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

by Isadora Montrose

  “Remember you came into my cabin that first morning and I was dressing? You came to warn me about a bear?”

  “Sure. I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you that second – if I wasn’t in love already. You are mighty alluring in your soft, pink skin.”

  She didn’t smile. Her blue eyes were shadowed. She swallowed hard. “What if I told you I was that bear you saw swimming and running behind this cabin?”

  He threw his head back and began to laugh with relief and dawning realization. “I’m an idiot. A triple-damned fool.”

  “It’s not funny, Lance Prescott!”

  “Joke’s on me.” He tugged her onto his lap and adjusted her over his woody. Looked like he was going to be suffering from a young man’s problem for the next while. He could deal with that.

  “You think it’s funny that I’m a bear?” she squeaked.

  He hugged her close and tried and failed to stop laughing. “The Bascoms too, right? Holden?”

  She nodded.

  “See, I should have put it all together when bears kept turning up on the Double B. Those poachers last year complained they were mauled by a bear. That cub playing down by the creek. At night, there’s been a bear prowling around here – around your cabin. You’d think even a fool like me would have figured it out by now.”

  Soft hands held his face still. “Lance Prescott, you’re no fool. But do you already know about shifters?”

  “I was in Recon, honey. About every other guy was a danged shifter. Don’t get me wrong, they earned their places, same as me. But it’s a lot easier for guys with preternaturally sharp reflexes and animal strength.” He thought of his buddies, dead and alive. Good guys all of them. Ferris, Ricardo, Yamamoto, Enright.

  “Yes, it is. But we’re who we are. We’re born this way. And our babies will likely be shifters too.”

  “Only likely?”

  “Occasionally, a non-shifter is born in a mixed marriage,” she said primly.

  He cuddled her close. “Mixed marriage!” He wiped his eyes. “We’ll love our babies, whatever they are, my darling. Tell me something, honey, you got any Enrights in the part of Washington State where you’re from?”

  “The Enrights own the lumber mill in Hanover. Uncle Ed is some sort of distant cousin. His mother was a Bascom.” Just as he was afraid she was going to give him a genealogy lesson to rival any of his grandmother’s, she stopped and asked, “Why?”

  “A million years ago I knew a Jack Enright. He’s the son of a gun who put that tattoo artist up to inking a bear over my heart.”

  “That sounds like my cousin Jack. He’s a Marine* – or at least he was. He was in Recon. And he’s still a practical joker.”

  Joy rose like a fountain in his heart and spilled into laughter. “There are no former Marines, darlin’.” He couldn’t stop laughing. The thought of Jack Enright being related to Amber filled him with a sense of rightness, of delight.

  “This is true. So, seeing as you don’t mind that I’m a bear, I’ll marry you, Lance Prescott.”

  He sighed dramatically. “If we’re telling secrets, I better get mine off my chest.”

  She looked worried, so he hurried into speech. “My first name is Lancelot.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup.”

  “That’s so romantic.” She nestled closer.

  Which was proof if he had needed any that she truly loved him.

  “When will you marry me?” he pressed.

  “As soon as you like. But it will have to be in French Town, and you will have to talk to my Uncle Pierre, first.”

  “Of course.” He drew a deep breath. “And we’ll have to go to Falkirk so you can meet my people.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.”

  “I love you Amber, more than life itself.”

  “And I love you too. But we better get our clothes on, because there are forty mares who want their stalls cleaned in twenty minutes.”

  He kissed her. Stood. “Do I get breakfast first?”

  *Bear Necessities

  EPILOGUE

  French Town, July

  There hadn’t been another wedding like it since Troy Reynolds had married Lisa Marie Johnston.* The French Town Inn was dressed for Fourth of July just past. The bride and groom had kept the red, white and blue decorations and added flowers to match. The big room sparkled, the band played, and the throng made merry.

