Bear Fate: A Billionaire Oil Bearons Romance (Bear Fursuits Book 8)

by Isadora Montrose

  “Yeah. You keep an ear cocked. It might be the same half-grown cub, although the prints looked bigger. If you hear anything, you grab your rifle.”

  “I’ve never shot a bear.” She sounded not so much frightened as dismayed.

  “And likely you’ll never have to. But if one decides your cabin holds its lunch, you’ll only get one chance.”

  “I guess. Are there lots of bears around here?”

  “Some. The Double B does back right up to the foothills. Generally speaking we don’t see many. But an animal out of its habitat is more dangerous for being in unfamiliar territory.” He paused. Cleared his throat. “I wish you were with me, so I could keep you safe.”

  There was a long silence and then she spoke. “Don’t you worry. I’ve locked up tight. There’s no scent of food around my cabin to attract bears. I’d be more worried one would go after the foals.” Well, he hadn’t really thought she would invite him to sleep in her cabin.

  “Scout would be barking if it had been up by the stables.” Which was true, although come to think, it was weird that the bear had not followed that pungent scent. The stable block was kept clean, but it still smelled of horses and dung.

  “So she would,” she agreed. “Scout’s a good watchdog.”

  “I’ll give Darrell a call and ask if he’s heard anything,” he said reluctantly. He didn’t want to hang up. He wanted to keep hearing her voice in his ear.

  “You probably better. Good night. Sleep well.” But she didn’t hang up.

  “Consider yourself kissed, sweetheart,” he said.

  It took another five minutes before they ended the call and he could phone Darrell. Darrell sounded as if he had been napping, and had just that minute woken up. He was skeptical, but he promised to look around.

  “I don’t know, Lance, it would be plumb loco for a bear to come down here where there are people, when the calves on the range are there for the taking.”

  “Not if it’s an adolescent male looking for its own territory, and too inexperienced to tackle a herd.” It was past time he remembered he had been trained to lead men. Lance infused authority into his voice. “Go patrol.”

  “Okay, okay. I’m on it.”

  Sgt. Prescott went whistling to his bed, to dream all night of soft dark curls and softer breasts.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Calvin~

  The door to the cabin opened and light spilled over the snow. About damned time. Prescott gruffly told Amber to lock up. The door shut. The dead bolt snicked as she followed orders. The barrel bolts slotted into place with two audible clunks. Prescott tramped away. The bastard looked up at the sky and began to whistle.

  The porch light went out. Calvin relaxed. At least, whatever had happened in that cabin, Prescott wasn’t spending the night with Amber. But now he was following Cal’s fucking prints all through the trees and around the cabin. That was what came of flaunting your fucking bear.

  Prescott held his shotgun like a soldier. Easily. Casually. Like an extension of his body he was ready to employ. Shit. The leafless branches of Cal’s oak tree weren’t going to be much defense against gunfire. The cabin lights blinked out – Cal supposed Amber was off to bed. Did she sleep in her own pink skin? Probably not. He remembered white cotton peeking out of the enveloping hotel robe. Maybe she was just a quick-change sort of a gal.

  Prescott continued to follow Cal’s prints through the trees. But he traced them only to the stream before giving up and going inside his own house. Who said that the Bascoms weren’t lucky? Cal wriggled more firmly into his notch. The lights went back on in Amber’s cabin. Maybe she couldn’t sleep. He strained his ears and heard only the faintest rustling.

  Her phone chirped. It was loud in the cold silence. She answered almost at once and the murmur of her voice was a pleasant hum in the night air. Probably talking to Prescott, he thought gloomily. Like a pair of junior high steadies. Shit. Had he ever been that young or that innocent? If he had, it was a long time and many women ago.

  The cloudless sky was studded with stars. He had forgotten how lovely the night sky was. Once he had known all the constellations. When they had come into their bears, he and Luther had camped out in all seasons and spent many nights studying the stars and talking about the future.

