by Sable Sylvan
Ginger Bears
Freshly Baked Furry Tails, Book 5
Sable Sylvan
www.sablesylvan.com
Copyright © 2019 by Sable Sylvan
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Ginger Bears
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Sneak Peek: Gretel and the Bears
About the Author
Ginger Bears
Freshly Baked Furry Tails, Book 3
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Run, run, run, as fast as she can, Ginger’ll get caught by Ginger’s bear men…
he last thing Ginger Kirkland expects to be doing this Christmas season is running a specialty Christmas shop, and of course, she ends up paired with Richard Conway and James Dexter, the two most bear-headed lumberjacks she’d ever met. Sure, they’re handsome, their rivalry is hot, and they emit a primal energy she finds irresistible, but they’re downright bossy and domineering: hot in the bedroom, not on the job site. Will Ginger and the lumberbears build their gingerbread house? And will they manage to make that gingerbread house...a gingerbread home, for some folks in need?
The only things Richard and James have in common are their naturally ginger-streaked locks and their desire for Ginger. Each werebear is sure she his fated mate and his alone. After all, these two lumberjacks couldn’t be more different from one another. While Grizzlyfir Camp's Richard is charismatic, Hemlock Camp's James is the strong sassy — and sometimes silent — type. Richard is a party animal while James is an animal in the sheets. Will their mutual desire for the woman they’re sure is their fated mate convince them to find some common ground, or are they about to earn spots on the naughty list?
Chapter One
On the first day of Christmas, Fate sent to Ginger one meddling boss…
Orange plastic pumpkins, full of candy.
Cobwebs in white, purple, and green.
Pictures of witches and goblins and ghouls.
None of it was Christmassy, and it all had to go.
Some of the Thanksgiving stuff could stay, like the harvest spices, sold in tiny jars, but the rest of the autumn decorations had to come down.
Another season had passed in Port Jameson. The Bear Claw Bakery’s Halloween themed pop-up store had been a roaring success, but it was past Thanksgiving and the Black Friday blowout sale. Now, two bakers were busy doing what they had to do to get the store ready for the next season.
“Patricia, can you spot me?” asked a curvy woman, wearing her casual knock-about clothes, as the store was closed for business for redecoration day.
“Of course, Ginger,” said Patricia Holt, an equally curvy woman. She walked over and watched as Ginger ascended the step ladder to take down some glass bottles that were decorated to look like potion bottles. The old bottles, bought at a thrift store, were filled with a mix of oil, water, food dye, and glitter, in black, silver, green, and purple.
“I can’t believe we accumulated all these props,” said Ginger Cane, raising a brow. “Guess we’ll have them for next year.”
“You’re already thinking about next year?” asked Patricia, raising a brow.
“You couldn’t pay me to run that scary Halloween pop-up,” said Ginger, passing a bottle down to Patricia, who wrapped it in paper and stuck it in a box. “I’m glad we’re turning this haunted house into a gingerbread house.”‘
“Well, don’t brag about it too much in front of Gretel,” said Patricia. “I think she wishes she was down here! You’re lucky you won the coin flip.”
“She’ll have fun decorating the bakery,” insisted Ginger. “Trust me—I think the only person that hates all this spooky stuff like spiders is Katrina.”
“Katrina Muffet would smack down any spider that looked at her fat tuffet funny,” said Patricia. “You’d do well to take a leaf out of her book—heck, take the whole dang tree!”
“Yeah, well, don’t tell Gretel, but I kinda envy her,” admitted Ginger. “I can’t believe that The Toad in the Hole Café opened up a location right across from us! Total copycats!”
“The name isn’t even good—The Toad in the Hole Christmas Café?” asked Patricia.
“You know, the name does get straight to the point,” said Ginger. “I’m just worried our rivals are going to steal business from us.”
“Christmas is the season of giving, so hey—might as well throw them a bone and let them poach our clients, eh?” joked Patricia. “It’d be silly for two stores to fight over one customer. There’s plenty of Christmas spirit and Christmas cookies for all.”
The bells attached to the front door jingled.
“We’re closed,” called Ginger.
“I know,” said a deep voice.
“Well, well, well—the cavalry has arrived,” said Patricia, turning to look at the front door. “Or, well—whatever the bear equivalent of cavalry is. I do believe I’ve spotted Dick.”
Bears? Ginger turned. There was no way that there were bear shifters in the pop-up shop. No way. Four frikkin’ Bear Claw Bakery bakers had ended up in ménages. Was it really Ginger’s turn?
Patricia had mentioned dick. Ginger could’ve done with an early stocking stuffer. She wouldn’t mind opening up a Christmas cracker.
As Ginger turned on the stool, she slipped. Patricia hadn’t been spotting her, as she’d turned to face the door.
“Ahh!” shouted Ginger, slipping forward, and suddenly, she saw black—but it was because her face was nestled in something soft. She felt something underneath her legs, lifting her up. Had she died? Was she being carried to heaven by an angel?
