Bedded by the Bear: A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance (Mystic Bay Book 6)

by Isadora Montrose

  “Don’t you mean a blog?”

  “Call it what you please. But we could use someplace to get our local news before it’s three days old. Ever since the Mystic Bay Gazette folded, we have relied on gossip for community events.”

  “The grapevine is usually pretty efficient,” Zoë said wryly. “We hadn’t been ten minutes in town when we twigged that everyone knew who we were.”

  “Sure. You guys living out at Bear Lookout is big news. But there’s no longer anywhere to read about the school bake sale, or read the scores of the football games. All that little stuff that makes us a community. The town clerk is supposed to post announcements on the town’s Facebook page, but he’s a bit of a technophobe.”

  “That would be Mr. Lodge?”

  “You’ve met him, so you know what I mean. He’s a dear man, but even if he were remotely suited to creating an online resource, he has quite enough to do.”

  “Don’t look at me,” Zoë said. “We’re here for thirty days, and then I’m done. Cleaning up construction debris is my new career, but as soon as that’s over, I’m out of here. I’m not spending the winter trapped on a cliff!”

  Moira made a sympathetic noise.

  “Besides,” Zoë continued. “We have the patchiest internet up there. Half the time it’s worse than useless. And that reminds me, right this minute, I should be using your electricity to charge my phone, because we still don’t have power.”

  “You could get us started,” Moira coaxed. “Set up a blog or an online magazine, and then someone could take it over when you leave.”

  “Find me some electricity, and I’ll think about it,” Zoë fibbed.

  “Why don’t you get a room at the inn for a day or two?” Moira suggested. “Take a break from reno stress?”

  “Don’t tempt me.” Zoë took a deep breath. A Worth always did her duty. “Those supplies won’t swim to Bear Lookout by themselves.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Moira~

  “Come on in. She’s gone,” Moira said.

  Aunt Robin slipped in the back door and gazed dotingly down at Rowena. “She looks more like your mother every day,” she whispered. “How did it go?”

  Moira nodded. Rowena did look like her late grandmother. “Mission accomplished. Zoë’s fed up with living in a construction zone.”

  Robin was unsurprised. “That was the idea.”

  “I suggested that she get a hotel room and take a break from living in squalor, but she chose to stand by her man,” Moira said.

  “You weren’t supposed to do that,” Robin objected. “Unless you were testing her?”

  “Nope. No test. I just felt sorry for her,” Moira explained. “She’s looking a lot frayed at the edges.”

  “That merely demonstrates that our scheme is working,” Robin said serenely. “Did you suggest creating an online newspaper to her?”

  Moira rolled her eyes. “I planted a seed. Zoë didn’t say yes. But she didn’t say no. The real problem is, she doesn’t plan to stay around here once the thirty-day requirement is up. She feels stranded up on Bear Lookout. Can’t say I blame her.”

  “I hear that Capt. Reynolds loves it up there,” Robin replied placidly. “Howard says that once the renovations are complete, the cabin will be fine.”

  “Will it?” Moira met Robin’s green eyes steadily. “Neither of us would want to live without hot water or electricity. Or decent internet.”

  “They should have all three by the end of the day.”

  “Really?”

  “Barring unforeseen problems.”

  “Famous last words,” Moira said skeptically. “Poor kid.”

  “It will all work out. Their wedding is planned for next Saturday. Howard says the renovations are coming along, despite,” Robin paused delicately, “Some setbacks.”

  “Are you getting Howard Stickney to sabotage Zoë and Mitchell?” Moira could feel her eyes bulging.

  Robin laughed. A mere tinkling of silver bells. “Don’t be silly. Murphy’s Law is quite sufficient to provide all the delays required for our plan. The number of glitches that occur once renovations are commenced is directly proportional to the distance to the hardware store.”

  “Poor Zoë!”

  “Eventually, the snags will get smoothed out and that cabin will be as pleasant as Capt. Reynolds thinks it is. Zoë Worth will live happily ever after.”

