Pumpkin Bears (Freshly Baked Furry Tails Book 3)

by Sable Sylvan

  “Typical woman — understands that,” said Oliver. “If you want another blanket, I can grab one. I got us each a hard cider, and I picked out some candy. If you want something more substantial, we can get popcorn, hot dogs, all kinda stuff.”

  “Treating me to a movie and concession? Guess that means I’ll have to…pay you back somehow,” joked Pepper, but her words sent Oliver’s bear running. Pepper had a way of going from straight-laced and professional, to the point of obsessive perfectionism…to being a gal who could let loose and just have fun. She worked hard and she played hard…but she was also a woman that knew what she wanted. Oliver was sure that if Pepper was making those innuendos, she must want him.

  “What’s tonight’s matinee?” asked Pepper.

  “Vampire Santa’s Zombie Revenge — classic B-movie horror flick,” said Oliver.

  “Oh, no — sounds real scary,” said Pepper sarcastically, biting her lower lip and looking at Oliver with big puppy dog eyes. “I might need a big man to help keep me from getting too scared!”

  “Then you best find someone else to hold you, because, plot twist — you’re already in the arms of the big, bad bear,” growled Oliver jokingly, but to Pepper, it was definitely more than just a joke. It sent a shiver down her spine and a wetness to her panties. Oliver was usually a goofball, but when he was an aggressive alpha male shifter, well…that really got her mixer going.

  Oliver’s bear roared and told Oliver to notice the scents around him. Oliver could smell the autumn leaves crackling on the night wind. He could scent out the buttering of popcorn and the charring of hot dogs. He could smell sweet candy, but there was something else, something wild, fiery, smoky, musky, and sweet, something that he’d scented before and thought to be but a fever daydream.

  It was the scent of Pepper’s arousal.

  Apparently, the curvy baker had a wild side. Oliver kept his cool. He’d barely managed to keep his cool since his boss had texted him letting him know about the baker that specialized in pumpkins, and how she still seemed to be single — or at the very least, not engaged. He hadn’t rushed things. He knew that could scare a woman away — but was he playing things too safe?

  Soon, the movie started. Pepper leaned over to Oliver to whisper something about the movie, her guess as to how the ending would go, and the beans in the bag shifted, pushing her toward Oliver! Oliver caught Pepper before she fell, wrapping an arm around her waist and catching her slipping legs, slinging them up so she wouldn’t hit the somewhat muddy lawn…but her legs ended up over his lap, and he didn’t move them away. Pepper didn’t pull away from Oliver. She hadn’t expected a frikkin’ bean bag to play wingman and wingwoman for them…but apparently, Fate liked to mess around using bean bags to push lovers together.

  Pepper wasn’t really focused on the movie.

  Oliver wasn’t really focused on the movie.

  They both knew why they were there — and it was for smoochin’.

  Oliver leaned in and Pepper met him halfway. She put her hand on his chest, causing his heart to skip a beat or two or seventeen. He gulped. Was it the right time for him to show her his mark, to reveal why he knew they were meant to be together? Oliver’s bear roared and told him to do it, but for the first time in a long time, Oliver didn’t listen to his bear.

  Pepper felt Oliver’s lips against hers. Pepper was a woman who took the time to enjoy some of the finer things in life, like pumpkin butter lip balm. Oliver was not a lip balm guy. His lips were rougher than hers, chapped from the autumn wind, but due to their rough texture, she could feel his longing for her even more strongly.

  “Oh, Oliver,” Pepper whispered between kisses.

  Somebody pelted the couple with popcorn. Pepper turned. Frikkin’ Patricia and Darius were sitting just behind them!

  “Save it for the credits,” said Darius. “Some of us want to see how Vanta gets out of this one!”

  “Vanta?” Pepper asked Darius.

  “Vampire Santa!” said Patricia. “Gosh — young folks. Don’t have any culture.”

  “You’re…nearly my age,” said Pepper.

  “Yet you’re the one that doesn’t know about the glory that is Vanta,” scolded Patricia. “Now stop turning my B-movie into a porno!”

  Chapter Four

  “How’re the pies coming?” Patricia asked Pepper, as she did her rounds.

  “Fine,” said Pepper. “But…I don’t think the recipe is ready just yet.”

