A Beary Merry Christmas by Vonnie Davis

Final Chapter of "A Beary Merry Christmas"

“Danner, do ye think a hot shower would help warm ye?” Hughen took her empty hot chocolate mug and set it on the coffee table.

“Ah … ” A sensual vision of his washing her back steamed her mind, short-circuiting her ability to speak.

“If the idea appeals to ye, I’ll wrap a plastic bag around yer injury to keep it dry.” His hands rested on his knees, his one dark eyebrow arched in expectation of her reply.

If only she could form a coherent, appropriate thought and voice it.

“Ah … ” He has such large hands. Imagine how they’d feel soaping and squeezing my behind. Crap, I give up. My hormones just won’t allow a fitting response.

Danner simply nodded and Hughen smiled.

“Good. I’ll get ye some clean clothes once I get the scissors to cut some of the length off. I’m six-four and ye must be … “

“Five-six. I do have clothes back in the rental car, wherever that is. The way it keeps snowing, it’ll probably be lost until spring.”

"Ye can stay until spring kisses the Highlands." He winked and stood. “Och, we’ll make do. Never fear. I’ll take care of ye.”

He did, too. Soon her hand was wrapped in plastic. Clothes were altered and placed on the marble vanity. He showed her a stash of new combs and toothbrushes he kept for times his nieces and nephews spent the night.

“The toothbrush is wee-sized but new. Now I dinna want to tell ye what to do, but I suggest starting yer shower with lukewarm water, slowly increasing the water's temperature. It will help remove the cold, damp vestiges of yer horrific experience in the snaw.”

Somehow he’d moved closer or maybe she had. Who knew? She looked into his brown eyes. “Thank you, Hughan.” Her hand rose to settle on his shoulder and he lowered it to his heart. The organ beat strong and steady. Was he trying to send some kind of signal? 

He captured her chin with his thumb and index finger. “Dinna be feart as ye shower." His thumb slowly swept back and forth over her skin sending all kinds of twitchy feelings southward. "Much as I want to join ye on the other side of that shower curtain, I’d never force meself on a woman. I’m too much of a man fer such weak behavior. I real man kens to wait.”

Gentleman that he was, he showed her how to turn the lock. Her heart warmed as she smiled. As if she didn't know how to lock a door. Clearly he was trying extra hard to make her feel safe. She appreciated his efforts. Few men would have bothered.

He kissed first one cheek and then the other before leaving her to shower in private.

~*~*~

Warm, clean, and dry Danner stepped into a pair of insulated underwear Hughan had cut into shorts. He’d placed a safety-pin in the elastic for her to adjust the waistband. There was a pair of red sweatpants he’d also trimmed in hopes of fitting her. She jerked on the cord to tighten it so the pants stayed in place while she rolled them up twice. She unfolded the faded green Highlands College sweatshirt and tugged it over her head. A pair of his thick socks were next and she chuckled. The heel came to her calf. What did they say about men with big feet?

Girl, best not go there.

She rolled the socks down three turns. Comb in hand she stared into the mirror, ready to tackle the tangled mess of red hair.

At least her trip had taken a decided turn for the better. Spending Christmas Eve in a strange man’s cabin watching him strut around in a kilt would be no hardship. He made such a testosterone-filled sight. 

Would she remember all of this when she got home? She barely recalled the accident a few hours ago. Events were so jumbled and confusing. Exactly, what all had happened? She hoped her head trauma would allow her to remember. She didn't want to forget one minute of her time with this man.

She had to admit Hughen had a lot of good qualities. Kindness was one. Gentleness another. The degree to which he’d mourned his late wife spoke of a strong capacity to love. A character trait she found endearing. If he was a professor, he was also intelligent. And he wasn’t afraid to tackle something difficult like building this cabin.  

He was certainly a fine package physically, too. Everything about the man was appealing—muscles out the whaa-zoo, tribal tats on his chest, upper arms, and back, dimples when he smiled, and dreamy brown eyes with golden striations. All that manliness wasn’t erased one bit by the skirt he wore or the gold hoop in his ear.  

