Finally A Bride: A Valentine's Day Romance

by Colleen Charles

  The bigger bear lifts its head and growls again.

  The sound echoes in the lonely woods like a cry from my own heart. I swallow a shattered breath. Tears prick the backs of my eyelids, blurring my vision when I really need to be able to see clearly.

  The bears draw closer. The word run screams through my mind like a last-ditch effort to save myself from being obliterated, but my leaden legs don’t obey. I can’t climb a tree either, because bears can climb even better than I can. Because they have long, sharp claws. There has to be a way out of this mess.

  There just has to be. I can’t die like this. This can’t be how my story ends.

  “Stand still. Don’t run. Don’t move. Not even one muscle.”

  I hear a masculine voice – deep and gritty – and relief sings through my pulse like the hallelujah chorus. I whirl around, nothing stopping me from heading toward my savior.

  “For fuck’s sake, woman! I said don’t move!”

  Chapter Three

  Knight

  Angelica freezes in place at my harsh words, her breath coming out in little pants. Her eyes sweep my body, finally stopping on the high-powered rifle in my hand. “Shoot them!”

  I hold up a hand. “Are you kidding me? Those are black bears. You’re more likely to get hit by lightning or killed by a man on the street than by one of those bears. They’re just pissed because you woke them up, and now they remembered they’re hungry.”

  Her lower lip trembles. “Why aren’t they hibernating?”

  “They were, but they just started in early November, so they weren’t in that deep of a sleep yet. Global warming has really fucked up bear hibernation.”

  Her tiny nostrils flare. “In case you haven’t noticed, savior man, those bears think I would make a tasty snack. Probably because I have too much meat on my bones.”

  My eyes take her in, all tits and ass and lush curves for a man like me to hold onto. Why would I want a skinny woman who I would crush to death if I rode her hard? But this one seems to think there’s actually something wrong with her the way the vicious words spill so easily from her lips. And I might disabuse her of that notion. That is if I can extricate her from this situation in one piece.

  I keep a firm grip on my rifle. “They don’t eat people. They rarely even kill people. But you’ve pissed them off for some strange reason.” I glance at the bears and then back at her. “Try to see it from their point of view. You’re their worst enemy. Coming into their territory like you own the place and turning everything upside down by wandering within a few yards of their winter den. They’re just trying to protect what’s theirs.”

  She waves her hand in front of my face. “Can you just tell them I’m sorry in bear language or whatever? If I could vanish back to my cabin, I would. And I’ll never snowshoe this way again. I promise. But I’d feel much safer if you would at least aim that gun…”

  “I’m afraid that would be useless. It’s not a gun for killing it’s a gun for tranquilizing. No bullets. And that would be a lousy choice anyway because by the time I tranq’d the first one, the second one would be on me, teaching me a lesson about being an asshole. The sedative would put them out for several hours, making them prey to injury or worse. So just calm the hell down and take some deep breaths or something. They aren’t doing anything but shooting their mouths off anyway. They’re entitled to let you know how badly you screwed up.”

  She gives me an exaggerated eye roll. “So I screwed up big, huh? Nothing new there. Story of my life.”

  “Excuse me?” I say, wondering what the hell she’s talking about in the middle of a crisis.

  Now she looks like she might cry, that full lower lip trembling. I long to soothe it with my thumb. “Nothing. Can’t you stop them from growling or something?”

  I’ll do anything to keep the tears at bay. “I know you’re scared, but you’re doing great. Most people would have cried by now, but not you. Good girl, Angel. We’re gonna keep talking, okay? And while we’re talking, I want you to unlace those snowshoes slow and steady and see if you can step out of them. Just forget the bears. Look at me and don’t break eye contact.”

  Despite my words, she still looks like she might totally lose it and fall into a shaking puddle in the snow. But she follows orders and doesn’t look away. And she manages to slowly and clumsily step out of her snowshoes. Even though fear laces her voice, I still notice the underlying throaty tones. I wonder how it would sound if my name fell from her lips. God, why am I thinking about that right now? We have a situation here and I have to handle it.