  “Then you should put two of that batch aside for Oliver and Peter,” said Patricia. “Trust me — werebear lumberjacks, they ain’t picky about what they eat.”

  “Wait — you’re encouraging me to give them something frikkin’ romantic when last night, you practically annihilated my smooch sesh with Oliver via popcorn drone strike?” asked Pepper, confused.

  “There’s a method to my madness,” said Patricia.

  “And that method is?” asked Pepper.

  “That method is I was very drunk and I like throwing popcorn,” admitted Patricia. “Those ciders were surprisingly strong…and tasted a lot like regular cider.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t just have regular cider and get a sugar high?” asked Pepper.

  “You know — wouldn’t be the first autumn that happened to me,” said Patricia, nodding her head. “I still think you should give two of those pies to the guys.”

  “It’s kinda weird to do that,” said Pepper.

  “What’s so weird about one friend giving two of her friends her pie?” asked Patricia.

  Pepper stared at Patricia, looking to see if Patricia could tell that she’d made an innuendo. Patricia looked at Pepper, trying not to laugh, seeing if Pepper would get the double entendre. A smile crept up the corners of Patricia’s mouth as a frown began to curl at the center of Pepper’s eyebrows.

  “What’s so weird about it?” asked Patricia, cheeks bulging.

  “I’ll do it if you never make that kind of joke about pies again,” said Pepper.

  “You know I cannot make that promise, but I do like breaking promises because it causes mischief…so I do promise,” said Patricia cheekily. “I promise I won’t make that pun again, and I also promise that I’ll break the promise. I think that counts.”

  “That’s…not how ethics works,” said Pepper.

  “Double jeopardy,” said Patricia.

  “That’s not how the criminal justice system works,” said Pepper.

  “Pies, lumberjacks, sign of goodwill from the bakery, thanks,” said Patricia. “Also — some serious advice.”

  “Is it actually serious advice or is it about how you think I should let those two share my muffin top, or whip my cream, or sugar my cookie, or cup my cakes, or ginger my bread?” asked Pepper, a hand to her hip.

  “My advice is to give both the guys a shot,” said Patricia.

  “Both of which guys?” asked Pepper.

  “Both the lumberjacks!” said Patricia. “You’ve gone out with Oliver. Maybe try Peter on for size.”

  “But I like Oliver,” said Pepper.

  “Do you like Peter?” asked Patricia.

  “Well…yeah,” admitted Pepper. “But, I went on a date with Oliver.”

  “Are you two married? Engaged? Boyfriend and girlfriend? Exclusive in any way, shape, or form? Business partners? Golfing buddies? Book club members?” asked Patricia. “You two’ve just met — and you’ve just met Peter as well. Worst case scenario, you have someone to compare against Oliver — good qualities, bad qualities, et cetera.”

  “That’s…actually excellent advice, and there wasn’t even a weird sexual joke about — ” started Pepper.

  “Let them fill your pie and see which one’s the tastiest,” Patricia blurted out before giggling.

  “Let them…fill my pie?” asked Pepper.

  “You know — fuck you!” said Patricia.

  “I got that, but…why?” asked Pepper.

  “Uh, because if you’re fated to be with one of them, they will claim
you during sex — or rather, Fate will show that you two are meant to be,” said Patricia.

  “Is that a real thing?” asked Pepper.

  “Why do you think shifters have those silly mate marks?” asked Patricia. “Mate marks — a sign from Fate, right on the bears’ chests, telling them who they’re meant to be with. Sometimes, I wish I had one to show me the way to my one true love.”

  “So what are you saying?” asked Pepper. “You think I should rip their shirts off and see their mate marks and figure out which one to date, based on their mate marks?”

  “Yeah — but I think you should skip the first dates, and get right to the good stuff,” said Patricia with a wink. “Toodles!”

  Of course, Patricia had to leave things on a weird note. Pepper shook her head. She and Patricia had known each other for years. They could make those kinds of jokes — scratch that, Patricia could make the jokes, and Pepper could tolerate them. But, ironically, even though Patricia was telling Pepper to play the field…Pepper had seen how that’d gone for Patricia.

  Technically, Patricia wasn’t playing the field.

  Technically, she wasn’t playing the dang game.