  They had defied all the rules and taken bear together. Romping in the woods like the idiot adolescents they were. It had been their secret vice, hidden even from Pat and Zeke. Probably this was where his primal longing for an earthy, full-bodied woman came from. A longing that deserved to be squelched like any other primitive streak. Bear lust had no place in the modern world he wanted to inhabit.

  Maybe little Amber had as little wish as he did to hook up with a throwback. Maybe she was actively looking for a man who was not a bear. And who was he to blame her? This damned genetic curse was as senseless as it was disruptive to a normal modern life. He didn’t want to be at the mercy of bestial urges.

  What he needed was a woman whose sophistication and polish would turn his veneer of civilization into the real thing. A woman who would help him suppress his primitive side. Who would teach their children how to live in the modern world. A world that had no room for atavistic, bestial bear shifters.

  The skies twinkled down at him and mocked his pretense of sophistication. He was going to have to brush up on astronomy. Kenny Luther and Lucy Brenda were going to be asking questions down the road. So were Patrick’s three girls. Hard to believe that between them, Zeke, Pat and Laura had eight babies. They almost made him believe that he could catch hold of the brass ring and have it all: loving wife and beautiful children.

  Only did Jenna really love Zeke? Did Heather truly love Pat? Or was the money the real attraction? He knew Zeke and Pat were convinced that they were loved. But how could a man be sure he hadn’t been married for his money? If Luther had lived, would he have brought home a buxom bride who looked like Jenna and Heather and Amber? Like Mom? Would Luther have joined Pat and Zeke in taking a risk on loving a woman the way Dad had loved Mom?

  Any normal man, left a widower in his prime, would at least have gone looking for some female companionship. But not Freddie Bascom. Dad lived as celibate and sexually austere a life as if he expected his Brenda to return from that ill-fated trip to town. Hell, back when Dad still lived in the old house, sometimes Calvin would open the back door half-expecting to see Mom stirring a vat of chili, while the scent of cumin hung in the air like love.

  And if the truth were told, sometimes he would catch a glimpse of his larger than life twin out of the corner of his eye. It had never seemed quite plausible that big, brawny, tough Luther Bascom could be dead. How could anything snuff out so much vibrancy? He’d give his right arm for just ten minutes with his brother.

  So he was in no position to fault Freddie for clinging to his lost wife. Dad and Mom had been soul mates. Clearly, obviously, joyfully in love. Was there ever a happier home than theirs before that car accident took Mom and Bethany from them? Earlier, when Zeke and Patrick had lost their own mother, Mom and Dad had just rolled them into the fabric of their blithe home life. But Brenda’s death was like moving permanently from color into black and white.

  He swallowed hard on the lump in his throat. Yawned fit to split his face. Shook his head to dispel the aura of melancholy he had allowed to envelop him. Dead was dead. Life was loss. A fellow had to make rules if he wanted to survive in a hard and cruel world.

  Cal stared out over the trees, noting the plumes of smoke rising from the Diegos’ chimney and Amber’s stovepipe. A warmer breeze blew impishly down from the mountains ruffling his fur and bringing the scent of cattle and horses. The silence was split by the sudden screech of a hunting owl. And then like a heavy blanket the quiet fell back over the night.

  He drifted. A woman with a shape like a rutting bear’s fantasy ministered to his every desire with passionate tenderness. Two children with his brother’s eyes chased each other through the rooms of his childhood home. Just as he was
settling into contentment and his lover was whispering sweet nothings, a crack like thunder blasted his dream and his dream woman into fragments.

  He slipped sideways, and before he could plummet to the ground, snatched at the branch above. Damn. He had been caught napping. Was the noise that had woken him real or part of his dream? Another crack split the air and then another. The warm, dry Chinook wind had come roaring over the mountains warming the winter air and lulling him to sleep.

  Icicles were falling like missiles from the eaves of the Diegos’ house and Amber’s cabin. Smacking hard against brick and stone. Piercing the snow, as his dream had pierced his heart. By sunrise, a foot of snow would be gone and it would feel like spring. But the wind brought only the illusion of warmer weather. In the flicker of an eyelash the temperature would plunge again, and plants roused from dormancy would freeze and die.

