Page 17 of Mated to the Mountain Bear
Her face falls. I’m a jackass.
“Right. Of course.” Her fingers tighten on the phone. “I just thought maybe I could check if Beau’s heard anything. About the investigation, I mean.”
She doesn’t say whether she means the investigation into her stalker or her sister’s case. She probably means both.
I get it, even if I can’t fix it. Beau will come if he has news.
I glance down at the phone in her hands. “I thought Beau took your SIM out.”
She looks away, guiltily. Yeah, he did, but she was going to use it anyway and lead whoever’s following her straight to our door.
“He knows what he’s doing. You should really do as he says if you want to stay hidden.”
“Coffee’s on,” she mutters, moving back into the warmth of the cabin, taking her delicious scent with her.
Shit. Maybe that was too harsh.
The kitchen smells of fresh coffee and wood smoke from last night’s fire. I pour two mugs while she hovers near the counter, still clutching that useless phone. She takes the mug I hand to her gratefully, wrapping both hands around it for warmth. I forget that without a shifter side, her body temperature runs colder than mine. I make a note to have a fire going before she wakes up each morning.
“This is good. Really good.” A tiny smile crosses her face. “Much better than that awful stuff Amber always gets from the coffee shop on the university campus. She loves supporting local businesses, but their coffee tastes like burnt pretension.”
She catches herself using the present tense and falls silent, staring into her mug, struggling with how to talk about a sister who might be alive, might be dead, or might be anywhere, from the little information Beau could give me while he was here.
The silence stretches between us.
I drink my coffee. She drinks hers.
The old clock on the wall ticks steadily. Outside, a woodpecker starts its morning percussion on a distant tree. It should be awkward, but it’s not.
“I need to check the generator,” I say finally, setting my empty mug in the sink.
She looks up quickly. “Can I... I’d rather not be alone. If that’s okay.”
The vulnerability of her admission catches me off guard. Of course, she doesn’t want to be alone after what happened. My bear settles at the thought of keeping her close by.
“Fine. But don’t touch anything.”
I grab my toolbox from the mudroom, leaving a pair of wellies to one side for her to slip into, while she gulps the rest of her coffee.
She pulls on the boots which are way too big, but they’re all I have, and then follows me out the back door, wincing a little with her steps. The morning air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine and distant snow. She shivers, despite the extra flannel I gave her.
The path to the generator shed is well worn, winding through tall grass that’s still wet with dew. She follows carefully, still limping slightly to protect her injured feet.
I slow my pace without making it obvious, but the slight smile on her lips tells me she’s onto me.
“Watch the root there,” I warn, pointing to a gnarled pine root crossing the path.
She steps over it carefully. “Thanks.”
The generator shed sits behind the cabin, a small structure I built myself, years ago. Solid construction, like everything else up here. Has to be to survive the winters.
I yank open the door, disturbing cobwebs and releasing the scent of oil and metal. Crouching beside the machine, I set my toolbox within reach. The familiar routine of maintenance should calm me, but I’m hyperaware of her presence just outside the doorway.
“So this powers everything?” Her voice fills the small space. “That’s amazing. Living off-grid must be incredible. You’re completely self-sufficient up here.”
“Not exactly.” I grunt, pulling out the dipstick to check oil levels. “I have to go into town every now and again for supplies.” The fumes make my sensitive nose burn, but it’s part of the routine.
“My dad always wanted to do something like this. Get away from it all, you know? But my mom was more of a room-service kind of person. They compromised on a lake house with full electricity… and Wi-Fi.” She laughs softly. “Not quite the same thing.”