  The bears growl and paw the snow, but I’m as cool as a spring breeze. The front of my jeans and parka are hard packed with snow. My hood is thrown back and I know my brown hair is pelted with dry leaves. But I unzip my parka in the frigid weather as I slowly pace toward her.

  She seemed to have trusted me at Cool Beans, so I hope she knows I’m only trying to help her. “What I want you to do,” I say in a voice barely above a whisper, “is put on my coat.”

  Her eyes widen into moons. “You want me to put on your coat?”

  “And my scarf and gloves.”

  “And your scarf and gloves,” she repeats.

  I shoot her a serious look. “Because they know my scent.”

  “How on earth do they know your scent? They’re wild bears.”

  My lips tug upward. “Let’s start over. I’m Knight. Knight Evermore. I guess I just assumed you knew me, or at least had heard of me. My being around has made the gossip rounds in town.”

  She shakes her head, and that thick head of platinum hair catches the sunlight. “I’m new in Sweetheart Hills. And not exactly anyone’s shoulder to cry on. I have no idea who you are and why you’re some kind of new age Grizzly Adams.”

  I nod. “Okay, so you didn’t know… and now you do. These bears are my responsibility. I’m a wildlife ecologist and the chairman of the Northern Woods Conservation Society. I study and work with all the northern Minnesota wildlife, which includes the black bear. It would be my fault if either you or these animals got hurt.” I give her a moment to take that in, then calmly continue by saying, “The reason I want you to put on my parka is that it has my scent. They know me. In fact, I’ve known this female bear, Hilda, since she was an orphaned cub. It’s dangerous to trust any wild animal, but black bears don’t want to kill humans. In fact, they’ve only killed sixty-one people in North America since 1900 and in most of those cases, they were provoked.”

  “Really?” After the question, she tugs her lower lip between her teeth. Dammit. She really has to stop looking so soft and vulnerable because it’s playing to something deep inside me. I’ve obviously been alone too long out in these remote woods. “My name is Angelica Amor by the way. Angelica, not Angel.”

  By the time she formally introduces herself, I reach her. I’m so tall she has to look up to meet my gaze. She looks like an angel to me. My angel. “How are you doing, Angel?”

  Her cheeks pale. “I feel like I’m going to puke.”

  “Nah. You’re staying very calm and together. I knew you would. When I saw you inside Cool Beans, I knew you wouldn’t lose it in a crisis. You’re great at multi-tasking and handling difficult challenges. Now, don’t look at the bears, just keep looking at me. But it would also help if you loosened your death grip on your poles.”

  She glances down. Her fists are glued to her poles until I start peeling her palms loose. Once I accomplish that, they drop into the snow. Then with the tranquilizer gun anchored between my knees, I slowly lift her arms into my coat. The size of my Carhartt is big enough to fit over hers but stuffing her into the second coat is an unwieldy process. Not that I got any help from her. She seems to be stiffened into a mannequin of terror.

  A little shiver rifles through her despite the two coats bundled around her. My heart wants to pull her close and soothe her, but my head tells me that’s not wise until the danger has passed. Even though the danger is far less than what she probably imagines. I wasn�
�t lying about what I told her. Black bears are the most docile of all bears and they really don’t want to hurt humans unless they absolutely have to. But that’s hard to stomach when lippy Hilda stands way too close to you and growls that terrifying growl.

  When I wrap my scarf around her neck, my wrist brushes her cheek. A jolt of electricity rockets through me at that first skin on skin touch. She peeks around me to see where the bears are located and our shadows dance in the pale afternoon sun.

  The next time she glances into my face I’m vaguely aware of my unkempt hair and rough, straggly beard growth. I keep my touch gentle because I know I look much like the Grizzly Adams type character she accused me of being. But out here, there’s no one to shave or comb my hair for.

  I zip the jacket straight to her chin, my eyes meeting hers. Her lower lip quivers. “They stopped growling.”