  To give away the bride, Pierre Benoit had ferreted out his ancient navy-blue suit and added a chestful of medals that rivaled those on the bridegroom’s dress uniform. The bride was wearing a long white gown that seemed to have been made for her. It was difficult to tell, because she was a tall, buxom young woman, but she might have been pregnant. Either way, she looked radiant.

  The French doors of the dining room overlooking the river had been opened to the wide terrace. The fiddlers had been playing traditional tunes and the country dances had been long and vigorous. Some of the guests had gone outside when the dance floor filled up and were do-si-doing up and down the terrace, laughingly avoiding those people taking the air.

  Amber felt a strong arm circle her waist. She smiled up at her husband.

  “My father is complaining that he hasn’t danced with you yet, sweetheart.”

  Lance looked strong and happy in his dress blues. Although his jacket strained across his shoulders. Apparently, heaving hay was a better workout than combat training. Who knew?

  “We can’t have that,” she responded. She broke off her conversation with Erin Benoit** and took Lance’s outstretched hand.

  “This is a galliard,” she whispered as the fiddler launched into a new tune. “Does your dad know the steps?”

  “Probably not. But he’ll pick them up,” Lance said confidently.

  Robbie Jeff Prescott gave her a big grin that broke her heart. In a better world, Lance would have looked like this handsome, silver-haired man. But she pushed such melancholy thoughts down deep. They didn’t need to spoil her wedding day. She loved her husband, scars and all.

  “Shall we?” Robbie Jeff asked.

  “I’d like that, sir.” Amber led him demurely onto the dance floor where couples had begun the intricate country dance. “Are you familiar with our folk dances?”

  “Nope. But I’ll pick up the steps. We’re great dancers in Falkirk.” The dance carried them apart and back together. “Lance is a changed man,” Robbie Jeff said. “Happy. Healed. Don’t think his mom and I are not grateful.”

  Amber felt her face heat. “If he’s better, it’s his own hard work,” she replied. Which was totally true.

  The next set of couples took their hands and separated them. And then Moira Prescott and her cousin Lenny** were curtseying and bowing to her and Robbie Jeff.

  “Lance has done very well for himself,” Moira whispered, “He’s married into a fine family.”

  Amber caught herself before she explained that the Benoits were only cousins and she herself was related to the less-than-sterling Duprés. Uncle Bobby and Aunt Marlene were no more closer family than her more respectable cousins. Besides, she was now a Prescott. And as respectable as all get-out.

  “Can I have my wife back, Dad?” Lance demanded when the dance was done.

  “Certainly.” Robbie Jeff kissed her cheek. “Welcome to the family,” he said for at least the twenty-fourth time.

  “Thank you, sir. I’m pleased and proud to be a Prescott.”

  He and Lance exchanged a man hug and then Lance swept her off into a waltz.

  “Did you ask for this?” she asked.

  “I did. I needed to hold my bride. How are you holding up?”

  “Fine.” Since they had discovered she was pregnant, Lance had been hovering. But she didn’t mind – it made her feel loved and cared for. A warm safe feeling to go with the exciting bedroom feelings that were now a normal part of her life.

  He spun her in a circle in time to the music. Over in a corner she saw his grandfather Prescott in conference with Ja
ck Enright***, Patrick****, and Uncle Pierre. “What are those four up to?” she mused aloud.

  “A little idea I had,” Lance admitted. “You were complaining that there were hardly any jobs in French Town. I thought maybe turning your applejack tradition into a legitimate distillery might solve that problem.”

  “That’s a great idea,” she said enthusiastically.

  “There’s always money in hard liquor,” Lance said. “Only, they want me to manage the plant.”

  She didn’t even have to think. “No.”

  “No?” He swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple bobbed like a kid’s. “We could live here, near your sister and your nieces. To say nothing of the rest of your relatives.”

  Stella, Bethany and Hope were long out of the hospital and growing like weeds in spring. Hope had even learned to sit up and Bethany and Stella could roll over. Aunty Amber had FaceTimed with them every evening on Skype. Being closer to them was a temptation. One Amber easily resisted.