Wait.

She glared into the mirror. 

Wait just a gosh-darn minute! Her heartbeat gonged in her ears as her scientific mind took over. 

The bear wore a gold wedding band. 

So did Hughen. 

The bear had gold in his brown eyes. 

So did Hughen. 

She swallowed her apprehension and it was audible in the tiny room. The bear wore a golden earring. 

She glanced at the locked bathroom door and scowled. So . . .  did . . . Hughen. She'd been taught never to believe in coincidences. 

Had she been so out of it with all that happened, she imagined he was a bear? A memory opened her mental door and sauntered right in. 

She’d seen a bear change into a man.

Oh, my God!

Her legs trembled and she grabbed onto the edge of the vanity while the memory played out in her mind. The bear had held her close as if she were a treasured object, not his next meal. He’d carried her here. Here to this cabin. Then right in front of her, he’d morphed into a naked man and not just any naked man—Hughen.

A shape-shifter? 

Nah!

Couldn’t be. 

Hadn’t Mrs. Campbell, who owned the Bed and Breakfast where she'd stayed last night, gone on and on about Scotland being a land of enchantment and wondrous magical happenings? The old inn keeper had shared stories of witches and wee people and animals that were angels in disguise. At the time Danner has chalked Mrs. Campbell's fantasy leanings to tourism at its best. Now …

Now she needed more rational thinking and less wayward supernatural thoughts. True, shape-shifters were relevant in mythology and literature, as well as movies and TV shows. Hadn’t she and her younger brother watched every rerun of “The Incredible Hulk” when they were kids? She’d loved Michael J. Fox in “Teen Wolf.”

“No. No, now. This can’t be.” She straightened and looked in the mirror at her bruising forehead. All this had to be a result of bashing her head on the steering wheel. What she really needed to clear her mind was a full tumbler of Hughan’s whisky.

She slapped the comb on the marble. Whisky! The bear’s breath reeked of whisky! She couldn't unlock the door fast enough. 

She stormed to the great room and found Hughan stirring a pot of something.

“Feel warmer?” He smiled. “I’ve made carrot soup for supper. We’ll have it with a shrimp Caesar salad. I’ve got plum pudding me sister-in-law dropped off yesterday. It’s her Christmas treat and I’d love to share it with ye.” He studied her, his smile dimming. “What’s wrong?” 

“Do it!” she barked.

The spoon slowly lowered to the stovetop. “Do what?” His dark eyebrows dipped into a “V.” 

“Shift into a bear. Show me I’m not crazy.” If her shape-shifter theory was off the mark, she hoped they could laugh about it eventually. Or that he didn’t throw her out into the storm rather than spend Christmas Eve with a nutcase. 

Hughan kept his eyes focused on her. “Bear willna hurt ye. He’s crazy aboot ye, so he is.” He approached her slowly. “So am I. We just met, but I feel I ken yer character. ‘Tis why I’m going to entrust ye with something that has to remain a secret, just as it has for over a thousand years. Too many people will get hurt if ye divulge what I’m about to show ye.” 

Oh, dear God. 

My suspicions are correct. I can hardly breathe. 

Her heart beat rampant in her ears like a tympani drum. “I understand, but as a scientist, I have to watch the process.” She clasped and unclasped her hands, ignoring the pain her actions wrought. "I have to witness it. Dissect the methodology of the transformation." 

“I have your vow of secrecy, then?” The set of his face bore no tolerance for a broken promise. 

“Yes. Your secret will never pass my lips. Who would I tell? I work with people run by facts. They’d never believe me.” Her breathing had turned rapid. With any luck she wouldn’t faint. 

Items of clothing whispered to the floor. Slowly, yet quickly, he changed into a large bear. She fought to keep her eyeballs in her head. 

