Page 14 of Santa's Girl
I swallowed, pulse doing a little skip as I straightened. “I’m fine,” I blurted, stepping quickly away.He just grunted, leading me toward the door.
The porch groaned under our boots as we climbed the last step. Bear shoved the heavy door open.
The inside was as stark as the outside—clean, yeah, but bare. Old, bulky wooden furniture filled the space, the kind my dad used to say was built in North Carolina factories before everything got outsourced to China. It looked heavy, solid, permanent.
The cabin smelled like woodsmoke and coffee grounds—warm, earthy, a little bitter.
The walls were thick pine logs, the kind that looked like they’d outlast a nuclear winter. Everything about the place felt heavy. Permanent. Like time had stopped somewhere around 1979.
There was even a rotary phone on the counter.
Green. Ugly. Coiled cord. I hadn’t seen one outside a museum.
I blinked at it. “Um… mind if I use this?”
Bear was already across the room, hanging his wet jacket on a hook and kicking off his boots. He didn’t look up. “Go ahead.”
I picked up the receiver like it might bite me. “Does it even work?”
“Never loses a signal,” he said, deadpan.
I squinted at the rotary dial. “Do I need a manual to figure it out?”
That earned me the faintest grunt — amusement, maybe. Or annoyance. Hard to tell.
He started making coffee with the same quiet efficiency he’d used hauling my car out of the snow. Scoop, pour, click. Every movement precise, controlled.
The smell of fresh grounds filled the cabin, but I wasn’t relaxed. Not even close.
I dialed Aunt Margie’s number, turning my back to him, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Hey, Aunt Margie? It’s me. I, um… kind of slid off the road. I’m okay! Just… at this cabin with a man who calls himself Bear. If I don’t come back?—”
From behind me, a deep voice boomed, “Hi, Margie!”
I jumped so hard the phone nearly slipped out of my hand.
There was a pause on the other end. Then, Aunt Margie’s familiar laugh. “Well, I’ll be. That you, Bear?”
He leaned against the counter, one hand around his mug. “Yeah. Pulled your niece outta a snowbank before a semi made her into a hood ornament.”
“Oh, thank heavens.” Her voice came through warm and easy, like she’d just been waiting for this exact sentence. “I knew she’d find trouble the second she said she was driving up here.”
“Guess I did too,” Bear muttered.
I turned slowly, face heating. “You twoknow each other?”
Bear just shrugged, completely unbothered. “Small mountain.”
On the line, Aunt Margie was chuckling. “Oh, honey, you’re in good hands. Bear’s family. He and Steve rode together for years. You couldn’t be safer.”
I sank into the nearest chair, equal parts relief and mortification. “Right. Of course. Safe. Totally fine. Just, you know, stranded with a stranger named after wildlife.”
Margie laughed again, the sound soft but teasing. “Don’t worry, Becca—I’m more worried forhimthan for you.”
Bear’s mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. He turned away before I could be sure.
I could almost hear Aunt Margie’s grin through the receiver. “Stay put till the roads clear. There’s a storm coming in tonight,and I don’t want you sliding off another mountain. Bear’ll make sure you’re fed and warm.”
