by Sable Sylvan
“Why don’t you share?” asked Ginger.
“The plates and silverware for the wedding cake are coordinated with the wedding theme and with the wedding cake,” explained Patricia. “We only bring enough for the cake, with a few extras—but those are also for the cake. We aren’t responsible for poor jobs done by other companies.”
“Of course they’re special plates,” said Ginger. “Sorry.”
“You’re illustrating my point perfectly,” said Patricia with a laugh. “It’s not an obvious problem, but it’s one that happens when two companies clash. The same thing happens with the lumber crews. Although Grizzlyfir Crew and Hemlock Crew don’t get along, they try to put their differences aside for jobs.”
“They’re not doing a particularly good job at it,” grumbled Ginger.
“Well, I said they try—not that they can actually do it,” said Patricia. “Plus, they’re very different camps. You know their reputations. Grizzlyfir Crew’s lumberjacks are usually blue-collar guys from around the area, who will work in logging and stick with the crew for a long while. Hemlock Crew…well, while some of their lumberjacks stay, most leave, going back to their families once they’ve done their time here.”
“Their time?” asked Ginger.
“Rich shifter families associated with Hemlock Crew’s past send their kids to Hemlock Crew to teach them what things used to be like, for their ancestors,” explained Patricia. “A lot of these city kids have never really done hard labor outdoors.”
“So it’s summer camp,” said Ginger.
“I mean, it’s December,” said Patricia.
“You know what I mean,” said Ginger. “It’s a daycare for spoiled bears.”
“Well, does James seem spoiled to you?” asked Patricia.
“Now that you mention it…no,” admitted Ginger. “I wonder what his deal is.”
“That sounds like something you’ll need to ask him,” said Patricia with a wink. “I could text Terrence and ask him for the details, but what fun would that be!”
Patricia and Ginger said their goodbyes. Ginger set up the wrapping station with the new rolls of wrapping paper and wondered who’d she be unwrapping on Christmas Eve. She took the first tray of gingerbread cookies out of the oven, put the second tray in, and poured herself a cup of Christmas tea before heading outside. It was time for her to get some fresh air.
Ginger sat outside on the back porch of the pop-up shop. The pop-up shop was in an old house just off Main Street. I had been renovated by the last lumber crew to pass through the house, just in time to make the house into a Halloween themed pop-up shop.
Ginger watched the sprinkles of snow swirling around the backyard. The snowfall was light, and there was a layer of frost on the ground. She put her hand out. The heat of her hand melted the tiny flakes of snow as they hit her fingers.
Ginger heard somebody open the gate and shouted, “Private property!”
“We know!” called a voice she recognized as Richard’s. “Get the door!”
“Dude, be polite,” hissed James.
Ginger got out of her rocking chair on the back porch and walked to the wooden fence gate. She opened it and in came Richard and James.
Richard and James carried a big folding table to the backyard, followed by a pair of folding chairs, a cash box, and a sign reading, ‘Cut Wood.’ Of course, Ginger’s mind went to the dirtiest place possible, before she remembered that Richard and James were lumberjacks.
Ginger peeked through the open gate. There were two large trucks parked on the street. One was driven by Richard’s boss Darius, leader of the Grizzlyfir Crew, while the other was driven by Terrence, leader of Hemlock Crew, and James’ boss.
Richard and James unloaded a pile of wood from the truck. They carried the logs to the backyard and piled them up with ease. Darius and Terrence stayed in their huge, warm trucks. Finally, they grabbed a supply of twine and paper bags and scissors. They put all that on the table they’d set up outside, and Darius and Terrence drove away.
“What’s going on?” asked Ginger, who hadn’t bothered them while they’d done their heavy lifting.
“Terrence and Darius made some deal with Jasper,” said Richard. “The crews will be selling firewood out of the backyard. We won’t have to make deliveries around town, and people won’t have to come up the mountain.”
“Are people going to want to buy this stuff here?” asked Ginger, raising a brow.
“One way to find out,” said James with a shrug. “Whatever our bosses tell us to do, we have to do.”
