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. 

Christmas at Sinners Part 3 of 3 by Rolynn Anderson

Christmas at Sinners Part 3 by Rolynn Anderson

Sable cocked her fist at Mitch's suggestion about the bed, but decided to treat his comment as a joke. She could use some back-up to collar two criminals, and this guy had the build of a wrestler. His blurt about the sister's medical bills gave her pause, but his strategy for vetting the guys in the bar made sense. What she didn't understand was the sadness she saw in his eyes when she smiled at him and the distance he kept between them.

Mitch’s eyebrows were up, waiting for her answer.

A throat clear. “We’ll try your way, Mitch. Don’t know if you can detect an eye-twitch from your position, but maybe you can watch for other tells.”

Mitch nodded. 

“I want you to come over and put your arm around me to show the guys I tried to worm a room out of you, regretful you didn't have one to give.”

“O...okay.” He rose from his stool and gave her a quick side hug before he moved away. His expression was wistful when he said, “I like you Sable Chisholm and you smell good. Don’t forget to smile. Big. They’ll do anything for you when you smile.”

Sable surveyed the bar, wondering where to start. Something about the guy smack in the middle, head down like he was drunk, but neck held too stiffly to signal inebriation, drew her. Another man, black hair and mustache, staring into space, sat at the same table. The vast distance between them clarified they weren’t mates.

She graced them with a small smile. “Gentlemen, may I sit for a moment?”

The pretend-drunk shot her a side look, his alertness no surprise. He was a broad-shouldered fellow, square-jawed, dark brown eyebrow shooting up to his short brown hair. A good haircut. Jeans and a jeans jacket. Shirt looked tailored. Did his eye just twitch? Was he medium height? She couldn’t tell.

The mustached guy said “Take a load off,” so she stuck out her hand. “Thanks,” she said, sitting. “Sable. I won’t take much of your time. Promise.” Sable worked on a grin until their eyes focused on her. "Names?"

“Burke,” said the not-drunk guy.

“Ken.” The mustached guy squirmed in his seat. 

“Tough we have to spend Christmas Eve here when we should be with our families." 

Ken stroked the hair under his lip. "We’re stuck, for sure. Buy you a drink, ma’am?” The man dipped into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. “Name your poison.”

When she waived off the offer, Ken said, “Snow’s stopped. Storm’s over.”

“How did you learn that? The internet’s down.”

He shrugged.

“But they’re out of rooms.” Sable said plaintively. “Are you guys going to sleep in this bar tonight?”

Burke scoffed. “Not me. I bought a room off that guy over there." He pointed to the far left of the bar. "And I’m about to crash. You looking for a sleeping partner tonight, ma’am? Why don’t I buy a bottle of champagne and we can retire to my place.” He lifted his eyebrows suggestively.

Sable ignored his offer. “I heard the road’s closed at Rainier because of snow. Customers are stranded up there.”

“Hell of a bad stretch. Those folks at Rainier won’t get out of there for days.” Burke smiled as he fingered a hundred dollar bill. “Now about that bottle of champagne?”

She waved away his offer a second time and zeroed in on Ken. “Do you have a room I could buy from you, sir? You look like you’d prefer to spend the night out here, anyway.”

Ken shook his head. “No room at Sinners for me.”

Frowning, Sable stared at Ken’s finger, the one he used to rub his forehead. She stood and walked over to the man. “Sir, you’ve cut yourself on your cheek. Right here.” She swiped her thumb on the place. With a quick pivot, she turned to Mitch, and hidden from the Ken’s view, she showed her finger.

Mitch jumped off the bar stool and approached the table. “Am I hearing a ‘ho, ho, ho’ from over here, Miss Sable? Did you find a room?”

“Better. I’ve got a 10-32.” Burke looked confused. Mitch’s smile disappeared. Ken stood abruptly and stared at Sable. 

She walked behind Burke, put her hands on his shoulder, and bent her head close to his. “Looks like you’re about to gift me with your bed for the night.”

The man leaned back to take advantage of her caress. In the next second, he jerked up and yelled, “What the hell?”

Sable held the gun she’d taken from Burke’s belt, dangling it by one finger to save fingerprints, and setting it on the floor well away from the table. She flipped a nylon tie out of her pocket and had him cuffed before he could stand. The pressure she applied to the back of his neck immobilized him. He groaned in pain.

"Witnesses at Mt. Rainier ID'd the gun you waved, 'Burke.' Extruded green plastic. Homemade." She Mirandized him.

“Mitch, come over here, will you?”

With a puzzled look, he approached Sable.

“Closer."

He complied, reluctantly.