  “Yup.”

  She peeks around me again. “They walked away. I don’t even see them anymore. Do you think they went back to their den for a long winter’s nap?”

  “It’s only been winter for a few weeks. But the fact that they’ve left leaves me in a sticky situation.”

  I glance at her again, still feeling that curling sensation tightening my body, especially below the belt. Despite losing my parka, my whole body is warmer than a toasty fire on a cold Sunday evening.

  “What?” she asks.

  “I can’t leave you alone out here with them still around.” I gesture toward the grove of trees. “My truck is over the next rise, about a third mile away on foot. I’ll take you home. But it would be awesome if you could help me with something first.”

  Curiosity lights her eyes. “Help you with something?”

  “Yeah,” I say, scrubbing a hand down my face. “When I first heard the growling, I was in the process of feeding some Grey Fox kits. There’s five of them, and I left a couple hungry. If I take time to drive you home, they’ll be off their schedule and consistency is key to them thriving. Do you think you could shake off your fear for a few minutes while I finish?”

  “I’m okay… really.” But then she clears her throat, and she doesn’t sound okay at all. “But you’re the one who needs to get inside. You have to be near to frostbite without your parka and your gloves and scarf.”

  Over my jeans, I’m only wearing a cable-knit wool sweater. The garment stretches over my shoulders, probably okay for a quick dash outside, but not meant for anything more than a minute or two in the elements. “I’m cold,” I admit. “But the kits are young, and I’m worried they won’t make it.”

  “So they really need to be fed right now, don’t they?” She gulps in another breath.

  “Nothing much throws you, does it, Angelica? We’ll just take this slow and easy. Have you ever seen baby foxes?”

  She shakes her head and before she can change her mind, I take her hand. We start crossing the pristine valley together. Prior to setting off, I scooped up her snowshoes and her poles and carried all of them plus my gun under one arm. If something happens, I can’t aim and shoot quickly, so I hope were in the clear and I won’t need to tranq anything between here and our destination.

  We climb a ridge, duck around a strand of white pines and scramble down a knoll. The new snow layer is fluffy, but beneath it is an icy crust, tricky footing for Angelica in just her boots. Even though I’m cold in my sweater, I don’t rush and never let go of her hand. The thick gloves prevent any skin-to-skin contact, but I hope she knows I’ll never let her fall.

  I keep talking in a lazy, calm voice. Because by doing so, I’m announcing our presence to any bears or other wildlife in the area. Most of the northern wildlife has acute hearing. And a steady, soothing tone lets them know we’re not a threat.

  I inform her that this area around Sweetheart Hills contains a large number of black bears, but the numbers have been dropping in recent years. No one knows why. They have an ample food supply; the winters aren’t too harsh; and the bear population is hardy and young. They simply aren’t getting down with each other like they should be. The best theory from a conservation standpoint seems to be a polluted gene pool.

  “So two years ago, the conservation organization sent me here, along with a few new black bears from the Boundary Waters with completely different bloodlines. They settled in and seemed to be doing okay in Sweetheart Hills. They found mates and had cubs, and everything was fine until right now.”

  “What happened?”

  “Crazy critters wandered too far north and upset some farmers. No one wants bears on their land. When they wander into people’s backyards looking for food or entertainment, people get pissed. Man has always been afraid of bears – and there are no laws that prevent man from exterminating them. They need to be taken back to safety, partly because the whole line could be wiped out. So that’s what I came here to do – transport them back to where we left them the first time.”

  Her pace slows. “How can you do that when they’re hibernating?”

  “Due to climate change, winters are warmer on average and they’re not going into deep hibernation like they used to. It’s a problem.”

  “So what happened to the foxes? Why are they orphaned?”

  “Their mom was shot by a farmer a few days ago when she killed some of his chickens.”

  “He shot their mother? Over a stupid chicken?”