“Right, like Terrence is your boss,” scoffed Richard.
James put his ax down and crossed his arms. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re just another spoiled Hemlock Crew rich kid,” said Richard.
“Oh, I didn’t know you had access to my bank account,” said James.
“You’re in Hemlock Crew, aren’t you?” asked Richard.
“Yeah—but I’m no rich boy,” said James. “Not every Hemlock Crew bear is rich.”
“Oh, right—let me guess, you’re a millionaire, not a billionaire,” said Richard.
“I’m about fifty thousand dollars in debt from college loans,” said James.
“So have your parents wipe it,” said Richard.
“Now you sound like a Hemlock Crew asshole,” said James.
“I thought you just said Hemlock Crew bears weren’t assholes,” said Ginger.
“I said we weren’t all rich shifters,” said James with a wink. Even when Richard was pissing him off, he still managed to be charming. “Anyway, if I work at Hemlock Crew for the year, my grandpa will pay off my debts.”
“So you do have rich parents,” said Richard.
“Nope,” said James.
“You don’t?” asked Ginger.
“That’s a story for another time,” said James. “Now, are we gonna chop some wood or what?”
“Can I grab you two anything to eat or drink?” asked Ginger. “You guys were lifting some heavy shizz.”
“Got flapjacks?” asked Richard.
“No,” answered Ginger.
“Got maple syrup?” asked Richard.
“No,” said Ginger.
“Ice water,” said Richard.
“With ice?” verified Ginger, noting the chill in the air.
“Yeah—I don’t drink room temperature water, ever,” said Richard.
“What macho bullshizz is this?” asked Ginger.
“Water is very good for you,” Richard said simply. “You don’t have carbs or sugar, so I’ll just take the water.”
“Were…were you planning on just drinking a gallon of maple syrup?” asked Ginger.
“I’m a bear,” said Richard. “What can I say? If you had a jar of honey, I’d have that.”
“Sure you would,” said Ginger, rolling her eyes. “Okay. One water. And for you, James?”
“Is that ass on the menu?” asked James.
“Wait, what?” asked Ginger with a laugh.
“Do you want me to smack him?” asked Richard, slapping his ax’s handle. “I can reach him from here, no problem.”
“No, it’s fine, Richard,” said Ginger. “James, not everyone is into eating ass, for what it’s worth.”
“Then I’ll take a glass of milk,” said James.
“Wow, real manly,” said Richard.
“Milk’s pretty frikkin’ metal,” said James. “We just go up to a big-ass animal and squeeze its tits into a bucket and drink what comes out?
“Now I never want to drink milk again,” said Ginger, shaking her head.
Ginger went inside and made herself a cup of Christmas tea with a cinnamon stick stirrer. She made Richard a glass of water with ice, poured James a glass of milk, and then, she went over to the display of items. While she didn’t have maple syrup behind the counter, and the honey behind the counter was for customers, there were maple syrup and honey for sale in the pop-up shop. She’d had a wicked idea, an
d once she saw the prices, she decided to make her naughty dream into a naughty reality.
She grabbed two of each of the cheapest maple syrup and honey bottles, for just twenty bucks total, and charged it to her own card. She grabbed some day-olds from the jar and put them on a plate on the tray. Technically, anything the two bears consumed from the bakery area of the shop could be expensed, but expensing a latte was one thing. Explaining to Patricia why an industrial-sized bottle of honey had been consumed by one shifter was another.
Ginger walked outside with her tray.
There, in the backyard, James and Richard had wasted no time getting set up. The yard in the back of the pop-up shop had two big, thick stumps, leftover from renovations done in the autumn, by another set of lumberjacks. James and Richard had cleared the thin layer of snow off their stumps and moved slippery snow off of the grass.
Back and forth, thwack, thwack, thwack. The lumberjacks were beating their axes against the stumps in tandem, according to an unspoken tempo. They grabbed logs, placed them on the stumps, and split them in two with their old-fashioned iron-headed axes, chopping away at the wood like a scene out of a Christmas themed puzzle.