"You’re bleeding on your nose, my friend.” She reached out and swooped her thumb over the spot and examined her finger. Sable turned to Ken and asked, “You on the job?”

The man’s shocked expression was almost comical. She smiled. “See this finger. Make-up. Got cuffs?”

Ken nodded slowly.

Sable gestured to Mitch. “He’s your man. In disguise.” She raised an eyebrow at the imposter. “Mitch, bounty hunters memorize cop codes. You didn’t know what a 10-13 was. Weather. A 10-32 means person with a gun.” She tsked. “Maybe you don’t care a 10-24 means ‘assignment completed.’ God we love our 10-24’s.”

She watched as Ken finished cuffing Mitch. “Your second mistake was giving me the make-up and disguise idea.” Another tsk. “Using me to find you a tow or a place to hide until morning, wasn't the smartest, either.”

Mitch stayed quiet, head down.

When she surveyed the bar, few customers seemed interested in the arrests. Too many troubles of their own. She winked at Ken, all six foot five feet of him. Definitely not drunk. Definitely interesting. “We’ve got a room, partner. Mr. Mustache shelled out big bucks to procure one for our benefit. I’ll report in, and we’ll take these bastards to the room, tie them up tightly and get some sleep. We’re about to make the local cops and Rainier’s rangers very happy because they can go home to enjoy Christmas Eve.”

Ken glanced at Burke, then at Mitch. “I thought the mustached guy was my man.”

“Nope. He bought a room from a guy in the bar, which seemed like the action of someone newly wealthy. Plus, my smile dazzled him and he straightened up in the chair. At my refusal to go to bed with him, he slumped over and I saw his jacket catch on his gun.”

Spike lumbered over to their table with a key card and a Buddha smile. “Chisholm, I watched you in action and I have to admit I’ve never seen a smoother operation, with not one bit of damage done to my bar. Here’s the key to his room. I’m having two steak dinners and a bottle of wine delivered. I know a professional when I see her.”

As the big guy spoke to the bartender, Sable cast a sympathetic look toward Mitch. “In the spirit of Christmas, I'll mention in my report you surrendered peacefully.”

She put more of her weight on the back of her collar and spoke to Ken. “So we’ve opened two big gifts this Christmas Eve. I've risen a notch or two in the eyes of my colleagues; you’ve earned a bounty.”

“Add dinner and wine and a bed,” said Ken, looking hopeful.

“You realize we’ll have to spell each other all night so these two don’t rabbit on us.”

Ken clicked his tongue. “It’s not perfect, this Christmas Eve at Sinners. A ranger and a bounty hunter, spending the night with two thugs.”

“Unless…” Sable said.

“Unless what?”

Sable smiled big at Spike. He rolled his eyes and stalked to the front room, returning with the goofy tree. When he handed it to Sable, she thanked him.

To the room of men, now alert and watching her, she raised the blinking tree. “Merry Christmas, everyone.”

Thanks for reading my story. Sable Chisholm is the main character of my mystery series, kicked off with FIRE IS NICE, now in pre-order. Save a dollar on this e-book until its release Dec. 4. 

Amazon: http://a.co/d/iOgLJuw

Smashwords : https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/902286

Tomorrow, enjoy Alison Henderson's short story: "A Very Un-Merry Christmas"

Christmas at Sinners Part 2 of 3 by Rolynn Anderson

Christmas at Sinners Part 2, by Rolynn Anderson

Mitch Newton's mood improved as soon as the woman strolled into the bar. Tall and model-slim, she wore a filmy t-shirt, tucked into long, baggy khaki pants. Her carelessly trussed-up hair and casual clothing had Mitch imagining she'd arrived for a quirky photo-shoot. Every single man in Sinners watched her enter the saloon and slip into a chair at the bar, guessing she’d order a chardonnay. When the bartender delivered a highball with an inch of amber liquid in it, Mitch had to smile. She sipped her drink and observed the people in the room by looking into the mirror behind the bar, surprising him further. To say she didn’t belong in Sinners was an understatement; the fact she seemed unfazed by not fitting in intrigued the hell out of him.

Better? Her presence gave him the hope he’d been seeking for hours.

“I was praying for a distraction,” Mitch said, climbing onto a stool two seats away from her. “And you are definitely a distraction, ma’am.”

She said nothing, but waggled her finger at the bartender for water.

“In the Samaritan spirit, I’ll sit here so you don’t get hit on by nineteen guys.” He took a swallow from his bottle of beer. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a room.”

“Nope. No vacancy. Internet and phones are down. I need a tow more than a room. You?”