This was wrong, so wrong. One species could not change into another. And yet she’d witnessed it. 

As if the animal knew her quandary, it extended a front paw for her to touch. The fur was both bristled and soft. She fingered the gold band on the diget and flicked the hoop in its ear. There was a wildness about its odor and yet there was a whiff of lime and sunshine much like the aftershave Hughan wore. 

She walked around the animal, studying every feature. It had all the traits of a fully-developed bear. Or in her world of academia, a carnivoran mammal of the family Ursidae. They were classified as caniforms or doglike carnivorans. She was looking at a brown bear species. 

Astounding. 

Two creatures co-existed in one body.

This was so alien to all she knew. And, yet, proof stood in front of her. And it was … fascinating.

“Shift back, please.” She sat to observe every change and alteration as the man returned.

Hughan stood before her—naked and presumably comfortable with it for he didn’t move. His eyes pierced hers as if studying her for any fear or revulsion. “Do ye have any questions of me?”

Oh, she had a million. “Does it hurt?”

He shook his head. “Nae. Well, perhaps a second or two when I first inhale as a bear. When me systems are adjusting to the new size.”

She nodded. That made sense. “Have you been this way all your life?”

“Aye. I ken me other half was there, but bear-shifters doona shift until around twelve, or so, when we enter adolescence and hormones flood our bodies.” 

“Is your whole family—“ 

“Most of us. Aye. Not me mum. Da’s mutated gene ran strong and all three of their sons are shifters.” 

He reached for his kilt and wrapped it around him. Her girly bits sulked. What a shame to cover the Yuletide log. Danner rolled her eyes. Her hormones were being more naughty than nice.  

Behave. 

Hughan kept watching her. "To ease whatever concerns ye have, we can talk more while we eat. I thought we’d sit on the floor and have our meal at the coffee table in front of the fire.” He donned his stockings and boots, then reached for his sweater. "I just need to ken ye're nae scared of me. 'Tis verra important ye're comfortable with me dual existence." 

"I'm not afraid of you." The words tumbled out before she was aware they resided in her heart. Memories of the bear gently carrying her to safety at this cabin anchored her trust. "I don't think I'm afraid of your bear either. If he was going to harm me, he'd have done it out on the icy mountain at my wrecked car." 

Hughan smiled and exhaled a gush of what she suspected was relief. "There's something ye need to ken about our combined species. While it is the human half that commands the majority of control and facetime, it is the bear half that chooses the human's mate." 

She shook her head in disbelief.  "Now you're stretching things." 

"'Tis true, Danner. Bear chose ye for me. Somehow he ken ye were coming and how important ye could be to me. He was in a state of extreme anxiety about ye all af'tanoon. He sensed ye were in trouble. So ye needna fear him. Ye are his choice for me." 

Danner silently replayed the words Hughan just spoke. "I can't believe I'm going to say this, but Bear sounds absolutely sweet." Almost as sweet as the kilted man in front of her. A spark of happiness swept across his handsome face like a shooting comet. 

He took her uninjured hand and kissed it. She sighed at his tenderness. His cheek rubbed against hers and she almost purred.  

“Me Christmas present, so ye are. I’m glad I won’t be spending the holiday alone in this cabin. I’m beyond happy ye’ll be by me side to celebrate.” 

A warmth spread through her. This was a man she’d enjoy getting to know. Maybe she'd change her flight back to the States so she could stay a little longer. Classes at the University didn't start until the third week of January.  “I’m glad, too,” she whispered. Her hands slid over his chest and he enveloped her in his arms. 

His head lowered and a sexy-as-hell grin spread just before his lips teased hers. “Where’s the bloody mistletoe when ye need it?"                                                        

~ The End ~

What do you think? Did she stay longer? Forever, perhaps?

 Thank you for reading my segment of our free Christmas reads. I do love writing bear shifters.  Please follow me on Amazon at https://tinyurl.com/ybguqjgh to keep up with my new releases. 