  Technically, no, she was not dating the two hunky werebear lumber bosses that hated each other — Darius and Terrence, who went together like oil and vinegar.

  Technically…she had not picked one of them, and the bakers had all tried to guess who she’d end up with, even though she’d known them both for years.

  Was playing the field a good strategy for Pepper? Or would she end up like her friend Patricia — not with either guy, never able to pick? Pepper shook her head. Patricia was single by choice. Everyone else was projecting, just because they all wanted the affections of two hot, handsome shifters that they could choose from. Well, Pepper was finally in Patricia’s position, and now, instead of thinking about what she’d do if she were Patricia, she could just frikkin’ do it — and that meant playing the gosh dang field, even if that field was a pumpkin patch full of construction materials.

  Pepper sliced up and boxed up two of the pies and closed the boxes up with ordinary red and white baker’s twine — nothing fancy. These were just pies — so why did they feel like frikkin’ Valentine’s Day cards?

  She carried them out to the work area, where there were a folding table and some folding chairs.

  “Hey,” said Pepper. “I, uh, had some extra pies, and was wondering if you two would want some.”

  “I’ll take them,” said Peter.

  “No, I’ll take them — I’m pulling rank,” said Oliver.

  “There are two pies,” said Pepper, raising a brow. “Do the math. There’s one for each of you. That’s right. One pie per guy.”

  “That pie smells delicious,” said Peter. “That’s the kind of pie I could eat for days…and days…and days.” Pepper gulped. Was there something in the water that was making everyone refer to those parts as pies? And was she going to start doing it too?

  “I think if it takes you days to eat a pie, you’re not doing it right,” said Oliver. “A job’s a job, and when the job’s eating pie…get it done, hard and fast.”

  “I’m notorious for my pie eating skills,” said Peter. “I’m so good at eating pie, they call me three-point-one-four, you know, like the number pi.”

  “Sounds like that’s a measure of inches,” said Oliver. Pepper’s eyes went wide.

  “That’s how many inches they had to take off to make things fair for all the other guys,” said Peter. “It’s a sacrifice I was willing to make.” Pepper’s eyes went even wider. Her eyebrows were going to reach the stratosphere.

  “I think there’s one way to settle this,” said Oliver, looking over Pepper.

  “If you’re thinking what I’m thinking…then game on,” said Peter.

  “So it’s settled,” said Oliver. “Whichever one of us can eat Pepper’s pie the best, wins.”

  Pepper nearly dropped the dang pies on the ground. The two guys were looking her over like a piece of frikkin’ meat — meat pie!

  Oliver and Peter came up to Pepper. She was ready to faint. Were they gonna lay her out on that table and take her to town? Was she about to do some wailing that would really have the folks believing in ghosts — and in public indecency charges that could make one turn as pale as a frikkin’ ghost?

  Oliver and Peter went right up to Pepper and grabbed her box.

  Well, each of them grabbed a box — a box of pie. But, it wasn’t that box of pie.

  Oliver carried his box of pie to the table and pulled up a chair. So did Peter. Each opened their box carefully, making sure that the pie was being treated carefully — even though they were going to ravage it and destroy it.

  “That pie looks so moist,” said Oliver, poking it. “Oh, yeah. That’s a juicy pie, just begging to be eaten.”

  “So gooey,” said Peter, running a finger over the top, which was covered with pumpkin and gingerbread syrup swirls, as Pepper didn’t have packets of sauce available yet. Peter licked his finger clean, looking Pepper dead in the eye.

  “On the count of three, we eat pie — and whoever finishes the pie, full completion, wins,” said Oliver.

  “Challenge accepted,” said Peter. “Pepper?”

  “Wh-what? Oh, yeah — hi,” said Pepper, shaking her head. “What’s up?” She’d gotten lost in the scene and she’d almost thought it was a frikkin’ dream.

  “Do the honors?” asked Peter. “Count us up to three?”

  “One…two…” started Pepper. “Three!”

  Oliver went straight to town. Oliver grabbed the first slice of pie and mushed it right into his mouth, practically inhaling it. His bear roared with gusto — the bear enjoyed pumpkins just as much as Oliver. Oliver hadn’t been known for enjoying pumpkins in his shift, but only because he’d gone and raided certain pumpkin patches in the dead of night, in private.

