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. 

A Beary Merry Christmas by Vonnie Davis

Chapter Two of Three

After struggling to open both doors, Danner accepted she’d have to crawl out of the car’s window to go for help. She struggled and wiggled to make her escape, falling face first into the snow. When she landed, she cut the edge of her hand on a jagged rock buried beneath. 

The unscheduled snow gymnastics caused her knit cap to blow away before she could snatch it. She grabbed for a pine branch to keep from sliding down the side of the mountain and gasped when the rough needles upbraided the inflamed skin around the cut. Scarlet drops colored the snow. Needing to move higher, Danner reached for a boulder and used it to aid in her climb upward. It made the most sense to head where she’d been. There was a road there and an inn where she could ask for help—in the warm.

Wind whipped the snowflakes around her. Snow fell down the back of her coat and her sneakers were caked with it. 

Good Lord, my teeth are chattering.

A bare branch was a foot beyond her reach, and she toed her way toward it--inch by frigid inch. She stretched and strained to grab it. The dead wood gave way and she tumbled down the steep hill, crying out in pain as her back hit the demolished car with a thud. She took a couple of deep breaths to see if she’d cracked any ribs.

When no pain caused her to gasp, she brushed snow from her face and wished again she’d gotten gloves yesterday at the little shop where she’d bought a scarf. 

She’d been so pleased to find her ancestors’ tartan—a pretty sky blue, celery green, and a marine blue weave. There were no matching gloves in stock. Today her hands were paying for the exposure. Her toes were stiff. Yeah, she could use a pair of those fur-lined boots so many women wore in the Highlands.

She rose to her hands and knees—and came face-to-face with a bear.

Oh, dear God!

She froze. So did her heart. It was no use to scream. Who would hear her out here?

The bear plopped onto its bottom as if to get a better view of her. She gaped. The beast had a wedding band on one of its digits just behind its long, black claw. Had it belonged to a previous victim? 

To her astonishment, the beast’s dark eyes bore kindness as it tilted its head to study her. That’s when she noticed a small gold hoop in its ear.

This was beyond bizarre. She had to be hallucinating. Really, what kind of bear wore jewelry? What did the carnivoran mammal do? Lumber into Zales and pick out some golden adornments? Where would he keep his credit card--in its fat folds? 

In the face of certain death, her mind must have slipped into the realm of insanity. Just as well; maybe she wouldn’t feel the pain when the bear tore her apart. She stood to face the inevitable and prayed it would be quick.

In like manner, the bear stood on its hind legs, towering over her. With gentle movements it brushed the snow from her coat. She trembled at its touch waiting for his claws to rip her to shreds. 

Instead, it picked her up and held her to him like a baby.

She screamed and its dark brown eyes glowed golden. Its muzzle lowered to her face and damned if she didn’t smell whisky on its breath as it made a jaw popping noise.

Yep, I have truly lost my mind.

The bear walked on its hind legs as it held her close. A deer dashed over and the bear loosened its hold on her as if to show off his trophy to the other animal.

Oh hell, why not? I am clearly crazy. The accident and exposure to the cold elements have taken away my ability to reason.

The furry beast carried her around a large group of pines, waded through a gurgling stream, and trod toward a log cabin in a small valley nestled between high ridges. He set her on the steps and growled while motioning toward the door. She had to be delirious.

Since when do bears live in cabins? He should be in his own habitat, hibernating.

Her vision blurred and everything Danner had learned over her lifetime fell into question. The bear before her changed into a man.

A naked man.

He stood in the full-moonlight and her ladybits broke into a stanza of “Santa Baby.” Good Lord, he had broad shoulders. His heavily muscled chest and biceps were decorated with tattoos. A narrow treasure trial of dark hair took her eyes on a journey to a fantasy kingdom.

First the caring, bejeweled bear and now a fine measure of the male species—all from one body. How could this be? Her over-stimulated mind shutdown at the incredulity of it all—and darkness overtook her.

~ * ~ * ~

Hughen stared at the slender woman passed out on his front steps. Bear! Why?

She’s yer new mate, Hugh. I carried her to ye while I was at the forefront.

He backed up a step, then two while Jack Frost nipped at his frosted arse. Nay. Och nay. I dinna need a mate. Me mate’s passed on.