  “Still, no. You and I have made new lives, good lives, in Colorado. We’re not going to mess with that, Lance. I appreciate you coming to French Town for our wedding, but I don’t expect you to make it permanent.” It might undo all the good the peaceful life in Colorado had accomplished. She wasn’t about to risk flashbacks.

  “Are you sure?” He twirled her again.

  “Absolutely sure. Not to mention that I just got a promotion and a raise and everything. And so have you. Now that I am the stud recordkeeper, Laura is going to pay for me to get my Masters of Library Science and computer training. You are officially Head Trainer at the Stud. Why would we want to change?”

  It was a measure of how far he had come that he was willing to take on the responsibility and the title of the job he had been doing for years. Not for anything were they going to mess with his stability. Happiness was partly knowing when you had enough. They had more than enough already with good jobs, a lovely house, and a baby on the way.

  “Oh, Amber, I could make a lot more money as the CEO of a distillery.”

  “You’d be utterly miserable indoors all day. You love training horses. You love Colorado.”

  “I do.”

  “Let them find someone else to take on the distillery. There’s plenty of talent right here in these hills,” she assured him. “And with the Bascoms flying back and forth between Washington and Colorado, I will be able to hitch a ride whenever I want to see Heather and her girls.”

  “I’d do it for you,” he swore.

  “I know. But I’ll be happy with what we’ve got. I love your house – especially since you let me redecorate.”

  Lance had dipped into his trust fund and bought all new furniture to replace the shabby stuff he had been living with since he moved into that place. Laura had renovated the kitchen and added a second bathroom for her Head Trainer and his wife.

  “Besides,” Amber giggled, “We need to stay in Colorado so we can watch Dr. Arruta and Calvin court.”

  “Those two are comedy gold all right.” And right there on the dance floor Lance swept her into his strong arms and kissed her deeply. The music drifted to a stop. The room filled with the rowdy cheers of a hundred bear shifter throats and the whistles and hoots of the younger generation.

  Amber was breathless and she knew her face was scarlet when Lance lifted his mouth from hers and led her off the dance floor. Together they went out the French doors toward the wonderful new life that they had made for themselves. They had love, it would be more than enough.

  *Bearly a Bride

  **Bearly Begun

  ***Bear Necessities

  ***Bear Sin

  Bear Sin

  A Billionaire Oil Bearons Romance

  Bear Fursuits Book 7

  Ever since he came into his talent in adolescence, billionaire Patrick Bascom has been denying his inner bear. But waxing your chest can’t change your soul. An unexpected encounter with curvy bearshifter Heather Dupré rouses his bear instincts at last.

  Yet when Patrick learns that Heather is pregnant he thinks paying her off will be the easiest option. But her backwoods family has other ideas.

  Even after a shotgun wedding, BBW Heather is unwilling to tie herself to a city slicker who doesn’t act like a bear. Patrick Bascom, reserve officer and corporate lawyer, is about to learn that money can’t buy bear bonds. By the time this alpha male realizes that Heather is his fated mate, it may be too late for them and their cubs.

  Available on Amazon and Kindle Unlimited.

  CHAPTER ONE

  He could hear the river now, even though the dripping trees hid it. He prided himself on his sense of direction, but he had no idea where he was. He couldn’t be lost. He had left Jenna and Zeke’s house only minutes ago. If he could just see the damned sky, he’d be able to figure out where in hell he was.

  After seven grueling months in Syria, it had seemed like a good idea to visit his only brother. The lush, green Pacific Northwest had sounded like heaven after an eternity of breathing dust and being shelled. A good place to recuperate from being wounded. But the deep woods that surrounded Zeke’s place made him claustrophobic. A fellow who had been raised in Colorado needed to be able to see the damned sky.

  The forest opened abruptly. The river appeared in the gap. Patrick Bascom stood on a small rise gazing down into the water. Clear blue water flecked with white foam glittered under a cloudless sky. Sunshine had at last come to the rain forest. The river burbled and swirled into a whirlpool before cascading over a jumble of rocks into a waterfall. Pretty as all get out. It made sense of his twin’s enthusiasm for his new home.

