost exactly what I thought you’d say.”
She crossed her arms. “You think you’ve always got all the answers, don’t you?”
He shrugged again. “I usually do.”
She groaned and ran her hands through her hair. “There better be some liquor in here,” she said as the lights went out almost as if on cue.
Lit by the fire, he watched her search the cabin.
“The staff isn’t supposed to consume alcohol here. I’ve forbidden it.”
She pulled a bottle out from behind an end table. “Well, thank the tequila gods, not everyone follows your explicit commands.”
He shook his head. He’d check the log when they got back to the resort. Somebody was getting fired.
“And don’t even think about firing whoever left it here. It was an act of kindness by the universe,” she added.
Damn, it was like she was in his head.
He stood. “An act of kindness for who?”
“For me,” she shot back, twisting off the cap and taking a swig. She held out the bottle. “Can you handle tequila, Mr. Fancy Pants CEO?”
“Can I handle tequila?” he grumbled then brought the bottle to his lips and gulped down the harsh liquid. “Jesus! What kind of tequila is this?”
“The cheap kind,” she said with a thread of amusement.
He passed the bottle back, and she took it, the tips of her fingers sliding over his. The breath caught in his throat as the firelight warmed her features, and her tequila moist lips glistened.
Damn this woman for being so infuriatingly alluring.
She took another sip. “You go forage for something to eat. I’ll keep looking for contraband.”
He nodded and opened the doors on a small buffet table. “Let me know if you find anything top shelf,” he called over his shoulder. “We’re going to have one hell of a headache in the morning if that’s all we’ve got to drink.”
He continued his search when he came upon the motherload. He pulled out the items. “Elle, we’ve got bottled water, Oreos, tortilla chips, and—”
“Salsa!” she called as a tinny, buzzing sound caught his attention.
“I found a battery-powered radio!” she said and popped an Oreo into her mouth.
He stared at her as she added a chip in with the cookie, closed her eyes, and hummed her satisfaction.
He picked up an Oreo and stared at it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten junk food.
“Eat it!” she said, going for another cookie then washing it down with tequila.
He popped the chocolate treat into his mouth and hummed his own pleasure. “I forgot how good these tasted.”
“Now, put an Oreo and a tortilla chip into your mouth at the same time,” she instructed.
He grimaced. “That’s disgusting.”
“Suit yourself! I’ll enjoy this salty-sweet feast all on my own,” she said, delicately placing a chip on the cookie then attacking the strange food combination with the intensity of a pack of wild dogs.
He held her gaze then picked up an Oreo. He was not one to back down from a challenge.
Carefully, he set a small piece of tortilla chip on top of the cookie and stared at the concoction.
“There you go!” she said through a mouthful of food.
He took a bite. “Jesus, that’s good!”
There had to be a rational explanation for why this tasted so fucking amazing. It had been twelve hours since he’d last had anything to eat. Cardboard would have tasted equally delicious. But then he looked at Elle, and he knew he was kidding himself. He chuckled and shook his head, staring at the cookie crumbs dotting her mouth.
He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. “You eat like a toddler.”
She watched him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Take off your coat and snow pants.”
He was not expecting that.
“Why?”
Good God! Why was he even asking? He had track pants on beneath his snow pants. It wasn’t like she was asking him to get naked.
“Just do it,” she said, shimmying out of her snow gear.
She turned up the volume on the radio as a catchy little Latin beat filled the cabin. “If we’re stuck here, we might as well do some salsa dancing.”
He took a long pull off the tequila bottle. “You’re kidding.” He’d never salsa danced a day in his life.
Still facing him, she walked backward. No, not walked. Wearing only skintight black long underwear, she swiveled her hips to the beat and swayed in the center of the cabin.
“This song is called ‘Brujería.’ I learned to salsa to it on a trip to Miami,” she said, doing a little turn that got his cock’s full attention.
He stripped off his coat and removed his snow pants. “What does brujería mean?”
She extended her hand and beckoned him with her index finger. “Witchcraft.”
Jesus, was it ever!
“Come here! I’ll teach you the basic steps.”
One hand on her waist and the other holding her hand, he gazed down into her eyes. His body stiffened. He could power the damn cabin with the electricity pulsing between them.
She adjusted his hand on her hip, sliding it a few inches lower. “You can totally do this. Just think quick, quick, slow.”
“That makes no sense to me, Eleanor,” he said, reasonably sure that was because the majority of his blood supply had abandoned his brain.
But nothing made sense. He didn’t like her. She was everything he couldn’t stand. She could ruin everything with the rebranding effort. But here he was, captivated and salsa dancing with her.
She chuckled. “Okay, I’ll break it down. Step forward with your left foot, then keep your right foot where it is and kind of tap it like a rocking motion. That’s the quick, quick part. Now, bring your left foot back to center. That pause is the slow part.”
He followed her directions as she did the corresponding movements with the opposite foot.
She beamed up at him. “Perfect! Now, step back with your right foot and do the same thing.”
He focused on the steps and her voice g
uiding him.
Quick, quick, slow.
Quick, quick, slow.
He moved like a thirteen-year-old at a middle school mixer. “I don’t think salsa’s for me.”
She shook her head. “Salsa is for everybody. Don’t think about the steps. Close your eyes. Listen to the beat. Let the music tell you what to do.”
This must be witchcraft because, before he knew it, he’d closed his eyes and allowed the music to take over.
Elle gasped, and his eyes flew open.
“That’s it!” she said through a wide grin. “Jasper Bergen, who would have thought you had rhythm!”
He tightened his grip on her hip, laced his fingers with hers, and repeated the movements.
He was dancing!
“Can I ask you something?” he said, relaxing into the beat.
“Anything.”
“What’s a hollow bunny?”
She leaned into him and laughed. “I’ve said that a few times today, haven’t I?”
“Only when you were giving me an earful which seems to happen a decent amount.”
She sighed. “It’s like those chocolate bunnies kids get at Easter.”
He frowned. “The gyp ones that aren’t solid?”
“Exactly! But I take it back. Anyone who can salsa cannot be an empty shell. And despite your aversion to music, you’re not a bad dancer.”
He grinned, and the tension drained from his body. “My mom and dad liked to dance. My brothers and I hated it. We’d groan and tell them to stop. But it was really kind of sweet. We’d all be in the kitchen, and if I remember right, it usually happened when my mom was making scrambled eggs. Anyway, some cheesy song would come on the radio, and my dad would whisk my mom into his arms.”
“So, you get your rhythm from your dad,” she said, eyes twinkling in the firelight.
Warmth settled in his chest. “I guess I do.”
Usually, any mention of his parents elicited a stoic, stony response.
But not tonight.
Not in this cabin.
Not with Eleanor Reynolds in his arms.
The song ended, and a slow ballad replaced the quick, quick, slow salsa beat. He pulled her in close, and they swayed together, his hand pressed to the small of her back, her cheek nestled against his chest.
Man Feast (Bergen Brothers Book 2) Page 7