Page 3 of Goldie's Grumpy Grizzly
She seems to sense us looking and her head swivels in our direction. Her unreadable eyes narrow, and a cold wash of dread cascades over my body. My bear rumbles low in my chest, huffing and pawing. Wanting out.
I shudder. Never did like it when a witch stared at me too long. If I didn’t know better, I’d worry the old witch hexed me.
“Wait that long, and I may not be of much use to you, your mate, or the cubs. It’s in your best interest to listen to your mother and find her.”
“I don’t want a mate, Ma. Don’t need one.” I try not to frown down at her. It’s her birthday, after all, but she’s gotten a bee in her bonnet about this lately, and it’s been relentless. “You’re better off talking to Clayton about it. He’s the only one who’s got a mate to chase after. He’s your best bet for grand-cubs if you’re looking to have them sooner rather than later. It ain’t gonna be me.”
She casts a glance over at my big brother dutifully doling out slices of cake to the townsfolk who’d turned up to celebrate Ma’s big birthday.
Help, I telepathically toss out his way.
You’re on your own. Don’t come crying to me for help when you’ve offered me up as a sacrificial bone to save yourself. Clay glances up and gives me a bland, questioning look while holding up a plate of cake in question.
I glower back at him. He shrugs and hands off the slice to someone else while Mama drones on about me needing to be open to the possibilities, not to be so close-minded, and that I could be so happy.
“I am happy,” I mutter back. “I’m happy on my own, in my solitude. My cabin is just as I like it. My life is picture-perfect. I’ve got family, friends, and the forest. What else could I possibly want?”
My bear splutters as if calling bullshit on me and starts pacing. I roll my neck, trying to ease the tension coiling inside me.
“Don’t you tell me that, Cole Osborne. I know you don’t believe a word of that line you’re feeding me. Why don’t you take my advice? I can already tell your bear’s restless. He wants to hunt. He wants to find more than just berries in that thick forest, and I know you can. Let him call out for your mate. Or at least let me contact your Auntie Jojo. She was a brilliant matchmaker, you know.”
I grit my teeth and try to keep the agitated pacing at bay. Can’t let Mama see she’s put her finger on that weird hollow feeling that’s been rattling around inside me for the last few months. I’d never hear the end of it. “No. What good would that do me?”
“A helluva lot,” Connor pipes up, plopping a plate of his magnificent seven-layer chocolate cake in my hand. “Maybe you can stop sneering at everyone and scaring all the guests.”
“I am not.” I bare my teeth at him, my jaw clenched tight. “I just need to get out of this damn space. It’s stifling in here. Too hot. Too stuffy.”
Mama reaches for my cheek and immediately coos at me, “Are you ill? Now that you mention it, you are looking a little pale.”
I duck out of reach before she can try to take my temperature in front of at least a third of the town, and grumble that I just need some air.
You okay, bro? Connor’s voice sounds in my head even as he continues passing out cake and cracking jokes with the locals.
You keep too tight of a leash on your bear, Cole. Go for a run or something. Clayton’s eyes are full of concern, and I have to admit that he’s right. It’s been a long while since I’d let my bear run free. Been too focused on working from sunup to sundown on summer preparations for our family business.
Wilderwood Lodges and Campground is something we built and expanded as a family. This summer’s set to be our biggest, most in-demand season yet after we got featured in several high-profile travel blogs and magazines as an eco-friendly, gorgeous, and remote space to hit the reset button. Plus, Mama says there’s some amazing book series based on the town that’s drawing dedicated fans to the area.
Apparently, we’re hosting a whole convention for it next year to celebrate the final book’s release. Mama’s already volunteered us all to sit on a panel addressing Bear Shifters: Fact vs. Fiction. Another thing to add to my to-do list, alongside finding a mate I don’t want and giving her grand-cubs.
I shake my head and swallow down the whole of the chocolate cake in a few bites. Then with a quick press of my lips to her cheek, I tell her I’m going to head home.
When I catch the questioning, worried look in her eyes, I look to the ceiling and pray for patience.
“I’m fine. Promise. Just need to go for a run. Roam for a bit.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but she pats my arm anyway. “Think about what I said. And be safe.”
I wave her off and head for the door, passing Maebeth along the way. With surprising speed and strength, she latches onto my wrist and leans over from her perch on the barstool.
“Beware, boy. You can run, but can’t hide.” Then she releases me and cackles, the sound of it high and shrill. “She’s comin’ for ya. She’s gonna getcha getcha getcha.”
The sound of her laughter rings in my ears as I pull away and try to shake off the chill that runs through me. She doesn’t know her own mind most days. She probably doesn’t know what she’s saying, but my bear snaps its jaws and I fight not to growl at the old woman.
Instead, I signal the barkeep that they ought to cut off Maebeth’s supply and I duck outside.
Finally, I can breathe. All the spring scents hit me. Pine needles. Wet earth. Rain on asphalt. Then lightning splits the sky, adding that electric charge to the mix.
And even though I know it can be dangerous, right now, it smells like freedom.