  The wind brought him the scent of various animals. His unwilling brain effortlessly sorted them out. Squirrel, chipmunk, deer, and female black bear. Overhead blue jays darted and chattered and screeched. On a willow that dipped its branches into the high water, an oriole sang of longing and joy. The oriole was darting around shaping its little dangling nest which would be invisible when the willow finished leafing out.

  Patrick sat cross-legged on a mossy rock and drank in the loveliness of the clearing. The scent of female bear was coming from the small cinnamon-colored bear cavorting underneath the willow. She had come into season, and her frolic was part fishing and part play. He didn’t want to be able to know these things just by smelling, but instincts you couldn’t change, even if you could conceal them beneath a civilized veneer.

  He decided not to worry about his primitive bear side. If ever there was a place where it was appropriate, surely this unspoiled forest was the place. The pretty little female executed a rapid series of somersaults before she entered the current of the whirlpool. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to come to grief.

  The center of the pool was a rapidly swirling funnel. It would suck the bear down and keep her. Should he intervene? Or let nature take its course? American black bears were endangered. Hell, all bears were endangered. This little female did not look robust enough to deal with the suction created by the whirlpool.

  He was halfway down the slope before he realized his feet had made the decision for him. He found the trail that led down to the bank without any difficulty. He had to bend double to make it through the bushes up to the rock fall where the water cascaded. But here the ground leveled out and a small bank of gravel provided easy access to the water.

  Carried by the current, the female was swimming in ever faster circles. She didn’t seem to notice him, probably because the wind was blowing his human scent away. Possibly because she was too busy trying to save her life.

  Patrick stripped and piled his clothes haphazardly. His change to bear was hard. He hated it. Not just the barbarity of his bear senses, but the sheer physical torment of having his bones wrenched into new shapes. It was excruciating. He heard a roar and realized it as his own agonized bellowing. He snapped his great jaws shut on the unmanly noise before launching himself into the water after the little female. She made a startled, friendly noise when she glimpsed him. Her black eyes blin
ked at him flirtatiously and she panted and chuffed.

  She dived down deep into the heart of the whirlpool. Patrick gave chase. One part of him wanted to rescue her, the other part just wanted to catch her. She was stronger than she had seemed when he was watching from the rock. With a muscular flip, she did a backward somersault in the heart of the whirlpool and swam away. When she broke the surface, she peeped coyly over her shoulder at him. His nose told him she too was a bear shifter.

  The female was an expert swimmer, and she led him on a merry chase. He exerted his full strength to get her within paws’ reach. Tantalizingly, she remained just out of range of his great paws. Without warning, she reversed direction and came up underneath him and knocked him ass over teakettle. He spun through the air and landed on his back in a sort of reverse bellyflop. The little female scrambled up the rocks on the other side of the stream and stood mouth open, taunting him, chortling with happiness. He didn’t think – he acted.

  He followed her out of the water and into the trees. He didn’t even realize he was changing as he went. He saw pink-skinned, damp, and naked, the vixen who had brazenly accosted him in French Town. Like all those blasted Duprés, Heather had been after money.

  Heather Dupre’s long dark hair was wet. It dripped down her tall, big-breasted body. Her lushness beckoned him. One hand pretended to cover the glories of her bosom, while the other imperfectly covered her sex. It was obvious what he was being offered. But he was no boy to be ambushed by a gold digger. He advanced on her and seized her round and pearly shoulders.

  His mouth crashed down on hers. She was as eager as he was. Her arms went around his neck and held him close. Her nipples were like two hard berries poking him in the chest. The smell of her arousal was like madness in his brain. It drove all common sense from his mind and rendered him speechless.

  There was one startled moment of hesitation before she let him deep into her mouth and sucked wildly and wantonly on his tongue, grinding her mound against him. His tongue scoured the inside of her mouth, tasting and dueling.