No, because Ginger had been far too naughty in her mortal life.
But, she was being carried by the next best thing—a shirtless shifter.
“H-hey,” said Ginger awkwardly, looking up at the man that had caught her. The way the light moved through his hair, it almost made it look as if he had a golden halo. It was just a trick of the light through his hair, which some would describe as ‘ginger,’ the shade of Christmas oranges and whipped cream. The man was muscular, broad, and looking down at her with the most amazing gray eyes, tinted a bit blue, that looked like the heavens on a cloudy wintery day.
It was barely December, and Ginger had already met her Christmas angel.
“You okay?” asked the man, who was not an angel, but was, as previously mentioned, the next best thing.
“Feeling just fine now,” admitted Ginger, feeling her cheeks flush. She couldn’t believe her luck! Her first day working the pop-up store, and she fell for a shifter—literally? From the looks of his smile, he didn’t much mind her looks either. The fact he could hold her ample body without straining was a welcome surprise. Perhaps he had experience with women of her weight class?
“Good,” said the man, but his lips didn’t move. Ginger frowned. She’d heard a male voice, but if it wasn’t from the angel bear, who was it from?
She put her arms around the man’s shoulders—purely for support reasons, of c
ourse, absolutely, totally, entirely practical purposes—and peered and saw a copy of the man. Big. Broad. Shirtless. Hair the same color of ginger, the color of pollen on snow.
“Did I hit my head?” asked Ginger.
“No,” said Patricia, raising a brow.
“Then, am I seeing double?” asked Ginger. The man holding her walked her over to a couch and lay her down on it. Ginger sat herself up and looked. There were indeed two men in front of her. They had the same hair color—light orange, ginger. They were both broad-shouldered, with thick strapping muscles. Over their bellies, there were layers of fat for hibernation, and the men cut a striking figure.
Two men. Not one. They just looked remarkably similar.
“Twins?” asked Ginger.
They shook their heads.
“Brothers?” asked Ginger.
“Never met him before,” said the man that hadn’t caught Ginger in midair.
“Same—obviously,” said the man that had.
“But you two look like…like…like twins,” said Ginger.
“Really?” asked Patricia, looking over the two men. “I don’t see it. Guess you must’ve hit your head. Time to get you to the hospital.”
“They really don’t look similar?!” asked Ginger.
“I’m just yanking your Christmas paper chain,” joked Patricia. “Ginger, meet Richard ‘Dick’ Conway and James Dexter. They’re your two Christmas bitches—err, Christmas elves—for the season, or at least, the next few weeks.”
“Richard,” said the man that had caught Ginger, giving her a wink.
“James,” said the other man, coolly. Ginger noticed his eyes were dark brown.
“What would I need helpers for?” asked Ginger. “The last crew that was here fixed the whole house up already—no offense, guys.”
“None taken—but from what I heard, Grizzlyfir Crew left the basement quite a mess, full of fake blood, Dick,” said James.
“And last I heard, Hemlock Crew helped make that mess,” said Richard, turning to face James and crossing his arms. “Don’t call me Dick. Patricia—the other Richard, the one at Hemlock goes by Dick. Given he’s in Hemlock Crew, I’m surprised he doesn’t just go by ‘Rich,’ but I just go by Richard.”
“Boys, boys, boys,” tutted Patricia. “You’re here to help Ginger and do whatever she says—not fight! Sorry, Ginger—guess they just gotta get this out of their systems now! Better now than later.”
While the two men were arguing, Patricia caught Ginger’s eye. Patricia motioned to her chest, then to the boys. Ginger was confused. What was Patricia saying? She wanted those two shifters to motorboat her breasts? She needed them to buy her a bra? She was acting as a wetnurse for their aunt’s cousin’s best friend’s lawyer’s adopted children?
Patricia drew a shape on her chest, and then, made a symbol with her hands—the symbol of a heart.
That’s when it clicked. The mate marks. Of course.
Every shifter was given a mate mark when they turned eighteen. That mark, assigned by Fate, magically showed up on their bodies. Those marks were meant to lead them to their mates. Marks could take many forms, and the spot they appeared on depended on the type of animal a shifter could turn into. Shifters that could turn into bears usually had a mate mark on the center of their chest.
Ginger looked at Richard and James. The two men had various subtle differences in their appearance but still looked like brothers, if not twins. The one thing that absolutely made them look different were the marks on their chest.
On Richard’s chest, there was a spiky shape with two testicle-looking balls. It kind of looked like a very well-endowed bat.
On James’ chest, there was a rounded shape that kind of looked like the tip of a penis.
Two different marks. Two different men. It was highly unlikely that they were meant to be in a ménage together—although stranger things had happened.
A plastic pumpkin was knocked onto the floor. Ginger looked at it and then looked back to the bears. Forget trick-or-treating. Ginger had to figure out which bear shifter she’d be asking Santa for that year, and to do that, she had to decide which one she’d rather unwrap underneath her tree come Christmas Day.
