by Sable Sylvan
Stud Muffin Bears
Freshly Baked Furry Tails, Book 1
Sable Sylvan
www.sablesylvan.com
Copyright © 2019 by Heather Davies/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
Stud Muffin Bears
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
Sneak Peek: Miss Muffet’s Bears
About the Author
Stud Muffin Bears
Freshly Baked Furry Tails, Book 1
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Do you know the muffin bears?
Curvy baker Jennifer Drury moved to Port Jameson, Oregon because she was unlucky in love, so the last thing she expected to find was two hot, handsome lumberbear suitors on her first day on the job. Jennifer wants them — after all, her muffin needs stuffin’. The only problem is, Jevon and Rufus are rivals. Will these werebears learn to share their mate’s muffin top? And will Jennifer come up with a unique recipe worthy of taking first at the Port Jameson Bakeoff?
Jevon Cain is an all-American werebear and member of the Grizzlyfir Crew . He keeps as much distance from the stuck-up boys from the Hemlock Crew as he can. When he finds one of their lumberjacks blocking the way between him and his fated mate’s curvy cupcakes, he’s going to take his rival down. Rufus might be built like a redwood, but that’s no match for Jevon’s bear claws.
Rufus Steel never thought that his summer working with the Hemlock Crew would lead him to his true love. That’s why he knows the connection he feels with Jennifer must be fated. The only problem is, some townie wants to take what’s rightfully his. Rufus hasn’t moved across the country to lose his fated mate to another man or another shifter, and he’s not about to go back home without her.
Chapter One
It was a short walk from Drury Lane to Bear Claw Bakery — a surprisingly short walk. Jennifer Drury had her satchel over her soft shoulders and took her time strolling to work. Wearing a thick hoodie, she enjoyed walking through the morning mist from her new rental house to her new place of work.
Jennifer thought back to her time spent in her old town — Fallowedirt, Texas, a small town where big romances happened, well, for everyone but her. She’d wanted a change of scenery, and she’d gotten one. Fallowedirt was flat and hot, while Port Jameson was hilly and cooler. Maybe ‘hilly’ wasn’t the best word. Maybe ‘mountainous’ was.
The Bear Claw Bakery that Jennifer Drury had transferred to was at the base of a mountain covered in gorgeous green trees. As she neared the bakery, she could practically smell the scent of pine wafting down from the trees. It nearly rivaled the smell of the freshly baked loaves of bread coming from the bakery. After all, while Jennifer was just arriving at the bakery, others had been at work for hours, working hard at baking the fresh bread that would be sent out the restaurants and offered for sale at the bakery.
Jennifer was so distracted by the whimsy of her walk that she nearly jumped out of her shoes when she saw a bear come out in front of her.
The bear popped out of the big green leafy bushes by the side of the bakery and let out a yawn, exposing rows of sharp white teeth, before looking straight at Jennifer. The bear was big — real big — and brown, with eyes as green as the bushes it had emerged from.
Jennifer let out a tiny yelp and then put her hands up to her mouth. The bear roared back at her. She put her hands up and started to back up.
“Nice bear…” said Jennifer.
The bear started to back up, looking up and down over Jennifer. She was sure he was going to pounce. She wasn’t sure what to do. She hadn’t thought to buy any bear spray. She knew she’d left something off her moving supply list. Cardboard boxes? Check. Packing peanuts? Check. Bear spray so she wouldn’t get gobbled up by a feral bear on her first day of work? That was the one thing she hadn’t picked up. She had sixteen frikkin’ surge protectors, but not one bottle of bear spray.
A man came out of the bakery. He was wearing a flannel shirt and jeans and carrying a freshly baked loaf of bread that was steaming up a plastic bag. The man was a bit older than Jennifer, with stubble and hair that was mostly peppery but sprinkled with some salt.
“Ma’am, is that bear bothering you?” he asked casually.
“Y-yes!” squeaked Jennifer. “Help!”
The bear turned toward the man. Before Jennifer could warn the man to watch out, the stranger said, “Sit.”
And, the big grizzly bear sat.
Jennifer’s jaw nearly dropped and hit the frikkin’ pavement. This guy had a trained bear?
“Your pet?” asked Jennifer.
The man chuckled. “You could say that.”
Jennifer looked down at the bear, which looked up at Jennifer with big, emerald green eyes. She swore she saw the bear bat its lashes at her. It had gone from monster to teddy bear in a minute.
“Can I pet him?” asked Jennifer.
She swore that the bear looked up to its master for permission.
“Sure, why not?” said the man.
Jennifer ran her hands through the fur of the bear. The bear’s hair was surprisingly silky soft and smooth. The bear was warm — real warm — like a handwarmer come to life.
“I can’t believe I was scared at him before, just because he roared,” admitted Jennifer.
“He can get real skittish,” said the man. “Did you scream or something?”
“Yes,” admitted Jennifer.
“Well, that’s why he screamed back in bear,” said the man. “Just reflexes is all, but now, you two are fast friends.”
The bear nuzzled her, and she cuddled it right back, pressing its head against her chest. It was just like a living teddy bear.
