Page 2 of Eager Beaver
“No, my guest canceled at the last minute, so it’s just me. I’m sure the cabin will be great,” I said, turning to look around. There was a dining hall, dark at this late hour, as well as a sign indicating which direction I could find the gym and pool. But what I didn’t see was more staff. How were they all busy? “Do you have anyone who can help with my bags?”
“Well, I can do that, of course.” He seemed relieved to have a task. He grabbed a parka from a hook on the wall, and I followed behind him as he led me back outside. Together, we dragged my bags over to a snowmobile with attached sled and loaded them up. The effort got me a little sweaty, but with my too-thin jacket, it only served to make me shiver in the cold damp. I was already looking forward to a long, hot shower.
I sat on the seat behind Branson, and he zipped us up a narrow path between the trees. Each cabin seemed quite private, with the entire lodge surrounded by miles of wilderness. Under different circumstances, this would’ve been a dream vacation come true. As it was, my stomach was churning with nerves.
We slowed to a stop in front of a quaint little cabin, and as the engine cut out, the silence was deafening. I climbed off and began to unload my bags. “Thanks, Branson,” I said, attention already on the shower that awaited me.
“Uh, sir, about your cabin…”
“It’s perfect, thanks,” I mumbled, slapping a 20-dollar bill into his hand as a tip, before dragging my bag up the snow-covered steps.
“But—” Whatever he’d been about to say was lost as I closed the door with a weary sigh. I was so done with this day. Actually, I was done with the next week in advance, too.
I blamed my exhaustion for why it took me so long to register that something was wrong. The room didn’tfeelempty. WhenI looked around, there was a backpack dumped out on the bed, but most alarming of all, there was someone in the shower.
2
Guy
“PutaindeNoël,”Igrowled under my breath, cursing the stupid jolly holiday. Normally, I wasn’t someone you would consider a Scrooge, but this… wasnotChristmas.
I unslung my backpack from over my shoulder and threw it into the passenger seat of the rental car, before forcing my large frame into the tiny car, my knees wedged tight under the steering wheel. I swore I couldn’t even draw a full breath, the space was so narrow. This car was not built for legs as long as mine, but the rental place had made a mistake with my reservation, and now it was all they had left, what with the influx of seasonal travelers.
They didn’t even apologize, I thought bitterly.
The rental office was bedecked in all its garish Christmas glory, with flashy silver garland and twinkling lights. We didn’t have anything so flashy back at home at the beaver lodge in Quebec. Nothing so…fake. Who needed imitation plastic trees, with no bark, no sap, no spicy scent to fill your home, when we were surrounded by nature in all its natural splendor. Now, I was surrounded by glass and steel, annoyingly catchy carols about jingling bells and dashing sleighs following my every step, and even though I just got here, I was already homesick.
I hated traveling so much. There was never enough legroom on a plane, battling for space on the armrest, and everyone was coughing in each other’s faces. And aside from the plane, it was always too hot, with too may people, and I always felt like I couldn’t breathe with all the pollution compared to my home north of the border.
Maison, my beaver nudged at me from within. He wanted to go home too.
As sympathetic as I was for my beast’s plight, since we were obviously in the same boat, we both knew that if we wanted to make a go of this little maple syrup empire we were building, this condiment convention was a necessary step. As it was, we were a small fish in a big ocean of syrup companies, but with a little visibility, we could land a few major sellers. This convention brought distributors from all over the world, looking for the next blockbuster sauce, promising to bring life to their customers’ tastebuds.
Although, why they decided to have a convention of any kind the week before Christmas was beyond me. Wouldn’t the summer have been better?
Honestly, it probably wouldn’t have made a difference to me when they decided to have it. I hated traveling no matter thecircumstances. I much preferred my own bed, my own quiet log cabin, far from humans and their nosy, suspicious ways.
When they’d pulled my bag aside to search it, my heart had raced in my chest, sweat prickling my skin. Oh gods, my identity as a shifter would be found out! Except all they’d pulled from my bag was a bottle of water I’d forgotten I had.
“Oh,merde. Sorry,” I’d said quickly, taking my bag back with shaky fingers.
When I’d gone through customs on the US side, though, the border security had eyed me the entire time, as if I were some kind of criminal. What, just because I had a beard, that didn’t make me a thug. The intense scrutiny, in turn, had made me feel guilty, even though I’d done nothing wrong. I swore the guard’s narrowed glare had followed me all the way out of the airport.
This was the price I paid to venture into the human world. Shifters had been hiding forever, afraid of their secret being discovered, the inevitable persecution that would follow. But as I drove the miniature car up the snow-slick road toward my accommodations, I found myself sniffing. I rolled down the window to let the stinging breeze whip over me, taking a deep inhale.
Shifters! All kinds!
Having spent most of my life in the woods, I was able to pick up the familiar earthy musk of bears and wolves, and something lighter, perhaps some kind of wildcat. But there were many more flavors on the wind, creatures both big and small that I’d never encountered before.
Aigles!my beast said, wanting to join in the fun.Écureuils!I congratulated him on smelling eagles and squirrels too, and he chuffed with pride.
As the highway climbed into the mountains, I felt my heart thrumming in my chest, excitement coursing through me. I’d been prepared to be all business at this convention, but if therewere this many shifters, maybe my time here didn’t have to be all work. Maybe there would be time for some fun…
Even though the road had been plowed, my car’s Hot-Wheels-sized tires struggled to get me up the incline, skidding and skating, spinning the car into a dangerous angle until I found myself pointed toward the ditch. I was more than familiar with driving in the winter, and I turned the steering wheel into the slide, turning the car with a stomach-clenching lurch, narrowly missing an accident. I held my breath as I made the final push, coming to a stop at last in front of the main lodge. I blew out a shaky breath and peeled my aching fingers off the steering wheel.
Home away from home, I told my beaver, for the next week at least, but he’d snagged on the word “lodge.”
Hutte?he asked hopefully, gazing through my eyes eagerly, looking for other beavers.