  “I don’t see how. Bear Lookout will still be a long way from town,” Moira shook her head at Robin’s overly convoluted matchmaking.

  “Gordon tells me that Capt. Reynolds has ordered a closed-cabin cruiser so Zoë can travel in comfort even in the winter.”

  “Nice wedding present. Just a little too late. I don’t think there will be a wedding. Reading between the lines, they are at each other’s throats.”

  “Don’t say that. Those two are fated mates.”

  “In your dreams, Auntie. Zoë is at the end of her rope.”

  “Not just in my dreams,” Robin held her thumb and forefinger apart. “Howard Stickney is this close to getting Capt. Reynolds to underwrite a tidal generator. Think what that would mean for West Haven?”

  Matchmaking was just a sideline, Aunt Robin was all about the economic development of West Haven in general, and Mystic Bay in particular. But could even a powerful fairy pull this elaborate scheme off?

  Robin continued smugly. “Zoë will have all the power she can use. With enough left over so West Haven can have some competitive manufacturing.”

  “What sort of manufacturing?” Moira asked doubtfully.

  “Well,” Robin said artlessly. “The Reynolds have been engaged in ship building for over 150 years. What would be more fitting?”

  “Have I mentioned that you are turning into an evil fairy?”

  “Nonsense. Zoë will thank me before I’m done.”

  “And I can sell you a bridge to Friday Harbor, real cheap.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Mitchell~

  “She’s not going to be happy, Captain,” Benoit stated gloomily.

  They were all well-smeared with wood chips, sawdust and caulk. A layer of grease helped the dirt stick. But by gum and by guess they had wired the house. Sort of.

  Wolfmann had taken his boat into town and borrowed a gasket from Bear Claw Construction, and they had gotten the generator hooked up. The bare bulb in the living area and a single outlet on the kitchen wall were working.

  Time to buck up his team. “We have power. Sort of.” Unfortunately, the debris strewn through the house mocked Mitchell’s efforts. “And the logs are properly mortared inside and out. No more drafts.”

  Wolfmann coughed. “Woodstove is ready to go. House should be warm in two shakes.”

  His remark was greeted by nervous laughter. Most of the sawdust and dust covering the floor and furniture had flooded the cabin when they widened the existing vent to accommodate the new stove pipe. It clung accusingly to the furniture, walls and floor. Even the stove was covered in debris. Mortar blotched the floorboards.

  “Can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.” That was Benoit’s contribution.

  Howard snorted. “This is one righteous mess, Mitchell,” he said flatly. “When did you say Zoë would be back?”

  “She should be on her way, right now.” Probably had sharpened her tongue in town.

  “You sure about that? Because if I’d spoken to my Emily the way you spoke to Zoë this morning, she would leave me to rot up here.”

  “You heard that?” Mitchell muttered.

  “You were shouting, Reynolds, in case you didn’t notice. At. A. Pregnant. Woman,” Howard reproved him. “Anyone would think that baby wasn’t yours.”

  Mitch froze. What was Howard really saying? Had their fight been about the baby? He didn’t think so. On the other hand, he never shouted. Used his parade voice, sure, but never lost his temper. Except he had this morning, with little Zoë.

  “Zoë wouldn’t leave me because we had a little
fight,” he said as much to reassure himself as because he thought it was true.

  The guys laughed even more nervously.

  “She’ll be back,” he said as much to convince himself as anything.

  “Maybe she won’t notice the dirt,” Wolfmann suggested tentatively. “If we stick these coils of cable in the shed.”

  The other men glared at the werewolf. Drew held up his hands. “I know. I know. She’ll notice. Anyone would. What we need is a Shop-Vac.”

  “You got one, Howard?” asked Benoit.

  “Never felt the need,” said Stickney. “But if we can just get the big lumps up, I’ll see if Emily will let you use her indoor one.” He gazed around the group. “No guarantees. She’s not much for neighboring. And she’s awful proud of that machine.”

  As Mitchell hadn’t yet seen Mrs. Stickney even at a distance, let alone met her, he understood that he was being offered an enormous concession. “Tell her if we break it, or get it clogged, we’ll buy her a new one.”

