“Charmed?”
“She says that some fairy put a spell on it when it was dug and that the water is as good as a tonic.”
“Huh.” She finished her glass and held it out for a refill. “Good to know.” Her smile looked a bit forced. “It is thirst quenching,” she admitted cautiously.
“Are you feeling better?” He pulled a package of spaghetti out of the cupboard and added some to the boiling water.
“A bit.” She sighed and laid her head on her arms.
“Are you crying?” He stroked her hair.
“No.” Her shoulders quaked. “Yes.”
He abandoned the spaghetti to scoop her into his arms, hugging her close. “It’s okay.”
She sobbed into his shirt until he realized the pasta was going to be mush. He put her back in her chair where she scrubbed at her eyes with her fists. “Sorry,” she gulped.
“Nothing to be sorry about. I understand mood swings are part of pregnancy.”
She made a face. “Not a good part.” She stood up. Opened the fridge. “Where are the propane tanks anyway?”
“Outside. They have a sort of roof to protect them from the worst of the wind. The stove runs off them too. And so does the water heater.”
“Does it work?”
“It does now that I’ve lit it.”
“Does it heat water for the bathroom?” Her voice was hopeful.
“Nope.”
She retrieved the plastic container of salad from the fridge and put it on the table. Opened drawers and closed them until she found the cutlery. “Why not?”
“I guess that heating water for dishes and the washer seemed like enough for whoever installed it.”
She looked around, clearly pleased when she spotted the old-fashioned top-loader washer. “What does that run on?”
“As far as I can tell, a gas-powered motor.” He drained the spaghetti. “How much of this can you eat?”
“Not as much as that!”
“Okay.” He put less on her plate.
“Thank you for making lunch, and putting the groceries away,” she said stiffly
“You’re welcome.”
They ate in silence for a while. He needed to do a full inspection of the cabin from foundations to roof beams. Aunt Ursula said that Herb Mulcaster had mended the roof this past summer. It remained to be seen if those patches would see them through a month of rain and possibly snow. And he had his doubts about the windows. At the very least they needed recaulking.
“It’s awfully dark in here,” Zoë broke into his thoughts.
“I know. Supposedly there used to be more of a clearing around the cabin, but after Aunt Ursula stopped coming up, the saplings were just allowed to grow.”
“I thought she rented Bear Outlook last summer,” Zoë said.
“She did,” he confirmed. “But her tenant was blind*. So the Mulcasters did triage. They fixed the stairs and the porch steps and repaired the roof.”
“Oh. How did a blind guy manage with a gas stove?”
“That I don’t know. But he didn’t burn the place down.”
“Hurray.” But there was nothing celebratory about her voice.
“I plan to fix the cabin up a good bit,” he offered.
“Like what?”
“Woodstove. That fireplace sucks most of the heat up the chimney.”
“Uh huh.”
“The bathroom needs some exterior cladding. I don’t know if you noticed the cracks in the walls.”
“I noticed,” she said. “Just like I noticed the lack of hot water, the lack of electricity and the general gloom and damp. Mitchell, this place is a dump!”
“It’s not that bad.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, it is. It’s like camping, but with a roof. I’ll bet you that when it rains, the bathroom gets wet.”
“That’s a sucker bet. I just told you that it needs exterior cladding.” And just what was wrong with camping, anyway? He decided that was a question better left unasked.
“Make a list,” he said instead. “We’ll pick up stuff when we go into Mystic Bay tomorrow.”
She gave him a real smile. The kind that lit up her eyes. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll try to give this place a fair shake.”
Had he won? It sure felt like he had won. Better not push his luck. “More spaghetti?”
*Fated for the Phoenix
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Zoë~
“I’m good,” she replied as politely as she could. He had put far too much food on her plate as it was.
Her earlier tears had taken her by surprise. But shedding them had made her feel better. Embarrassed but better. Mitchell’s polo shirt was still wet, but he didn’t seem to mind. There was a lot to be said for a guy who didn’t make a big deal out of some female waterworks.