WAIT until you see what RE Mullins has in store for you tomorrow! You won't want to miss the next story. Merry Christmas, everyone. 

"Fatten up your heroine," she said.

I've just had the cover reveal for book three of my Highlander Beloved Series. The publisher decided to change its concept to reflect their opinion of market changes. The title was changed. In addition, I went through four sessions of edits. I'm used to one, maybe two rounds. So imagine my bruised ego as email after email arrived, all starting with "We're almost there..."

My problem was I didn't know where there was.

First off, I wanted the bear in this bear-shifter book to have more personality. I wanted my readers to fall in love with him as well as his hunky human counterpart. I made him comical, at times and moody, at others. He could go from a petulant cub to a stubborn teenager to an advice giving man. A few times, he even broke the shifting rules and shifted while the hero was asleep--and created a wee bit of mayhem.  He became attached emotionally to the heroine and referred to her as Family. Readers wouldn't understand that type of relationship, I was told.

I was told this was a childish idea and to delete this part of the bear's personality. I was allowed to keep a smidgen of it. In the process, I lost over three-thousand words.

Okay, so maybe the book did read better, stronger. But I missed my lovable bear. I justified it by telling myself, I was probably the only person who would see the humor in what I had written. I can be a tad off the wall, after all.

The next email told me to fatten up your heroine. BBW's are in. "Really? You mean I finally get to show a heavy woman is worthy of love too?" Yes, make her a size sixteen. I laughed. I haven't been a sixteen since my youngest was born forty years ago. I mean, I'd go without chocolate for three days to be a sixteen again!

I was told "high humor" like I write is out of style and to take most of it out. I began to show a little stress. A phone call was made and a compromise reached. I was pleased--and relieved.

Now, to make up for the word count I'd lost in deleting my bear's charming personality, I was told to insert two sex scenes (Pounds head on laptop). I struggle with sex on demand. Where would I put these scenes so they seemed natural and appropriate to the situation?

The irony was when my cover arrived. After diminishing the role of Magnus, the bear, look who was also included on the cover?

A Scottish hunter and a French secret agent find themselves on a collision course with danger—and irresistible desire—in Vonnie Davis’s new bear-shifting Highlander novel, perfect for fans of Jennifer Ashley and Shelly Laurenston. 
In the pine-dense mountains of the Scottish Highlands, shape-shifter Ronan Matheson is running free when a desperate woman parachutes out of the sky, directly onto his furry, powerful chest. Instead of clawing her to death, Ronan’s inner bear longs to keep her safe. Once he’s back in human form, Ronan is amused by the mysterious beauty’s fearless attitude—and tempted by her voluptous toned physique. But what could she possibly be doing in this isolated stretch of the Highlands?

French intelligence agent Anisa Brosseau never imagined she’d be on the CIA’s bad side—until she’s framed for treason and forced to flee in a stolen drone. Hiding out in a remote cabin, Anisa just needs some time to clear her name. What she doesn’t need is a brooding, muscle-bound Scot in a skimpy kilt to drive her crazy with lust. But when Anisa’s enemies come knocking on his door, Ronan calls on a secret inner weapon to protect his turf and the bonny lass he’s come to love.

http://amzn.com/B00TCI2A5E

 

There's a Fine Line Between Creativity and Insanity--Guess Who Crossed It!

My first book of a three-book series releases in five weeks, August 19th, to be exact. Every day seems to bring another promo email from Random House. One was a request to write a 500-700 word pitch for an article in USA Today's online Happily Ever After. Basically, what prompted me to write a bear-shifter series? Darned if I know. I don't even read paranormal, so I certainly had no desire to write it.

About two years ago I had surgery to remove a cancerous cyst from my saliva gland, a rather involved four-hour surgery that’s left part of my left cheek and ear numb. About a month post-surgery, two golden spots appeared at the back of my mind. These round spots glowed, and I freaked—OMG brain cancer. The surgeon was wrong. He didn’t get all the cancer and it's spread to my brain. So I googled brain cancer like a mad woman, reading all I could on symptoms and nowhere did it state patients complained of seeing glowing spots in the backs of their minds.