  Howard snorted and left.

  “I’ll find the trash bags,” Benoit offered.

  “Is this the only broom?” Wolfmann brought in the chewed-up one from the porch.

  “I think so.” Mitchell began to pick scraps of electrical cable and chunks of wood off the floor.

  “I’ll do that,” Benoit said. “You go see what the bedroom looks like.”

  What it looked like was a disaster. Four heavy guys walking up and down the roof had loosened the dust of ages. Zoë’s pretty new comforter was coated in powdery black dirt and fragments of wood.

  Spiders stalked across it, hunting the confused beetles that were trying to hide in the wrinkles. Mitch looked at his hands in despair. They were too dirty to even think of shaking out that comforter.

  A soft voice spoke behind him. “Mercy. What have you men done?”

  “We fitted the woodstove,” Howard answered. “Had to walk on the roof.”

  “Mercy.” The speaker said even more disapprovingly.

  Howard’s wife was even shorter and rounder than Zoë. Emily Stickney was wearing a blue print dress, a brown apron, and a red headscarf. Not a crease marred her apron. Not a hair showed under her scarf.

  She looked like a stout peasant woman from some old print. A very pregnant peasant woman armed with a broom and a bucket of cleaning supplies.

  “My wife,” said Howard proudly. “She’s offered to help.”

  “A pleasure, Mrs. Stickney,” Mitchell said. He didn’t offer his filthy hand. “I’m very grateful for your assistance.”

  “I wish I could say the same, Mr. Reynolds,” Emily Stickney’s voice was tart. “What have you done to this house? And whatever is your fiancée going to say?”

  Mitchell hung his head. “She’s going to be mad as fire.”

  “I’ll say. You leave this room to me.” Emily Stickney wrapped her broom in a clean rag. “Go on. Scat.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am,” Mitchell scatted.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Zoë~

  By the time Zoë had completed her errands she was worn to the bone. But also filled with a sense of accomplishment. She had shopped for groceries, been twice to the hardware store – once for the things Mitchell had asked her to pick up, and once to sign for the things that had come on the ferry.

  She had also braved the Town Hall, and wrestled a license out of Brad Lodge and booked a wedding date. Not her first choice, but at least they had a date. They had an actual wedding license and an appointment to be married on Saturday.

  She and Mitchell were really getting married. If they lasted that long. She didn’t know if the reno had brought out a side of Mitch that she hadn’t known about, or if she was being unreasonable about the predictable disruption. She just knew she was out of sorts and not looking forward to her return.

  That hotel room Moira had suggested was sounding better every minute.

  It briefly occurred to her that she would have to be married in her jeans, as she had nothing more formal with her. But never mind. What she ought to do is call Mitchell’s folks and tell them to come for the wedding.

  It was bad enough that neither of her parents were alive to wish her well, and that Griff and Cindy were unavailable. The Reynoldses would be hurt to be excluded from Mitchell’s wedding.

  She and Mitchell might have a convenient arrangement. They might be getting on each other’s nerves. They might not be fated mates. But that didn’t mean that they had to begin their marriage with a feud.

  She made a quick detour to the Wheelhouse to have her conversation with Sheila Reynolds out of the wind. Lily waved a hand in greeting and gestured toward the coffeepot behind her. Zoë nodded.

  Lily came trotting over. “Did you have lunch?” she asked.

  “I forgot. It’s been that kind of a day.” And breakfast had been sketchy, since the guys had eaten them down to the nubbins.

  “That’s no good for the baby.”

  Did everyone in Mystic Bay know everything about everyone? According to Moira, no. But you wouldn’t know it by Zoë Worth. “I’ll have a bowl of chowder,” she said. “I don’t have much time. I have groceries being loaded onto my boat as we speak.”

  “It’s cold enough that they’ll keep while you eat. You want a nice grilled cheese sandwich with that?”

  The chowder put heart into her. The sandwich was made with real cheddar. Her conversation with Sheila Reynolds cheered her even more.