He had agreed to fix this dump, er, cottage, up. She would hold him to that. But give him a chance to make good on his promise. After all you could take Mitchell Reynolds’ word to the bank.
She might find this place dark, damp and uncomfortable, but plainly Mitchell didn’t. He positively radiated satisfaction. Unlike her, he liked it up here. And when you came right down to it, she owed him big time. Like it or not, this moldering cabin was part of the deal.
She concentrated on finishing her lunch, and drank more of that fabulous water. The more she drank, the better it tasted. The cabin seemed less dismal with Mitchell in it. She told him so.
“I lit a fire,” he explained.
“Where did you find the matches? I looked everywhere.”
“In a glass jar behind the kindling.”
Her mouth was full of salad. She raised her brows at him.
“To keep the humidity out.”
“Ah.” Of course. The ocean air was bound to be permanently moist. She swallowed. “No offense, Mitch, but why did Lucky build his cabin here? At the top of a cliff, with no road access.”
He looked surprised. “It’s defensible,” he repeated as if she were a simpleton. He got up and returned to the stove. “Are you ready for seconds now?”
“No, thanks.”
He filled his own plate, and sat back down.
“Defensible?” she asked when he had made some inroads on his second plate.
“It sure is. The cabin can’t be approached except from the sea. And whoever’s at the top controls access from the stairs.” He took another healthy forkful of salad. Chewed. “In a pinch, you could set fire to the staircase.”
So you could starve in your castle! She sighed. “I meant, why is defensible a good thing in a summer cottage?”
He stared at her as if she had asked why it was a good thing that the sun rose in the east every day. Chewed slowly and swallowed. Drank some water. His voice was soft and patient, as if he was addressing a little kid.
“It’s always good to know no one can attack you in your sleep.”
Right. Because that was what she worried most about at night. Not. She took another look at her warrior. He was totally in earnest. Everyone knew that seeing action left invisible scars. Maybe she could show a little understanding?
“What about someone sneaking through the trees?” she blurted.
He shook his head. “Can’t be done. The forest is a barrier in its own right, and our property is also divided from the rest of the island by a deep crevasse.”
A crevasse! Dear heaven. “What’s to stop someone from coming through the forest?” she asked.
“The trees. The Old Forest on West Haven is alive in some deep and magical way,” he told her. “You’ll see. Aunt Ursula says that the Reynoldses have always been on good terms with the trees, never harmed them, and never went hunting among them. In return, the trees keep an eye on trespassers.”
She couldn’t help laughing. “Fairy tales,” she observed. “Mitchell Reynolds, you can’t believe any such thing.”
“We’ll take a walk after we do the dishes. You’ll see.”
Who would have believed that practical,
pragmatic Mitchell Reynolds would believe in legends? “Okay.” After sitting all morning, she could certainly use some exercise.
“We can take bear, if you’d like. There’s no one around, and besides, West Haven is a refuge for sensitives. Paranormal talents are as natural as breathing around here.”
She knew she was goggling. “Really?”
“Really. The mayor of Mystic Bay is a fairy. A descendant of the one who charmed our well. Our caretakers are psychics.”
Psychics? Uh huh. Fairies? She didn’t think so. “The caretakers use their psychic gifts to keep this place in good repair, and stock the pantry?” she asked skeptically.
“Nope. Not all psychics are powerful. My guess is that Sandy and Herb Mulcaster are low-level intuitives. I’ve never met them.”
He shrugged. “It certainly looks like perfectly ordinary tools were used to replace bits of the stairs and perfectly ordinary cedar shingles were used to patch the roof. And someone came and turned on the fridge and stocked it.”
“Huh. So old Great-Great-Grandfather Lucky built a cabin here to take advantage of the fact that West Haven was a sanctuary for people with paranormal talents.”
