Page 66 of The Bear's Blooming Mate

With trembling fingers, she pulled the faded blue flannel over her shoulders, drawing in a deep breath of the faint scent that still clung to the fabric. “Okay, Mom,” she whispered, buttoning it up with determined fingers. “Let’s get to work.”

The storm’s intensity grew as Elsbeth pulled on a pair of jeans. Lightning flashed, illuminating her bedroom in stark white before plunging it back into shadow. Thunder followed almost immediately, rattling the window.

She ran downstairs to the kitchen, but there was no time for her usual morning coffee or breakfast, though her stomach growled in protest. The flowers wouldn’t wait; nature certainly wouldn’t. Elsbeth grabbed her rain jacket and yanked on a pair of mud boots, mentally cataloging everything that needed protection—the hydrangeas for the anniversary, the delicate new rose bushes, the trellises that could be flattened by wind.

Outside, the air felt electric, charged with the coming storm. The wind caught her hair, whipping strands across her face as she assessed the farm with growing dread. Dark clouds raced overhead, and the temperature had dropped significantly since the previous evening.

Elsbeth ran to the shed, hauling out protective tarps, stakes, and twine. Her hands worked mechanically, muscle memory taking over as she covered the most vulnerable beds first. The blue hydrangeas—Hugo and Leanne’s anniversary centerpieces—had to be secured. She worked methodically, driving stakes deep into the soil and covering the precious blooms with clear plastic that would protect without crushing.

Rain fell in earnest now, plastering her hair to her scalp. Her mother’s flannel grew damp beneath the inadequate protection of her rain gear, but Elsbeth barely noticed. Her chest tightened with each gust of wind, fear gripping her as she imagined all her hard work, all her mother’s dreams, washed away in a single storm.

“Please,” she whispered, not sure who she was talking to—her mother, the universe, or the storm itself. “Please don’t take this from me.”

She moved to the rose trellises next, lowering them closer to the ground where they’d have less resistance against the wind. The rain came harder now, making the ground slippery beneath her boots. Her fingers grew numb with cold and dampness as she tied down the last of the protective coverings.

A sudden, powerful gust caught the edge of a tarp she’d just secured over a bed of bachelor’s buttons. It ripped free from her hands, flapping wildly like a wounded bird.

“No!” Elsbeth cried, lunging after it. The precious flowers beneath would be pummeled by the intensifying rain without protection. She chased the escaping tarp across the muddy ground, stretching out her fingers to grasp the corner…

Strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind, steadying her just as she reached for the tarp. For a moment, she thought she might have imagined it…wished him into existence through sheer desperation. But the solid warmth against her back was unmistakably real.

“You’re here,” she whispered, leaning back against the familiar chest, relief flooding through her as Philip’s scent enveloped her, more comforting than her mother’s shirt could ever be.

Philip turned her in his arms and kissed her, the rain streaming down both their faces. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with worry, reflecting the storm clouds above.

“I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to be here,” he said, brushing wet hair from her face. “When I told Kris, he told me to turn around, to trust my instincts—that my mate was more important than any award.”

A sob of relief caught in Elsbeth’s throat as she pressed her face against his chest. “I was so scared,” she admitted. “Everything could have been ruined.”

“No, you have everything under control,” Philip said firmly. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

Together, they moved with practiced efficiency, securing what Elsbeth had already done and tackling what remained. The wind howled around them, and the rain fell in sheets, but Elsbeth felt her fear receding with each task they completed. Philip’s presence was like an anchor, keeping her steady against the storm’s fury.

“Shouldn’t you be at the vineyard?” she asked as they wrestled with a particularly stubborn tarp, having to shout to be heard over the wind. “What about your family’s crops?”

“They have everything under control there,” Philip called back. “Dad and my brothers know what to do. You’re my priority.”

As the rain grew heavier and the wind more violent, they worked frantically to dig a trench along the edge of the flower beds, creating a channel to direct the water away from the newly planted sections. Mud splattered their clothes and faces as they dug, but neither complained. Elsbeth’s hands blistered, and her back ached, but she pushed through the pain, drawing strength from Philip working steadily beside her.

Finally, when they had done all they could, Philip caught her hand. “That’s enough!” he shouted over the howling wind. “We need to get inside!”

Hand in hand, they ran toward the farmhouse, the rain pelting them mercilessly. They burst through the door and slammed it shut behind them, cutting off the storm’s roar and plunging them into sudden, relative quiet. They stood in the entryway, dripping puddles onto the wooden floor, breathing hard from exertion and adrenaline.

Elsbeth looked up at Philip, his face streaked with mud and rain, his clothes soaked through, and felt a surge of love so powerful it nearly brought her to her knees.

“You came back for me,” she whispered, her voice raw with emotion.

“Always,” Philip murmured, his voice a deep rumble against her ear.

She wrapped her arms around him tightly, their soaked clothes creating small puddles beneath them on the wooden floor. For a moment, they simply held each other, the storm’s fury muted by the sturdy farmhouse walls.

Philip stroked her back through the sodden fabric. “As much as I enjoy holding you, we need to get out of these wet clothes before we catch our death.”

Elsbeth nodded, reluctantly pulling away. She peeled off her rain jacket first, hanging it carefully on the hook by the door. The rest of her sodden garments followed—muddy jeans, her mother’s flannel shirt now heavy with rain, socks that squelched as she removed them. She gathered everything into her arms and made her way to the laundry room, where she deposited the wet pile into the washing machine.

Before closing the lid, she paused, taking her mother’s shirt in her hands one more time. She squeezed it gently, watching water trickle between her fingers.Thank you, Mom,she thought, a silent prayer of gratitude for the strength she’d found today. She knew it hadn’t just been the shirt—it had been everything her mother had taught her, everything she’d instilled in her daughter.

As Elsbeth turned, clad only in her plain cotton bra and panties, a profound realization washed over her. She wasn’t alone. She would never be truly alone again. The two people she loved most—her mother in spirit and Philip in flesh—would always be with her, guiding her, supporting her, loving her.

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