Of course, what Ginger was noticing was the kind of thing that wouldn’t make it onto some wholesome Vermont themed Christmas painting. What she was seeing were the things a woman like her, a woman starved for sex but not starved for much else, would notice.
While Ginger was bundled up in her soft puffer coat, like a giant sleeping bag, nursing her hot beverage, the two lumberjacks were out there in jeans and flannel shirts. Their shirts weren’t plaid on airy cotton, but outright flannels. Richard’s flannel shirt looked more worn than James’— with elbows that looked like they’d soon need patching. Ginger could just imagine the scene—Richard coming up to her, asking shyly if she could mend the shirt, and when she said yes, he’d strip down, wearing only a white T-shirt, and maybe, just maybe he might just take that off too.
She looked over at James. James had on relatively new looking wares. Although Ginger, James, and Richard were all around the same age, she got the sense that James was newer to the lumberjack lifestyle than Richard. From what she knew of Hemlock Crew, it made sense. He’d been sent there to learn…something. But what? And by who? And had he learned his lesson yet? James was always cracking jokes, but he was never cracking open his shell and letting her in. His emotional armor was as tough as the dark green flannel shirt he was wearing. The shirt had thin yellow stripes. It almost looked like a light from within, cutting through the shirt. Could Ginger split open James’ shell, the same way James was splitting the logs just as quickly as Richard?
She looked between the two shifters and their handiwork. While they worked at the same speed, Richard’s cleaved logs were neater than James’. James’ split wood had more splinters. Ginger looked over to the supply table. It made sense that they’d need to wrap the wood in paper bags with twine. She got a silly idea in her head. She had leftover ribbon. Maybe that could make the logs look a little fancier, a little cuter. It was cheeky, but perhaps it’d be sweet.
Ginger quickly ducked into the pop-up, went to the supply closet, and grabbed spools of red and green ribbon. That red ribbon was just as bright and cheery as Richard, and that green, as mysterious and primal as James. She carried the nearly empty spools of ribbon out to the firewood sales table.
An older woman came off the street and walked toward the backyard. The sales table was set up so it could be viewed from the road, in a sort of alley next to the house.
“Excuse me, are you having a yard sale?” asked the woman enrobed in a mink fur coat.
“Nope,” said Ginger, readjusting the sign and motioning to it. “We’re actually selling firewood!”
“Firewood, you say?” asked the woman. “Hmm. Sell me on it.”
“Sell you on firewood?” asked Ginger, raising a brow.
“I don’t use a fireplace, you see, as I’m sensitive to smoke—but I do like to support local businesses,” the woman said sheepishly.
“Oh, okay,” said Ginger. “Hmm. Do you have any parties you’re going to sometime soon? Christmas parties?”
“I do—at my sister-in-law’s house,” explained the woman. “She’s the kind of woman who already has everything. I was actually thinking of visiting this pop-up shop to find her a present, but it seems it’s not open yet.”
“Trust me—if your sister-in-law is the kind of person that has everything, then you should absolutely get her some firewood,” said Ginger. “I can tie it up all nice for you, with ribbons.”
“Isn’t it a bit of an odd gift?” asked the woman.
“That’s what makes it perfect!” explained Ginger. “It’s rather novel, isn’t it? If she doesn’t like your gift, she can burn it—literally! Plus, it’s winter. I’m sure she’d love to light it for when guests come over, so they can all sing carols around the piano, in front of a roaring fire. Maybe she has little ones that would love to roast marshmallows over an outdoor fire pit, or maybe, she and her partner might enjoy using it for a romantic night in.”
“You’ve sold me on it,” said the woman. “I’ll take a dozen.”
“A…a dozen bags of firewood? For one woman?” asked Ginger, quirking a brow.
“You know, the social circle I’m in, we’re very…well, I’d say competitive, but frankly, we’re more catty,” explained the woman. “We’re always looking to out-gift one another, but I think this firewood might be the gift that shows them all up!” Ginger raised a brow. Was this woman some kind of cat shifter? She could definitely see this woman being a glamourous cheetah, and she could be a ‘cougar’ in both senses of the word.