I hated to call my cancer doctor, knowing he’d put me through a battery of tests only to prove what I already knew. Still, I couldn't put it off. I picked up the phone to call and the golden orbs blinked. Blinked, mind you! 

Eyes? These are eyes? And they blinked again.  Well shoot, I didn’t need a cancer doctor. I needed a shrink! I’ve got freakin’ eyes in the back of my head, glowing and blinking  and watching.

So, for a month, they waited and willed me to speak to them. Well, my darlings, I might be half-crazed, but I know enough not to speak to something that shouldn’t be there in the first place.

Then one night, when I was almost asleep, these eyes left my head and floated to the foot of my bed into a large bear. Now, I often think characters search for the right author to tell their stories. So I said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t write children’s books.” 

He shook his head. “Oh, you’re not that kind of bear?” He shook his head again and shifted into this dark-haired, muscled, kilt-wearing Scot. He sauntered toward my side of the bed and I reached for my glasses. I mean, wouldn’t you? Would you want to miss one gorgeous inch of this guy?

Again, I apologized. “Hon, you’re still in the wrong writer’s house. I don’t write paranormal.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and I scooted over closer to Calvin to make sure his fine kilted behind had plenty of room. Ah...the Scot's, not Calvin's.

“Aye, lassie, but ye will. Me name is Creighton Matheson. In Scottish, mathe means bear and I am the head of a sleuth of bears. Have ye ever heard how bears came to be extinct in Scotland?” I shook my head. I mean, how could I talk with a mouthful of drool? 

He told me this fantastical story of how the Vikings killed off the male bears and imprisoned the sow and baby bears in a cave along the coastline, blocking the entrance with rocks and boulders.

The next morning I googled “Are bears extinct in Scotland?” Chills slithered up my spine. They were. Sources claimed the extinction was due to over-hunting and the government was trying to reintroduce them into the Highlands. But I had a better story; one from a bear-shifter, himself.

Now bears can be determined creatures and mine would have no rest until I started his book. So I set aside my work in progress for a month and wrote a few chapters to quiet the bear. By then I was in love with my bear-shifter, this sexy man with a duality that both wounded my soul and charmed me. I needed…needed…for him to have his HEA.

I was also plagued with a huge problem: I didn’t know the paranormal romance genre. I felt like a fake for even trying to write one. So, I wrote it as my play story. Anytime I hit a rough spot in the story I was currently writing, I'd pop over to my little paranormal and write a few pages. The change gave my mind a chance to work through the problems in my real book. In addition, writing in a world so different relaxed me.

Still, the question remains: Why bears? Why would a bear come to me at that time of my life? From my research, bears are a healing totem, one that requires you to rest (hibernation) and to find your strength. Mine certainly helped me through my six months of recovery and to strengthen my writing.

You can pre-order A HIGHLANDER'S OBSESSION at  http://amzn.com/B00ILX9WC0

Visit Vonnie at www.vonniedavis.com

The Men Won't Leave Me Alone -- by Vonnie Davis

Men flock to me.

I’m serious.

Well, my heroes, anyhow. They come to me at night when I’m in that fragile, fluttery state between wakefulness and sleep. This is how all my stories are born—with my heroes' appearances. And they've all been dramatic in their own way.

For some writers, it’s the nub of a thought, or a snippet of an overheard conversation, or something read in a newspaper or magazine that sparks a “what if” idea.

 

Not for me, though.

For me, it’s the men.

 

One night, a couple years ago, a man sauntered into our bedroom wearing nothing but a black Stetson and a pair of cowboy boots. I glanced over at Calvin, who was snoring away and then at our handsome intruder. His sneer was intimidating. The man was clearly aggravated, while I was spellbound. He took off his hat and placed it in a more strategic location. “Ever notice how the full moon brings out the madness in people?”