Aye, and this is yer new one. She’s perfect fer ye. Take her inside and warm her. She was knocked around in a car wreck and then slid down part of Dendrick Ridge. Ye need to take care of her.

The red-haired woman did have a large knot on her forehead. Dried blood, too, where her hand was sliced. He scooped her lithe form into his arms and carried her up the wooden steps. Once inside, he laid her on the sofa, removed soaked sneakers and stockings before covering her with a wool blanket made of his tartan. The navy and forest green plaid would help warm her while he got dressed.

When he bent in front of the fireplace to scrunch his heavy stockings and tie his shoelaces, a feminine moan sounded behind him. Before he turned to check on his injured visitor, he grabbed his kilt and wrapped it around his naked hips. Faint alto lyrics filled the place with soft singing. “Chestnuts roasting by an open fire," made him smile.

An enticing sight met him when he glanced over his shoulder. An unusual sight, really—violet eyes like Highland heather stared at him. His heart thundered for a few beats before righting itself.  She was a true beauty even with her long ginger hair hanging in wet, tangled tresses.

“How are ye faring? Do ye need more blankets? Are ye in pain?” He tugged on his sweater and knelt beside the sofa, taking her hand to examine her palm.

She jerked it from his grasp, her violet eyes wary.

“Easy, lass. Ye’ve got a nasty cut. I’ll get me first aid kit. I’m Hughen Matheson, by the way, and this is me cabin. I’ll nay harm ye.” He stood and put some distance between them to ease her discomfort.

“How did I get here?” Her gaze darted around the large room. “How … how did I get here?” her voice rose with a tinge of fear.

“Warm up first and then we’ll talk.” In the kitchen, he removed the first aid kit from the pantry. He looked at the remaining drink in the pot. “Would ye like a cuppa hot chocolate to warm yer insides?”

She stared at him with those mesmerizing eyes. Poor thing was petrified.

He folded his arms over the counter between the living and kitchen areas of the big room. In an effort to calm her, he smiled. “I willna harm ye in any way. I ken ye must be feart, alone in a strange man’s house with nae recollection how ye got here. Once I’ve given ye some nourishment, fixed yer cut hand, and gotten ye warmed up by the fire, I promise we’ll talk. “Tis Christmas Eve. I never murder innocent women on Christmas Eve.”

The corners of her mouth twitched as if she fought a smile. “I’ll take that hot chocolate. Thank you for looking after me. I’m Danner MacKay.” Her voice was low and sultry like the summer winds over Loch Moray. She shifted under his plaid. “I’m grateful for the warmth although I have no clue how I got inside your cabin. I know I keep saying that, but this is all so strange. I need a lot of answers.”

“Fair enough.” He leaned to gauge the height of the gas flame beneath the pan, then stirred the contents while it heated. How could he explain her presence here without scaring her to death? The truth was always the best. As much as he could share with her, anyhow. “Ye were in a car accident. Ye have some minor injuries. Do ye recall what happened?”

She straightened into a sitting position and wrapped his plaid around her. “Some. Bits and pieces.” Her fingers ran through her wet hair. “I remember the car falling and thinking I was going to die. A bear came.” Her forehead wrinkled as if she were in deep thought. Her hand went to the darkened knot above her eyebrows. “Its … its eyes glowed a bright yellow. Golden.”

Och, she would remember that. “A bear, ye say?” Hughen reached for a mug and poured it nearly full of hot chocolate and shook a can of whipped cream to top it off. She was pale and that worried him. To help revive her, he added whisky to the sweet concoction.

A steaming cup in one hand and the first aid kit in the other, he returned to sit on the coffee table near her. He extended the warm mug and she wrapped her uninjured hand around it.

“This feels so good. I don’t know if I should drink it or bathe in it. I was almost an ice cycle out there.”

His mind had snagged on the vision of her bathing in hot chocolate … or a fragrant bubble bath … or in the stream near the cabin in the warm moonlight of summer. 

Steady, man, ye need ta think on something else a'fore yer kilt tents.

“Are ye hurt anywhere else, Danner? Do ye need some ibuprofen?”

“That might help my headache. I’m sure I’ll be a mass of bruises tomorrow but for now the only pain I feel are in my head and hand.”