  “Aunt Ursula did hint that something was up between you two. But Mitchell hasn’t breathed a word to us. Of course we’ll be there. And I’m sure Jordan and Grace will come too.”

  “Tell them to bring the kids,” Zoë said. “It’ll mean a lot to us both if the whole family comes.”

  “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have as a daughter, Zoë.”

  Which left her blotting tears with her paper napkin.

  Lily returned to take her empty plate. “Feel better?” she asked.

  “I do. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

  “You’re overdoing it,” Lily said. “Listen, why don’t you stay at my place tonight? Go back in the morning when you’ve had a good night’s sleep.”

  “I couldn’t impose,” Zoë said wistfully. She’d bet that Lily had hot water.

  “No imposition. I have a spare room and the bed is always made up in case one of the kids comes home.” Lily had three grown children.

  “I just bought a week’s worth of groceries,” Zoë said regretfully.

  “You could stick the meat and dairy in my fridge,” Lily coaxed.

  “Don’t tempt me. Mitchell will have been slaving all day. I’m all that stands between him and starvation.”

  “Let him forage,” Lily said.

  In her mind’s eye, she could see Mitchell catching fish for his solitary supper. He was the one who loved to camp. But she just couldn’t do it. A Worth was above petty revenge. Wasn’t she?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Zoë~

  The Zephyr was sitting low in the water. Each wave slopped onto her laden deck. Harvey shook his head and looked grave. “I can’t rightly let you leave port overloaded like that. Some of that stuff will just have to stay on the dock.”

  Zoë had to agree. What on earth was in those boxes from the hardware store? She paid to have the largest cartons stored in the harbor locker. Harvey produced a dolly and helped her unload some of the heavier boxes and get them stored.

  She unpacked the grocery bags and placed her perishables in the coolers. Harvey shifted some of the remaining boxes to redistribute the load. It took a long time before he was satisfied it was safe to send her on her way.

  By the time she chugged out of port, the blue skies of the morning had faded to gray. At least there was no drizzle, although even in sunglasses, a sullen glare made her eyes ache.

  Growing up in Luck Harbor, she had spent her whole childhood in and on the water. She had learned to read a navigation chart before she learned to r
ead a book. But the mist curling up from the ocean made the unfamiliar landmarks hard to tell apart.

  Still, she could scarcely go astray when the channel was clearly marked with bright orange buoys. All she had to do was keep the Zephyr right between them, and eventually she would reach Bear Lookout.

  The fog thickened. She slowed the launch to a crawl. The Zephyr’s bright running lights were not designed to penetrate the gloom, just to make her visible to other vessels. But the silence and lack of other lights informed Zoë that she was the only one out here in this eerie twilight.

  It was a relief when she finally spotted the outlet that led to Bear Lookout. She eased the Zephyr into the cramped channel and kept her speed low. With limited visibility, haste definitely meant wasted time.

  Out of nowhere, her motor coughed and the boat stopped as if it had run into debris. She gave it a touch more gas. It bucked and didn’t move. She cut the engine, wondering what had gone wrong. The dark water lapped ominously against the bow, but she could see no reason for the Zephyr to have stopped.

  She had plenty of gas. The gauge said so and Howard wouldn’t have let her leave if he hadn’t topped her up. The speedboat’s propeller must be caught on something, hopefully seaweed, although she didn’t recall any growing here before. She reversed the engine and was able to back up a scant foot before she was once again jerked to a halt.

  Now what? Her call to Mitchell went to voicemail. Of course. He could be without service or up on the roof. Breathe and call back in five minutes. Breathe. What was the worst thing that could happen out here?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Mitchell~

  “When did you say she’d be back?” Emily Stickney demanded. Her neat scarf was smudged with dirt and her apron not nearly as crisp as it had been three hours earlier.

  “She didn’t,” Mitchell admitted. “Before dark for sure.” In fact, he had assumed that Zoë would have returned long before now. But at least her delay had given them time to get the cabin licked into shape.