“Same. I got stuck about a quarter mile down the road.”

“Did you try to get help from the men in this bar?”

“Yup. No luck.” Mitch squinted at her. “There’s more to your story.”

“I’m marooned by the storm.” She stared at him with enormous doe-brown eyes, luminous in the subtle light of the lounge. 

“You going to tell me what else you’re doing here?”

She sipped her drink.

“You’re wearing the wrong shoes. Service grade. Built for kicking a perp in the balls. Your pants are regulation ranger. Bet you have a gun in your sock.”

Her cheeks reddened, charming him. He pointed to her belt. “You’re in the habit of touching the place where your holster should be.”

She glared at him. “As if your ‘tells’ aren’t obvious. It’s plenty warm in here yet you’re wearing a jacket. I presume your gun’s in a shoulder holster.”

“Touché.”

She swallowed water and tapped his arm. “Takes one to know one. I’m a new L.E. at Rainier. Low on the totem pole, pulling the holiday shift. Why are you in Ashford on Christmas Eve? You local law? I’m told they’re helping us with our case.”

With the shake of his head he said, “Washington’s my territory. Private Investigator-bounty hunter.”

“Your perp’s in here?”

“Maybe. Told someone he was ‘going to paradise.’ My take was Paradise Road, highway 706. Name’s Freddy Canto, a small-time crim whose bail-jump made his capture worth $10,000. Money I need for my sister's medical bills.

“Noble cause.”

“I heard Canto was hanging out in Enumclaw, heading south to look for easy money and a lay, so that put me at Sinners. I have a fuzzy surveillance pic of the guy, but he’s known to use disguises. I’ve talked to everyone who might fit his description, but I don’t think he’s in this bar, damn it.”

“I’m looking for an armed robber. A 10-32. Maybe an 11-24. He grabbed a couple thou at Mt. Rainier visitor center.”

He nodded, eyes on his beer bottle.

“Is Santa lurking nearby?”

He blinked in surprise. “What?”

“Just think, if you and I are after the same guy and we catch him tonight, Santa says we’re nice.”

Mitch shook his head. “Need the money more than the kudo.”

“Obligations.” She scanned the mirror. “You have a dossier on your man? We could help each other.”

“My perp's medium height and medium build. Barely a southern accent and a right-eye-twitch when he’s tense. Bright fellow and a good actor. Meticulous about changing his look, including clothes, hair, mustache. He’ll wear make-up and he favors old guy disguises.”

“Better intel than I have. My UNSUB wore a mask and a hoodie. Careful not to show anything. He could be most men in this room.”

“Half of the guys here could be Canto.”

“You know his ride…his car make?”

“Nope. What are you looking for?”

“A Camry. Covered in snow somewhere.”

Mitch drew in the strawberry scent of her. Eyes the color of jasper, mesmerizing. Her focus and fearlessness pleased him…and made his gut hurt. “We’re a team, then?”

She smiled for the first time and her face was transformed. Mitch gaped at her beauty, his words gone. Hope gone. He wasn’t a match for this woman.

Her expression morphed to irritated and Mitch swore the temperature around them dropped a few degrees.

“A strategy, Mitch?”

“Uh. I…” What was he thinking? Partnering with a woman like Sable was a pipe dream. 

"Mitch?“

He struggled to offer a plan.  Any plan. "Uh...I..." Thoughts of her smile helped him find the words. "One by one, you visit the men in this room. Smile first, explain your plight, ask for help.”

“What kind of help?”

Taking a swallow of beer, Mitch said, “You need a bed for tonight.”

Sable jerked back on the stool. “Instead of a tow?”

“You're looking for a conversation starter, not a stopper. Even if they could tow you, not one of these guys is foolish enough to try it until the morning plows come through.”

"True."

“Ask for a bed. No strings. Kindness of their hearts. As you beg, you're alert to guilt and disguises.”

She frowned. “And what are you doing while I look for your twitchy, disguised guy? What about my UNSUB?”

Mitch shrugged. “I’ve got a description for my man; might as well start with him. And like you said, we may be looking for the same guy. I’ll sit here, drink my beer, and use the mirror to watch for the reactions of each man you question. My smile isn’t nearly as powerful as yours.”

Sable was quiet.

“Do you need an incentive?”

She scoffed. “I’m a ranger. It’s my job to catch criminals.”

“Let's fatten the pot.”

“With what?”

Mitch grinned as he scrubbed at his forehead. “If we work in tandem, we'll collar a bad guy and snag us a bed for the night.”

Thanks for reading Part 2 of my story. Tomorrow comes the conclusion for "Christmas at Sinners."