The bear froze up under her touch. Jennifer sensed the bear was taken aback, so she pulled away.
“Did I do something wrong?” asked Jennifer.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” asked the man.
“What gave it away?” asked Jennifer. “My Texas accent?”
“That…and the fact you didn’t recognize a shifter in his bear,” said the man with a chuckle. “Guess they’re uh, real friendly where you come from. Some of that Texas hospitality I’ve heard about from Daisy Craston, the honey gal. But, uh, Daisy’s never pressed my head in between her, well…chestal area. That’s quite a greeting there. Hopefully, it catches on here.” The man motioned over his own chest and drew fake breasts in the air.
“Wh-what?” asked Jennifer, pulling her hand away and quickly standing up. “I’m so sorry! I had no idea —well, I guess that much is apparent! If I had known he was a shifter…is a shifter…”
Of course, he was a shifter. Of frikkin’ course. This was a more rural area than Fallowedirt in many ways, and while it wasn’t exactly common for shifters to walk around in their shifts in Fallowedirt, it wasn’t unheard of. She’d barely moved to town, and she’d already committed a faux pas. The shifter community was small. She was sure this story woul
d get told over drinks later that night. Her cheeks turned redder than a cherry cupcake.
“No sweat — but because he can’t do the introductions, I will,” said the man. “I’m Terrence, Terrence Gleave. I run Hemlock Crew, up on the mountain. Swing by sometime with some of your boss’s donuts, and I’m sure that Rufus here will let you pretend this whole thing…never happened.”
He reached out a hand, and Jennifer shook it. As he pulled away, Jennifer realized the man’s hands felt rough. Terrence caught her staring and flipped his hands over.
“Word to the wise. Bear shifters have these paw prints on their hands,” said Terrence, running his fingers over the paw print marks on his hands. “The print a shifter has on their hands can clue you into the kind of shift they have.”
“Some things don’t change — no matter where you go,” said Jennifer. “I just thought I must be really tired to not have noticed them sooner.”
“Trust me — there’s a lot about Port Jameson that makes it real special, and it ain’t just the fact we got shifters running down the street in full frikkin’ shift,” said Terrence with a chuckle. “Come on, Rufus. We’ve got quite the day ahead of us.”
The man waved the bear over, and the bear followed him, plodding through the underbrush, but not before shooting a look back at Jennifer.
Jennifer sighed and headed into the bakery. She had already made a bad impression on two locals by looking like a yokel. Now, she had to try and make a good impression at work. She headed straight to the manager’s office.
“Hello?” said Jennifer, knocking on the door. “I’m the new hire, Jennifer Drury.”
A woman working at a computer finished the sentence she was writing and stood up, turning to face Jennifer. She was a few years older than Jennifer, just as curvy, and she was wearing a cardigan that had a bit of flour on it. She was obviously not in a baker position — at least, full time — given she was wearing clothes that wouldn’t be practical in the baking area.
“Well, hello, Jennifer,” said the woman, taking Jennifer’s hand. “I’m Patricia Holt. We talked on the phone. You find the place okay?”
“Yep,” said Jennifer, keeping secret the fact that she’d tested the commute to and from the bakery before she’d signed the papers for her rental. She didn’t want to look over-eager.
“Great,” said Patricia. “Now, you’re handling muffins. That’s why we have you on the shift that starts at six. You’re actually a little early, so let me show you around.”
Patricia showed Jennifer around the kitchen. It was larger than the tiny food stall at the library where Jennifer had last worked. For one, the food was freshly baked, and not wrapped in plastic and shipped in from goodness knew where. For two, there was an actual frikkin’ kitchen, with mixers, bowls, everything. For three, it was big — bigger than it looked on the outside. Patricia showed Jennifer her locker, where to find aprons, and the big book of laminated recipes, as well as where to find all the ingredients she’d need to make that day’s assigned recipe, corn muffins.
Jennifer put her stuff in her locker, grabbed an apron, washed her hands, and familiarized herself further with the workspace, keeping out of the way of the bakers in charge of baking fresh bread. There would be time for introductions later, when they weren’t scrambling to fill the regular orders from the restaurants on Main Street, much further down the hill, along the river.
Jennifer had just finished pouring the first batch of mealy batter into muffin tins when Patricia dipped into the baking area like a biscotti dunking into a latte.
“Jennifer, can I see you in my office?” asked Patricia. “Actually, you know what? The weather’s so nice, we might as well do this outside.”
Jennifer gulped. Had she done something wrong on her first day?
“Okay, give me a second,” said Jennifer, taking off her apron before washing her hands.
“No rush,” said Patricia, heading out to the large wrap around patio.
Jennifer looked in the mirror over the sink. As many of the employees went between the baking and retail section of the stores, there was a mirror so they could check their appearances and make sure their faces weren’t caked with flour.
Jennifer looked over her visage, checking to see if she’d grown a third ear or a second nose because her day had gotten off to quite a start. She’d made a faux pas with that shifter Rufus. After all, everyone knew not to touch shifters when they were in their animal forms without getting permission from that shifter. Plus, she’d presumed that Terrence was Rufus’ owner, assumed that Rufus was a pet. They were at the bakery early, so she was sure they were probably regulars.