“Be right back with the pills.” He retrieved a bottle of extra-strength pain relievers and a class of water. On impulse, he poured himself a squat tumbler of whisky. Her appearance at his place had shaken him more than he cared to admit. What had possessed Bear to bring him a woman?

Once she took the pills, he sat on the coffee table again and sipped the whisky, its burn traveling down his chest to extinguish his own discomfort. Setting it aside, he opened the first aid kit. “Now, let’s get that hand taken care of. Is there anyone ye want to call to let them ken ye’re okay? I have a cell if ye have need of it.”

“No. There’s no one I need to call.”

He examined the depth of the cut. “Nae husband, Danner?”

“Not anymore. I’m divorced.”

Her confession pleased him and he stilled for a few seconds to absorb the feeling. She had the softest skin; it was almost pearlescent, glowing in the firelight. Peroxide bubbled when he poured it over the open wound. He wiped it off with gauze and squeezed antibiotic cream over the gash. Three butterflies held the swollen edges of her hand together before he wrapped a bandage around her hand.

Just because he could, he brought it to his lips and kissed the pressure point at her wrist. Her heartbeat fluttered against his lips.

“There. A kiss for yer boo-boo. Do ye use that term in America?” He feathered a second kiss to her wrist before he lifted his head to gauge her reaction. Her perfect lips were shaped into an “O” and a beautiful blush fanned across her cheeks.

She cleared her throat. “Y … yes, we do kiss boo-boos, although it’s been years since I’ve been the beneficiary of such tenderness.”

A burst of protectiveness and, aye, anger surged through him. “What kind of milksop were ye married to, Danner? Didna he treasure ye? Protect ye?”

“No.” She brought the mug to her lips and gulped her drink. Then, flog him blind, she slowly licked the whipped cream off her upper lip.

He watched the movement of her tongue and damn near groaned. There was a wee mole next to her upper lip that fascinated him. His own tongue brushed against the back of his two front teeth as it mimicked what he’d like to do to that small mole and her luscious looking lips.

“What about you, Hughen? Are you married?”

 “I lost me wife nearly two years ago.” To his surprise no pang of pain seized his heart at the mention of his loss. He’d mourned with every cell in his dual persona for his childhood sweetheart. Some claimed he’d mourned to excess, but he was a man who loved hard.

See? Yer new mate is healing ye already. ‘Tis time ye moved on, Hugh. Ye need someone to love.

He was a jumble of emotions. Unexpected desire for this strange woman warred with the memory of the only love he’d ever ken.

“So you live here alone?” Danner glanced around the great room.

“Aye, I do. Me two brothers and their families live on the other side of the hill. After Kaylee died, I sold our house in Mathe Bay and threw me energies into building this cabin. I wasna fit for civilization for a year after a sudden, murderous brain embolism took her. She was on her way home with a pregnancy test tucked in her purse.”

“Oh, how sad. I’m sorry for your loss. That must have been devastating.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “I can’t imagine that kind of deep pain.” Her tender heart was evident. “I went through a lot of pain, too, but nothing compared to yours. I lost both my husband and a close friend thanks to their affair. They’re getting married tonight. A romantic Christmas Eve wedding.”

Her voice carried a lot of pain and he understood. “Is that why ye came to Scotland from the States? Ye’re American, right?” A bloody beautiful American.

“Yes. I’m from Las Vegas. I teach biology at the University of Nevada.”

He laughed and she scowled at his behavior. “Danner, ye’ll never believe this. I’m a chemistry professor at Highlands College. How bizarre is that? Statistically, what are the chances?”

See, Hugh? I told ye she was perfect for ye. Now, claim her and show her what chemistry a Scot can ignite..

Come back tomorrow for the final chapter of "A Beary Merry Christmas."

A Beary Merry Christmas by Vonnie Davis

Chapter One of Three

She peered through the snow-spattered windshield at the neon sign and hoped like hell there was room at the inn. Even though it was only three-ten in the afternoon, with her luck, there’d be no vacancies. Everything about this trip had gone wrong—flight delays, lost luggage, and a chipped tooth just for starters.

Danner McKay grumbled to the silent interior of the vehicle. “Who leaves warm Las Vegas and travels to the frigid Scottish Highlands for Christmas? A feel-sorry-for-me divorcee who refuses to spend the holiday alone while her ex remarries. That’s who."