  Fickle as a woman. As fleeting as happiness. He and his damn fool heart had better remember that.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Lance~

  Amber’s dimples were showing. She reached seductive fingers for his undershirt, pulled it over his head without his help. Or protest. Grinned when she saw his tattoo.

  “I love black bears,” she cooed, outlining his with one fingertip. She ruffled his chest hair to pet his little bearling. “Pretty girl,” she crooned. “You have to treat bears nice, you know,” she instructed. “No shooting allowed.”

  “No shooting,” he repeated obediently as her sensual touch put him on a hair-trigger.

  “What happened to her?” His chest hair had become patchy and now revealed his rutted skin. But Amber’s fingers still roved gently, and her voice was kind—and husky with desire.

  “Improvised Explosive Device caught me in the head and torso,” he told her.

  She sighed. Her soft lips kissed his scars with infinite gentleness. Their plushy softness made his cock leap and buck like a mountain goat. He grabbed her soft waist to urge her lower. Her naked breasts wobbled against his belly and he shuddered at the sensual feeling of those tender globes.

  He tried to capture their round fullness with his hands. To play with the enticing pink nipples that stood out stiff and pointed against the round ripeness of her creamy, quivering flesh. He longed to hold them.

  “First, we have to kiss you all better,” she reproved, changing position.

  Her mouth must have been magic for when she kissed him, the shiny, red, puckered scar tissue was replaced by the hairy skin of a healthy male chest.

  “That’s better.” She kissed her way down his belly, letting her fingers lead the way. She found his dick and took it in both hands. “Hard and smooth, just the way bears like them.” She stooped over him and took him into her mouth.

  Sensation transported him to some paradise where all he could feel was his cock growing bigger and more sensitive. Every nibble, every lick, every suck, reverberated with his heart. The blood pounded in his veins, roared in his ears, set his heart galloping. He came like a fountain or a water spout. Gave her everything he had to give.

  “I love you,” whispered his darling girl. “But I love your bear more.”

  He could still hear her soft giggles when the sound of icicles falling from the eaves woke him and dispersed his crazy, lust-fueled dream.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Amber~

  It was springtime at last. The forest had woken from its grayish-brown winter torpor to verdant green. Lime-colored leaves were pushing out, overshadowing the blossoms that had preceded them with such glory only a week ago. Even the mosses seemed plumper, brighter, more vigorous. She spun in a gleeful circle. She too had awoken from her long hibernation, in season and gunning for boar bear.

  She set off following her nose toward the scent of her mate.

  The winter snows in the Cascades had melted in their annual gush and the forest was awash in the babbling of a thousand rivulets. The moistness of the green forest seemed one with her freshly roused flesh. Where was that man? Her need was powerful and urgent.

  She rounded a bend and spotted a magnificent male. His white coat was so pristine it seemed to glow. From his solid muzzle to his muscular haunches he was a magnificent specimen. His black eyes twinkled at her in friendly welcome. She pranced toward him, curveting and skipping, displaying her feminine charms to his dark gaze.

  But before she could reach him, between one moment and the next, he disappeared. She raced to the spot where he had been standing in perfect, radiant masculinity. The mosses were undisturbed, no scent lingered in the heavy spring air. It was as if he had been a ghost.

  Disappointed and disconsolate, she wandered further into the forest, pausing to scratch herself against rough bark to advertise her fertility. She knew herself to be brimming with pheromones, overflowing with nubile aroma. Her mate was nearby. She could sense him. He would locate her.

  The forest abruptly vanished. She was standing in an elegant hotel lobby, all shining gray and silver. Her frisky bear body was suddenly clumsy and out of place. All around her faces stared in horror and fear. Giant white flowers dripped from every surface, she took an exploratory bite, but the taste was bitter and unappealing.

  A big, broad man approached her. She brightened. Was this her missing mate? He shooed her away with vigorous gestures of his all too human arms. “No bears allowed.”