“Pretty much. Of course, he had his business in Lucky’s Reach, so he couldn’t live here year-round. And I suspect that his wife didn’t want to stay during the winters.”
“Gosh, ya think?”
He grinned happily. “Once the storms start and the sea is too rough for a small boat, there is literally no way to get to town unless you go through the Old Forest. And even so you would have a long walk, unless someone happened by. Remember, there weren’t any automobiles back then. And you couldn’t just leave horses by the side of the road.”
It sounded appalling. “But why on earth would he want to live like that, even during the summers?”
“Old Lucky had a lot of enemies,” Mitchell said carefully. “And of course he was part of the Great Clearance.”
“Which was what?” She had never heard of any Great Clearance.
“I’m not sure of the dates,” he admitted. “Post Civil War anyway. West Haven was terrorized by a grizzly shifter named Haverstock. He and his wife spawned a brood of cutthroats who robbed and raped and did as they pleased with the islanders. Eventually, Percival Fairchild – the same fairy who bespelled our well – called in some shifters to hunt the Haverstocks down.”
“And Lucky Reynolds was one of them?”
“Uh huh. Him and a whole crew of predatory shifters. They cleared out the Haverstocks sire, dam, and whelps. But old Lucky wasn’t any too sure that they had gotten them all. Hence he chose the most defensible parcel of land he could,” Mitchell concluded approvingly.
She sighed. Which was why they were now stuck on the top of a cliff with no electricity, no hot water to bathe, and a boat ride from civilization. And only three bars of service and patchy internet too – for as long as their devices held a charge. And no way to acquire the amenities of the twenty-first century.
But even if she had known beforehand, she would still have agreed to his bargain. So she better try to be cheerful. Surely she owed him that much?
“Why have I never heard any of this family history before?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because you’re a Worth.” He shook his head. “West Haven is a secret, just like our being bears is a secret. Not as if we brag about it – not in Luck Harbor, not anywhere.”
This was true. “But I don’t understand why Aunt Ursula kept up this place. I mean, look at it. Primitive doesn’t begin to describe it.”
“Well, she inherited it, for a start. And it isn’t that easy to sell land on West Haven. Not if you’re a bear. You need approval from the town council. I told you that because Aunt Ursula hasn’t been staying here for the last four or five years, she’s in danger of losing her title.”
“That sounds way sketchy,” she said.
“Tell me about it. But I always wanted to visit West Haven, and when Aunt Ursula offered me Bear Outlook, I knew it was just what I needed.”
Uh huh. “So who are we hiding from?” she asked wryly.
“Chadwick Ellery Trafford III for a start. I don’t like the way he tracked you down. Guy’s turning into a fricking stalker.”
She had thought much the same, although she was probably exaggerating because she was exasperated with him. Chad was a fortune-hunting jerk. Now that he knew she was as good as married, he would be looking for another victim. Mitchell was just being overprotective. But this afternoon they had bigger issues to settle than his paranoia over her ex.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Mitchell~
The Old Forest was everything Aunt Ursula had promised and more. Zoë had dug in her heels about shifting while she was pregnant, fearing for her baby. Something about maternal shifting during pregnancy triggering early first shift in the cub. He figured that had to be superstitious rubbish. But what did he know?
Zoë however was convinced that if she took bear, it would affect the child. At that, the prospect of toddlers who could become bears was pretty scary. Maybe she should play it safe. He didn’t want to shift if she wouldn’t, so they stayed in human.
The slender saplings around the cabin were little more than brush. The weeds were brown rags. He had brought a chain saw with him, and there was a scythe in the woodshed. He could clear out the overgrowth in a couple of hours.
Zoë was right that it was dark indoors. And the view Aunt Ursula had bragged about was shrouded. But that was a job for another day. Right now they should get acquainted with their land.