I couldn’t respond--I mean, I thought I was near mad, myself. I just left Storm talk about the blue-eyed woman he’d been dreaming of while I drooled onto my pillow.

Several months later, I was writing a romantic suspense set in Paris. My hero was a French government agent and my heroine an older American school teacher. Things were going fairly well for this pantser. After all, writing a story set in the City of Light was like revisiting the jewel along the Seine. I was enjoying the process.

 

After we’d gone to sleep one night, someone slammed our bedroom door. I sat straight up in the bed. Wh…what was that? I glanced at Calvin, who hadn’t so much as shifted at the sound of that door slam. I must be dreaming.

I’d just dropped back to sleep when the door banged shut again. This time I saw who the culprit was—Niko, my French government agent. “What? What do you want?”

 

He pointed to me and issued an order. “Watch.”

 

And so I did. He stormed down a hallway, fluorescent lights humming overhead. His hands were clenched in fists. As soon as he opened a door, I saw my heroine tied to a chair in an interrogation room. She was blindfolded. Niko slammed the door and she jumped. Then the vision faded.

“That’s it? You woke me up for that piddlin’ little bit? Why is Alyson tied up? Why are you angry?” Oh, I was not happy. It took me four chapters to set-up that door slamming scene in Mona Lisa’s Room.

Another night, a man roared into our bedroom on a Harley. Niko and I were still arguing. Seems he didn’t think he needed to wear his Kevlar vest. Frenchmen and their egos—go figure. So, really, the absolute last thing I wanted in my crowded mind was another man. I grunted and rolled against Calvin’s back.


Mr.-Harley-Man started circling our bed, slow and easy just the way my youngest boy resorted to when he wanted to get on my last nerve. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I flopped onto my back. “What? What is it?” He got off his bike, took off his helmet, and adjusted his prosthesis. Somehow I knew he’d lost part of his leg in Iraq. “My name’s Win, short for Sherwin. Would you write my story?” Well, he was so polite with that Texas twang. I mean, what else could I do?

Not all the men who come into my bedroom late at night are grown. Eli, a golden-haired three-year-old threw a tantrum on my bedroom carpet one night. His chubby little hands were clenched in someone’s blue calico skirt. “Mine. Mine.” I had no clue what to make of him. Then a tumbleweed blew into our room with a piece of matching blue calico tied to it. And Tumbleweed Letters was born.

 

Nearly a year ago, I had a cancerous cyst removed from my saliva gland. A couple months into the healing process, two small golden orbs started shining in the back of my mind. Brain tumors, I thought. When I finally worked up the courage to call the doctor, the golden orbs blinked. Eyes? Were they eyes? They kept a steady blinking rhythm as they silently watched and waited. I was losing my mind, I thought. No doubt you're thinking the same thing.

 

Then one night the golden eyes glowed bright and moved from the back of my mind into the body of a bear. He stood at the foot of my bed. “Sorry,” I yawned. “You’ve got the wrong house. I don’t write children’s books.” The bear shook his head. “What? You’re not from a children’s story?” The bear shifted into a Scottish man in a kilt. Once more I quickly looked at Calvin, wondering if I should nudge him awake—I mean, really, the man does miss the most interesting stuff.

 

Deciding to keep the man in a kilt to myself, I ditched that idea and turned my gaze on his plaid. “I don’t write paranormal.”

 

He swaggered toward me and stood. “Aye, lassie, ye do and ye will.” He lifted the covers and slipped into the bed. Calvin snorted. “Me name is Creighton. Let me tell ye the story of how bears came to be extinct in Scotland.”

 

I’m telling you, ladies, the men just won’t leave me alone… I'm a romance writer and I LOVE my job.

One lucky commenter will be chosen at random to win a copy of Storm's Interlude. Paperback or eBook, your choice. All you have to do is tell me what kind of dreams you have about men...well, the PG parts, anyhow.