  Peter went about the exercise more delicately. He took care and selected a piece, brought it to his mouth, and enjoyed it, savoring it. Pepper watched as Peter ate the pie, bite by bite. He was eating it as if it were a seasonal dessert served at a fancy Seattle restaurant. Although the way he was eating wasn’t as primally sexy as the way Oliver was eating her pie, well…knowing her pie tasted good enough to get that kind of attention from Peter made Pepper’s heart pound a bit faster.

  Pepper looked back at Oliver. He was already halfway through the pie. He looked her in the eyes and winked. Pepper looked over Oliver. Pie drippings were all over his shirt! He was a man that knew how to make a pie frikkin’ cry. As he shoveled more and more pie into his mouth, gulping it down so fast Pepper was sure he must’ve installed a garbage disposal in his gut, Pepper wondered if Oliver would have that same kind of stamina in the bedroom.

  Thick, muscular arms. A broad set of shoulders, matched with a broad chest. Firm, big tree-trunk thighs that looked like they’d split her own legs open like an ax splitting a log. Abs, covered in a layer of fat that was keeping them cushioned for the winter.

  Those words did not just describe Oliver. They also described Peter. Both men had their own way of eating pie…and Pepper couldn’t tell which one was better at eating her pie — Oliver or Peter.

  Maybe Patricia was right. Maybe Pepper did need to play the pumpkin patch before making a decision. The only question was, would Pepper wait until she got into the lumberjack’s bedrooms…or would she play the field in the field?

  “Done!” said Oliver, with a full mouth. He swallowed. Pepper looked at the pie tin. Not a single slice of pie was left in the tin.

  “Wow, Oliver,” said Pepper. “I mean…it was pretty obvious you were going to win.”

  “Was it?” asked Peter cryptically, eating his third-to-last piece of pie.

  Even though Oliver finished his pie first, Peter kept on eating. Oliver and Pepper watched him, confused. Peter was eating the pie carefully, even though he was eating it with his hands, with no tools other than his own body. He was taking the time to savor the
pie in his mouth. He was enjoying the pie in a way Pepper thought few people could.

  Finally, Peter ate the last crumb of the last slice of pie.

  “I win,” said Peter plainly. “You could’ve beat me, Oliver. It was close — but I got it.”

  “Wait — were we watching the same pie eating contest?” asked Oliver. “I clearly finished eating first.”

  “That’s true,” said Pepper. “He did finish eating his pie first.”

  “That doesn’t count as a win,” said Peter.

  “What do you mean?” asked Oliver.

  “I finished the pie — but you didn’t,” said Peter. “You were done eating — finished eating — but you did not finish the pie.”

  “I absolutely finished it,” said Oliver. “Look! The pie tin is empty!”

  “You have pie filling all over your shirt,” said Peter. “That’s pie that didn’t get in your mouth. There has to be at least half a slice of pie there.”

  “Okay — so there’s maybe a half slice of pie there,” said Oliver. “So what?”

  “So everything,” admitted Pepper. “When you’re, uh, eating pie — you don’t want to waste a single part of the pie. That’s just disrespectful to the baker. Heck, it would probably leave them very unsatisfied! I have to give this win to Peter. It’s a technical win.”

  “The best kind of win,” said Peter.

  “So I got pie all over my shirt for nothing?” asked Oliver.

  “I wouldn’t call getting the opportunity to eat my hot pie ‘nothing,’” murmured Pepper. “You can go get cleaned up in the employee bathroom. Just take your muddy shoes off…and don’t let Patricia see you wandering around in there in just your socks, or she’ll flip out about the health code.”

  Oliver nodded and got up from the table, heading over to the bakery.

  “You have a very, very tasty pie, Pepper,” said Peter. “You know — I’d like that pie to go.”

  “To share with the other lumberjacks at Hemlock Lodge?” asked Pepper.

  “No — I’d never share your pie,” said Peter. “I’d want it all to myself. I’d have it in my bedroom…and when I was there, well, I’d eat it just like I ate this pie.” Peter ran a finger over the pie pan, picking up minuscule crumbs that could’ve been mistaken for worksite dirt, and put the finger in his mouth, licking it clean while Pepper watched.