He took Zoë’s hand and tugged her into the woods. The further they went, the older and taller the trees became. Douglas firs and oaks gave way to gigantic sequoias that stretched up into the clouds, and were yards around. These were the trees that Aunt Ursula insisted were sentient. He could well believe it
He still felt silly standing before one and respectfully petitioning for permission to walk on his own land. But he did it. Beside him, Zoë was trying not to snicker. He could scarcely blame her. But it was truly otherworldly when the old moss-covered lower branches waved them forward, although there was not so much as the faintest breeze stirring the other trees.
Zoë clutched his hand hard. “Did you see that?”
“I did. I think it means we can walk through the forest. So long as we don’t hunt anything.” Aunt Ursula had said that was the deal.
“Fine by me.” She held on to his hand for dear life.
He could have sworn he saw a willowy form peeping at him from behind the sequoia’s vast trunk. Hair like leafy dark green branches flickered on the periphery of his vision. Aunt Ursula had mentioned dryads. Zoë’s eyes were as round as marbles.
“Come on, let’s see where this trail leads us.” He escorted her farther into the forest. Birds darted in the cool dimness and small brownish-gray creatures rustled among the lush and brilliant green ferns.
“It’s beautiful,” she said after a while. Her grip on his hand loosened, although she did not let go of it.
“Yup.” The Old Forest felt like just what he needed to calm the demons.
Most of the time he kept his sense of impending doom under control. But here on West Haven, and particularly in the Old Forest, he didn’t have to control anything. It almost felt as if nothing evil could penetrate this shadowy green paradise.
Zoë came to a stop. “Do you hear that?”
He heard something. The faintest tinkling of bells, the sound of faint voices drifting on the wind. A song so beautiful and ethereal that it didn’t seem possible he was hearing it with his ears. Maybe his paranormal senses were engaged?
“It’s uncanny,” she whispered.
“Enchanting,” he corrected.
“Spine-chilling.”
“Ah, honey, whenever we choose, we can turn into huge black bears. Who are we to call other beings scary?”
“True.” They walked a little further. “You’re not going to shift now?” she asked.
&
nbsp; “Not today. Although I suspect that the forest would smell even better if I did.”
“It does smell nice. Woodsy and piney.” She chuckled. “That sounds banal. But the fragrance in here is sort of soothing and yet exhilarating too.”
He grinned at her. “Happier?”
“Yeah. I mean, I still feel ambivalent about the baby, but accepting too. You know?”
He had been referring to her ambivalence about their new home. But never mind. “Good. Forget about that douche. Three’s not worth your tears.”
“This is true. But...” her voice trailed off as they stepped into a small clearing.
At first he thought that someone had built a house in the middle of the Old Forest. And then he realized that the ‘house’ was what was left of the widest sequoia he had ever seen. It had not been chopped down. It had died. Probably of extreme old age, if the stories about the trees were true.
The trunk was massive. Big enough that it might take fifteen or perhaps twenty people with their arms extended to encircle it. It must once have brushed the clouds as the other ancient sequoias in this forest did. But at some point, rot had set in and destroyed the heart wood. The top of the tree had come crashing down.
Evidence for this remained in a fallen tree trunk extending behind the house. Bushes and saplings crowded around it, and the bark had flaked off in several places. But that had to be the remains of the upper portion of the tree house.
The tall stump had been re-purposed as a three-story house complete with windows and a door. The bark had been carefully removed exposing the wood, except for a spiral which had been turned into stairs leading to the roof.
The bare wood was painted a bright eye-catching blue. Neatly made steps led up over the roots to the door. Curtains hung at the windows. The top of the stump was steeply angled with neat cedar shingles.
Presumably the interior had been hollowed out and divided into rooms. The chimney in the roof puffed gentle billows of smoke. A stove pipe extended from the side of the trunk. Someone lived here. A curtain twitched on the second floor, confirming his guess.
“It’s like a fairy house,” breathed Zoë, stepping forward. “Who on earth lives here?”
Bedded by the Bear: A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance (Mystic Bay Book 6) Page 8