The compact car hit a patch of ice on the nearly deserted road and spun into a couple of do-nuts while she fought for control. Her neck did a whipping motion with every spin. She’d swallow in fear if she had a bit of spit remaining in her mouth. Her foot off the gas, the demon car finally slowed.

“What idiot rents a car online without checking which side of the road everyone drives on?” She leaned her forehead against the steering wheel. “Me, that’s who. For a woman with a PhD, I can do some pretty dumb things.” Granted, the University of Nevada where she taught biology had a high opinion of her intelligence. At this moment, she didn’t quite agree with their assessment.

For the past three days, she’d been a mass of nerves trying not to wreck the rental on these twisty, narrow Highland roads. She hadn’t relaxed for a moment of this ill-conceived trip. Back home, tracing her ancestors’ roots sounded romantic and fun. 

And just where was the fun in all of this?

Danner took a deep breath and straightened in her seat. She didn’t think it was possible, but the snow was falling harder. The lighted sign before her was no longer visible. Or was it behind her now? After several revolutions, she no longer knew which direction the car was headed.

She should have given more credence to Mrs. Campbell’s remarks at breakfast this morning, but the owner of the quaint Bed and Breakfast was always spouting something strange. “Och, the snaw will be an arse-dragger by this afta’noon. Any numpty oot driving in it has a hovercraft full o’ eels, so he does.”

The Scottish and their sayings—if she only understood them. Still, Danner had to admit this amount of snaw was the most she’d ever experienced in her life, much less driven through. 

And, like an idiot, here she sat.

A truck barreled down on her, its honking horn pierced the storms quiet. Her normally organized mind quickly zipped into confusion. Which side of the road was she on now? Where was she supposed to be again? Right side, or left? In an effort to simply get out of the way, she pressed on the gas to reach the side of the road. Before she got there, the truck—no it was a tour bus—sped by, creating a powerful, slushy wind current that shuddered and blew her tiny car off the icy road. It slithered down an embankment.

Unable to think of a way to stop its momentum into the foggy, snowy abyss, Danner panicked. She jerked on the emergency brake. The car spun and slid backwards before it ran out of ground and dropped.

I’m going to die!

After a moment of freefall, her neck snapped back amid a loud crash. Metal screeched. A second later she lurched forward to bash the steering wheel as the car’s body crunched and echoed. The seatbelt cut into her breast momentarily snapping off her air. Jarring shuddered through her body—and then eerie silence amid stark stillness.

Am I dead?

Someone’s heart is pounding in this car and I’m the only one in it. Has to be mine.

Maybe I’m still alive. Warm coppery-scented liquid is trickling over my eyes. My head hurts. Do you hurt when you’re dead?

Danner wiggled her toes in her sneakers. She raised her thighs a couple inches off the seat three times. Relieved to know the lower part of her anatomy worked, she shrugged her shoulders twice to test her arms. Her fingers opened and closed. Pleased everything responded to her mental commands, her hands went to her eyes to wipe away the moisture. They came back blood-covered.

The view from her rearview mirror showed a large grey boulder holding the scrunched compact in place. Her trembling fingers extended to depress the ignition button. It was senseless to keep the car running when it couldn’t go anywhere. She needed to nullify the potential fire hazard; she had a nearly full tank of gas, or petrol as the Scots called it.

A chill took root and began to grow inside the car.  She couldn’t sit there forever. She’d have to get out and go for help. Which way, she hadn’t a clue. 

Something thudded on the windshield and Danner jumped. Two little paws brushed away the snow and the black nose of a fox’s pointy red-face pressed against the glass to peer inside. His black eyes seemed to take in her predicament. A series of rapid, high-pitched yelps followed, almost as if it were asking her if she was okay. And wasn’t that the silliest thing?

Not only am I alive, I’m imagining things. Head trauma, I bet.

The fox jumped off the hood and disappeared.  

~ * ~ * ~

Hughen Matheson passed out hot chocolate and bags of candy to the four wee carolers who’d stopped at his cabin to deliver some Christmas music. Although he was sure the Almighty was pleased with their off-key renditions, he wasna so sure the heavens were as enamored of pots and pans turned into  drums as he was. He couldna recall when he’d smiled so wide over the makeshift instruments tied around each child’s waist.