Jennifer took a breath and grabbed her jacket before hitting the porch and finding Patricia sitting there with two cups of coffee and two plates, each holding a muffin. She took her seat across from Patricia.
“Hey, Patricia,” said Jennifer.
“Eat up,” said Patricia, motioning over the food.
“Uh…okay,” said Jennifer. She picked up the muffin and ate it. It was a blackberry muffin, and while the flavor of the fruit was good, the muffin itself was a little crumbly. It wasn’t as moist as it should be. She kept the thoughts to herself, as obviously, she was already in hot water with the boss.
“What do you think of the muffin?” asked Patricia cooly, raising an eyebrow and taking a sip of her coffee.
Jennifer nearly choked on the muffin.
“Uh…it’s good,” lied Jennifer.
“What about it is good?” asked Patricia.
“The fruit,” said Jennifer.
“So, the muffin isn’t good — the fruit is good,” said Patricia. “What could make the muffin better?”
Jennifer could tell that there was no use keeping her feelings from Patricia. “Okay, well…it’s uh, not moist. I don’t mean cupcake moist. I mean muffin moist. It’s very dry…and crumbly. But the blackberries are good. I think the base recipe’s probably okay, but…”
“…But it’s not the perfect muffin,” said Patricia. “It’s not perfect, just like those berries aren’t blackberries.”
“They’re not?” asked Jennifer.
“No — and here are two lessons,” said Patricia. “First — if it looks like a blackberry, tastes like a blackberry, and is from Port Jameson…it’s probably a marionberry. It’s a hybrid of, well, so many berries that I’m sure it’s part bear shifter to boot. Second — don’t lie to me, even white lies. I need you to feel confident in letting me know if something is wrong. If the kitchen is on fire, let me know. If the muffins are bad, let me know.”
“Okay, got it,” said Jennifer.
“I’ve been trying to convince the CEO of the company that we can make a better muffin,” said Patricia. “I think the Bear Claw Bakery’s popularity has lead to the recipes becoming, well…not as good as they used to be. I get it – to standardize the recipes, cuts had to be made, and the recipes needed to be easier to make. After all, there are dozens, if not hundreds, of these bakeries open, all around the country. But, the reason that Bear Claw Bakery got popular, well…it wasn’t because of our décor, I’ll tell you that much. It was because of the baked goods. We’ve been resting on our laurels – and we can do better than that. We can be champs.”
“Champs? Like a sports team?” asked Jennifer, raising a brow.
“In the ancient Greek Olympics, winners of various competitions would receive a wreath made of laurels,” said Patricia. “When I said we were resting on our laurels, I meant it. It means we’ve become too satisfied with our own past achievements that we aren’t looking forward, to the future, and we aren’t pushing our limits. We aren’t giving it our all. We used to win competitions with our baked goods. That was how people from out of town learned about Bear Claw Bakery – they’d come to festivals and fairs and try our award-winning pastries. News about the bakery spread and, of course, the owner Jasper Dixon had the money to open new locations. But…we stopped winning competitions. I’m not saying winning’s everything…
”
“But it sure doesn’t hurt,” said Jennifer. “It’d renew interest in the bakery, prove that Bear Claw Bakery hasn’t lost its way.”
“Exactly. What better way to prove all that than by entering our muffins in the annual Port Jameson Bake-Off? That’s practically the bakery Olympics – at least, in Port Jameson,” said Patricia. “Besides, I don’t want the Toad in the Hole Bakery gals winning again. They win every year — and they always make a marionberry muffin, so that must be what the judges have a taste for. There’s a popular vote and a panel of judges. Combined, those scores determine the winner of the bake-off.”
“Because that way…you’ll prove the new recipe is strong,” said Jennifer. “How can I help?”
“Well, by working on the recipe, of course!” said Patricia. “I heard from Grandma Dixon that you make the best muffins she’s ever tasted, and you don’t get to be her age and that curvy without trying a lot of muffins!”
“Wait, wait, wait — you want me to handle the muffin recipe on my own?” asked Jennifer. “This is a high stakes job!”
“It is, and I think it’s the kind of job a gal like you can handle,” said Patricia. “After all, any gal willing to pick up all her shizz, move to Port Jameson without knowing any folks here except Grandma Dixon through a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend…well, she’s probably a woman who isn’t afraid to do hard shizz. So, are you in, or…?”
“I’m in,” said Jennifer. “You want me to make the muffins with marionberries? I’ve never worked with them, but…I’m sure I can figure it out.”
“Of course, the muffins have to be made with marionberries,” said Patricia. “After all, this is Port Jameson. If there are two things we have, it’s marionberries and werebears — and where there’s one, there’s probably the other. Of course, while I have far too many bottles of marionberry jams and syrups at home, I haven’t caught myself a werebear yet, but…well, I shouldn’t go on about that. You’re my employee, it’s your first day. Forget I said anything.”