Chapter Two
On the second day of Christmas, Fate sent to Ginger two handsome werebears…
Ginger walked into the house and smelled freshly baked cookies. That’s when it hit her—she’d left the frikkin’ oven on for her lunch break, and forgotten to turn it off!
She rushed over to the kitchen and peeked into the oven, hoping to heaven that the cookies hadn’t burned and that she hadn’t started a house fire. She noticed that the oven light was off—either the oven was actually off, or the oven light was busted. She didn’t see the cookies. She opened the oven just to make sure it was really empty. There was nothing in the oven. It was warm, but it wasn’t hot. She rechecked the dial. Someone had turned off the oven.
“Looking for something?” asked James.
Ginger turned. James was sitting in the bay window, eating a freshly baked cookie! He was looking out the window, watching the falling snow.
“Hey,” said Ginger with a frown. “Those cookies aren’t for you!”
“I think that a plain sugar cookie is a small price to pay for me saving your curvy ass,” retorted James. “After all—what would Patricia think if you burned down the pop-up store?”
“You’re the one that took the cookies out of the oven?” asked Ginger.
“Who else was around?” asked James, quirking a brow. “Mistakes happen. The rest of the cookies are over there.” James waved his hand over at the table, where the tray of cookies was sitting on a trivet. Ginger was surprised James knew how to handle baked goods at all.
“Thanks,” said Ginger, blushing. She’d been rather quick to snap at James. “Guess I owe you one.”
“You can make it up to me over dinner,” said James, still looking out the window. “After all, I saved the store from being burned to ashes. Making sure you didn’t get arrested for frikkin’ arson, that has to be worth a dinner, at least. You’re buying, of course.”
Before Ginger could ask James if he was trying to ask her out on a date—or ask himself out on a date with her, on her dime—the bells attached to the front door jingled. In walked Patricia, arms laden with rolls of Christmas wrapping paper.
“Hey,” said Ginger, rushing over to Patricia. “Let me help you with that.”
Patricia passed the rolls of wrapping paper off to Ginger and grabbed a cookie off the tray on the trivet.
“Patricia!” hissed Ginger. “If you eat all the cookies, we won’t have any to sell!”
“Eh—it’s Christmas,” said Patricia with a shrug. “Why be stingy with cookies around the holidays? Spread the joy!”
“Okay, but can you tell me you wouldn’t have rather waited and had that cookie after I iced it and covered it in sprinkles and sugar crystals?” challenged Ginger.
“Yes, yes, I can,” said Patricia. “The weather’s cold, so I like my cookies like I like my men—hot, hot, hot!”
“Then I’m surprised you’re not dating Terrence,” said James, turning to face Patricia. “You know—my boss. Taller than me, more muscular than me, and somehow, even more single than me?”
Patricia peered through the bay window and spotted her own footprints through the snow. “You were sitting here, saw me walking through the snow with my arms full of bullshizz, and you just sat on your furry butt?”
“You know who would definitely be down to help you carry whatever you asked him to, Patty?” asked James, arms crossed.
“The same shifter who would have your bear hide for sassing me,” said Patricia. “Don’t call me Patty, James. You’re pushing your Luck. Shifters may be touched by Fate, but Luck, she’s like Karma—an absolute bitch.”
“Do you need me to grab anything else from your car?” asked James.
“Yeah, all the boxes with the red sticky notes on them,” said Patricia. “Thin
k fast.” She tossed her keys at James, and he caught them in midair.
“Got it, miss boss—or should I say the boss’ missus?” asked James, sauntering away.
“Ooh, that James,” said Patricia, arms crossed, grabbing another cookie. This time, Ginger didn’t try and stop her.
“What was he going on about?” asked Ginger.
“Exactly—what was he trying to imply?” asked Patricia. “Terrence doesn’t like me like that! Of course, he doesn’t!”
“Wait—I thought you already knew he liked you and that you were turning him down,” said Ginger, confused. “What? Terrence doesn’t like you?”
“I think I’d know if he liked me,” scoffed Patricia. “Believe it or not, I used to have a crush on Terrence, but the years passed, and nothing happened. If something was going to happen, it would’ve happened.”
“Used to have a crush on him,” mused Ginger. “Does that mean you don’t have a crush on him? Or that you’ve had a crush on him for a good long while?”
Patricia’s burning cheeks were all the answer Ginger need. It was obvious they weren’t flushed from the chill. “Whatever. Let’s just get the gift wrapping station set up. My boss is insisting that we offer gift wrapping for free. I know it’s not in your job description, but, hey—Jasper’s the one expensing it.”
“Jasper’s a billionaire,” said Ginger. “If anyone should be getting a bonus for this Christmas pop-up, it’s you. After all, he’s got you running around town handling all this shizz for him while he’s in Seattle, sitting by a cozy fire or something.”