  She pivoted and galloped for the doors. Other men jumped out of the way and then she was free, outside, mateless still.

  Outdoors it was spring here too. But the primeval forest had given way to a meadow of high grass. Birds were swooping in the cloudless blue sky. A hundred tiny feet scurried here and there among the tall stalks. The scent of wildflowers mingled with that of crushed grass as she paced through the field seeking her mate.

  And there he was. A faceless man, naked except for the emblem blazoned across his chest. His little bear peeped out from his chest hair and winked at her. Amber gave a great sniff. The man’s scent came to her on the soft warm breeze. A mixture of horse, man, and hero.

  “You’ll have to change,” he told her solemnly.

  And then she was as naked as he. Running toward her lover who scooped her up and spun her in a jubilant arc. He kissed her. His kiss was both familiar and strange. She struggled to see his face, but her eyes could not focus. And then she forgot because he was palming her breasts and murmuring appreciatively as he hefted their generous weight.

  His rough fingertips were gentle as they stroked and plumped. Tender as they pinched and teased. Arousing as they traced the purplish veins and caressed her swollen nipples. He bent to kiss first one and then the other.

  They were well-matched. Athletic, vigorous, lusty. Surely this male was her mate?

  His cock stood out from a nest of golden curls like a spear planted in fleece. She had never wanted anything more than she wanted that cock in her pussy. She rubbed herself against him. Her lover caught her urgency and lifted her in strong and muscular arms. She floated as if she were thistledown instead of a robust and mighty Amazon. Her heart rejoiced.

  “Now?” he whispered.

  “Give me a baby?” she begged.

  “It will be a warrior,” he warned.

  Joy filled her. “Yes.”

  He hoisted her by her buttocks. Strong hands pressed into her muscular globes. He groaned as her wet and engorged pussy slid down over his erection. She dug her heels into his tight buns and pushed her pelvis as far away from his as she could.

  His strong hands pulled her back. They rocked like that for endless moments while all around them songbirds sang a dawn chorus of magnificent beauty, and the sun tinted the pale sky pink. Love coursed through her veins. Their hearts beat as one. She held her man close to her heart even as their mating dance grew more heated. Each stroke mingled their scents so that the perfume of their joining grew ever headier and more fulfilling.

  When the sun popped up to turn the world bright, they came together in an explosion of semen and mutual satisfaction. Creating new l
ife at the instant of the new day. They kissed. Their tongues continued the lively dance their pelvises had finished. She buried her nose in the juncture between his neck and shoulder and breathed deeply. Imprinting him on her bear senses.

  “Tell me your name,” she pleaded.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Amber~

  The sound of running water woke Amber. The last trickles of her dreams dried up.

  She had to wipe a circle in the steamy window with a rag to peer out at the gray dawn. The trees had shed their load of snow and every needle dripped. From every direction, melting snow rushed down to the creek. She had been warned that the Colorado Chinook made the ones in Washington State seem by comparison like a blast of arctic air. But she had not realized how powerful that warm wind would prove against the severity of their winter.

  She would be slogging through mud to get to work this morning. And those tracks she had thought would keep till day, would be meltwater halfway to the Colorado River by now. She would just have to accept Lance’s report of what he had seen last night. It was early, but she was no longer sleepy. She had time for coffee and a big breakfast before she faced the mud.

  When the knock came, she was just placing the last washed pan in the dish rack. Lance, she thought. He had come for her because of the mud. She had her best smile on when she opened the door.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Good morning,” Calvin’s smile was as broad as hers. “I thought you might like a ride up to the stables. It’s all mud between here and there.”

  Amber swallowed her disappointment. “That was very thoughtful of you,” she managed. “I’ll just get my coat and boots on. Would you like to come in?”

  “I’ll stay out here, so I don’t get mud all over.”

  He was standing on the porch inspecting the bead board ceiling when she came out in her unzipped parka. As far as she could tell, despite the roof’s snow load melting, the tongue and groove was tight and dry. He turned, glanced down at her feet. His mouth curved down and he shook his head as if exasperated.