  I grin at her outrage, her voice small. Minutes before she’d been a bloodthirsty rush for me to kill three harmless black bears and now, she wants the farmer in the dell’s head on a plate for shooting a grey fox, one of the most cunning hunters around.

  “Foxes are a dime a dozen to farmers. They’re worried about their bottom line and anything that puts their business in jeopardy and can be easily dispatched is.”

  “I guess I should have known that. I mean you wouldn’t have to feed the babies if the mother was doing it.”

  “Normally if a female fox dies, the kits die. So I’m feeding them formula five times a day. They’re just too young and fragile to move right now. Normally, I might have let nature take her course, but Grey Fox are new to the area and the Conservation Society is looking to protect them until they can flourish on their own.”

  I grab her arm when she stumbles on a slick patch of snow. She isn’t looking where she’s going, but at me. For some reason the fact that I’m without my coat hasn’t really sunk in yet because I’m generating my own heat just touching Angelica. I let go of her arm quickly, but the gesture protects her from a tumble down a very snowy hill. I know my tender spot for animals came through in my speech, but I feel drawn to them.

  And it seems she does too.

  I value loyalty and willingly make personal sacrifices for what I care about, including them. And I’m aggressively protective of those around me, especially the weak and vulnerable. I chose this occupation, and this isolated lifestyle. That kind of strength coupled with that kind of loneliness can get to a man. That’s the only reason she’s having this strong effect on me – because I refuse to consider anything else.

  “How long are you stuck doing this?” she asks, glancing up at me.

  “It’s all part of the job, so I don’t mind. But probably at least a month, maybe more, before they’re strong enough to be relocated. And the whole thing is iffy at best. Other ecologists would probably call me an idiot for even trying. But I just have to. I mean, doesn’t every living thing deserve a fighting chance? And there’s a town meeting this Wednesday at the Sweetheart Hills library. I think they’re going to vote to extend hunting season for bears. I guess I’ll always worry about Hilda.”

  She glances at me again, but I don’t fluctuate my tone from a lazy drawl. I sound like the townhall meeting is going to be as exciting as a Sunday stroll. But it matters to me. Almost too much. Because I can’t do my work when I’m hobbled by even more hostility from the local community. And it’s all because they don’t understand animals and they choose not to learn – only to hate and kill.

  I’m an outsider with an
unpopular cause, and now I have to face down a town of ignorant people who view me as their enemy.

  “Have you had to deal with something like this before? I mean the unhappy townsfolk of Sweetheart Hills?”

  I don’t get around to answering her, because I suddenly stop walking. But I know where I am, even though this craggy ridge looks no different than the woody landscape we just traveled. There aren’t any footprints in the fresh snowfall, no sign of human tread prior to this moment. The forest is dark, deep, endless, winding around the hills and snow-swept, jutting crags of land. But in front of us, is a camo box like the kind of case people pack drinks and sandwiches in for a summer picnic.

  I bend over and push the top off it. Baby bottles are packed around hot water packs. I unwrap one and show it to Angelica. “I got the bottles from a hospital in Ely. They’re meant for babies with cleft palates, but they work just as well for kits too young to suckle.”

  She edges closer, her arms wrapped around her chest. She wrinkles her nose and grimaces.

  I chuckle. “I should have warned you that the formula is kind of smelly.”

  “Yuck! What’s in that?”

  “A bunch of disgusting stuff, from raw egg yolks to vitamins. Trying to fool them has been an uphill climb. But don’t worry about it. Are you ready to see them? I promise they’ll touch your heart.”

  Her eyes fly to mine. “And if they don’t, I might not have one. Is that what you’re saying?”

  Slowly, lazily, I study her face. “You’re not all that sure what you think of all this, are you? If you even trust me or believe what I’m saying about what I do for a living? You don’t think you’re going to be tempted into caring. You think you might be one of the haters in Sweetheart Hills by default. And a lot of people don’t. A predator is a predator. And these guys were born wild and they don’t have any desire to be tamed. But if you give them a chance, you just might fall in love.”