“Well, then, my only question is—do you want the red ribbon or the green ribbon?” asked Ginger.
“Well, both, of course!” said the woman. “Asking me to choose, well…it’d be like asking me to choose which one of those strong, strapping lads over there is more handsome.”
“You know, if you pick one out, I’m sure that they’d love to help you out with this order,” said Ginger with a wink, looking to make this woman’s Christmas special.
“Honey, what did I just tell you about picking?” asked the woman in a low tone. “If you can avoid it, don’t do it!”
Ginger waved Richard and James over.
“Richard, James, meet…” started Ginger.
“Siobhan,” said the woman. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Now, boys…will you help me out with my order?”
“Of course, ma’am,” said James.
Ginger left the woman in James and Richard’s powerful, capable hands. It was the least she could do to thank the woman for her advice, advice that Siobhan may not have realized she was really giving. Although Siobhan had sounded like she was joking, Ginger had to admit to herself that she might indeed have a point.
Maybe Ginger wasn’t supposed to choose. Perhaps James and Richard were as different as green and red. Still, together, they were a really special combination of naughty and nice.
Or, maybe, Ginger was reading too much into things. Soon, the woman left in her very fancy SUV.
“Thanks for helping us land a sale,” called Richard.
“Hey, Dick!” shouted Ginger. “Were you serious about wanting that syrup?”
“Dead serious,” said Richard, walking toward her. “Don’t tell me you found some.”
“Well, I know it’s usually traditional for the guy to get the girl a drink, but I’m feeling generous,” said Ginger, waving the syrup bottle in the air. “Call it happy hour or an early Christmas gift.”
“Oh, and what, I’m chopped liver?” called James.
“You don’t think I’d play favorites, do you?” asked Ginger, picking up the jar of honey. “Put your money—err, your honey—where your mouth is.”
Richard and James came up to the back porch.
“So?” asked Ginger with a smirk.
“Looks like Christmas came early,” said James, unbuttoning his flanne
l shirt.
“Whoa, there, cowboy—err, lumberjack. What are you doing?” asked Ginger.
“Can’t get honey on my flannel,” said James. Richard nodded, and then he too followed suit! Ginger couldn’t believe it. Her innocent time spent on the back porch, watching the snow, had turned into a frikkin’ orgy, and all because Patricia had suggested she get some fresh air.
Well, Patricia did have a knack for suggesting folks do things that would end up getting them into trouble later. But, was the prospect of watching two hot-as-heck bear shifters strip down and then get sticky and sweet with maple syrup and honey really ‘trouble?’
Yes. Yes, it was.
James and Richards’ hot bodies were steamy—literally. The snow hit their bodies and turned into vapor. It was barely perceptible unless you were looking very closely at them, and so Ginger was. James and Richard were both gingers, with hair the same shade of the outside skin of a ginger root, but their chests had slightly different coloration. Richard’s chest was pale blonde, while James’ was fire red. Was that a sign that maybe, James was the fiercer of the two? And did Richard’s ‘carpets’ match his…well, not his ‘drapes,’ but the ‘wall treatment?’
Ginger wasn’t one for hiking, unlike many of the other BBWs working at Bear Claw Bakery. Still, Richard’s thick happy trail was one she wouldn’t’ve minded enjoying. It was a very hilly trail, going over the hills and valleys of his muscles, which were covered with a thick layer of fluff in the form of fat rather than snow. But, something was appealing about a furry man. His pleasure trail was visible even though his blonde torso hair was nearly transparent. He was hairy, and a fur coat was just what Ginger needed to keep her warm on those cold winter nights. However, she didn’t need to be the one wearing the jacket…
Without a word, Richard took the glass maple syrup jug and looked over it. He opened it, held it to his lips, and started chugging the stuff as smoothly as if he were drinking spiced apple cider.
“What the heck?” hissed Ginger.
Richard pulled down the jug. “I told you I drink this stuff. I have to keep this layer of fat thick for the winter.” Richard patted his stomach.
“That’s practically all muscle,” said Ginger, motioning over her body. “This is fat, in these curves.”