Nae one could make a racket like his nieces and nephews. Aye, and he loved them all with a fierceness.

When his brothers decided it was time to go home, the normally noiseless log cabin filled with an unholy din. Och, the wee ones loved their Uncle Hughen, so they did.

Outside, he lifted each one in turn for a hug and gleefully accepted their chocolaty-mustached kisses before setting them on the back of the truck. Six-year-old Lachlan was the last to leap into his arms. His favorite, though he’d never tell a soul, was squeezed a little tighter than the others. And typical for the rascal, Lachlan tugged on the tiny hoop he wore in his ear.

Hamish, his twin brother, covered the precious ones with blankets to keep them from becoming snawlads and snawlassies on their ride across the range of birch, aspen, and Scot pines that separated them from each other. He hugged Hamish before he took his position at the tailgate to make sure they didna get into mischief. Hughen leaned in the open window to embrace Bruce.

Love warmed Hughen’s chest. Family was one of life’s richest blessings.

He waved and bade each one farewell by name as they slowly drove off. Silence settled around him like a blanket of nettles. Being alone was nae way to live.

Hughen stacked logs onto his front porch—enough to see him through the blizzard—before he trudged back inside a house that echoed with loneliness. Och, it had the appearance of Christmas cheer thanks to his sisters-in-law who’d decorated it for the holidays. Bless them, they didna like the thought of his being alone so much since Kaylee passed.

 A framed picture of the happiest day of his life graced the mantle decorated with pine and red-berry garland. Both Kaylee and he beamed with joy. Had someone told him on the day of their wedding he’d lose his childhood sweetheart in a few short years, he’d have declared them crazy. A long, pained sigh escaped from his lungs. This was his second Christmas without her. 

He moved to the kitchen end of the great room to straighten the mess his nieces and nephews made. Maybe he’d make himself a huge mug of hot chocolate with a healthy dribble of whisky to warm his icy soul. He glanced at the remaining cocoa in the pan. Nae, he’d take the whisky straight. He had a long, lonely night ahead of him.

Ye willna be alone this Christmas Eve, his bear promised him.

He scoffed and downed his whisky. Och? And will auld Saint Nick drop a bonny lass down me chimney? He refilled his glass before returning the bottle to its shelf in the pantry. This drink he’d sip in front of the roaring fire.

His bear budged at Hughen’s chest. What is it? Ye’ve been restless all aft’anoon. I sense unease and I’m nae in the mood. I’ve got me own memories to contend with tonight.

Shift, Hugh! Someone needs me help. A fox is here to take me to her.

His bear was now a frantic presence. Denying his other half would only cause him misery and a colossal bout of heartburn. Bear could be bloody nasty at times. Finally, he agreed to allow his bear to come to the forefront. To keep the shift from tearing apart his clothes, he tugged on the shoestrings before toeing off his boots. He undressed, tossing his things on the leather chair by the door.

Naked, Hughen stepped outside into the howling wind and heavy snaw. A chill skittered over his skin like a spider rushing up a wall to spin a web. Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself for the change to begin. The last thing his human eyes saw was an excited red fox pacing in front of the wooden steps, nipping and chattering away.

A shimmer of transposing cosmic waves, a whirlwind of mind and soul continuum, and he transmuted from human to bear. Bones cracked and popped as they either shortened or grew. Eyes and ears moved into bear positions. Layers of fat covered muscles. And thick fur erupted from smooth skin. Although the mutation took less than a minute, a heartbeat or two of discomfort existed with his animal’s emergence.

Once his bear was completely in control, it roared repeatedly as it circled in front of the structure. Then it followed the chattering fox in search of who he’d sensed was in danger—his human’s new mate.

Come back tomorrow for the next chapter of "A Beary Merry Christmas."

Coming Soon--"Beary Sassy" by Vonnie Davis

Lucky me, I've been friended by a small group of paranormal authors who self-publish. Someone creates a storyline, sets up pages on facebook so we can keep in touch, and offers services like cover creation, formatting, and beta reads.

Our current project is "That Old Black Magic: Heart's Desired Mates" series. It is set in a Shifter Community of Stillwater, CA in the Sierra Nevadas. Eight books will comprise the series. Each author retains her rights with royalties paid directly to the author. We promote and support each other.

Each story revolves around a couple who fight their attraction to each other. Although they secretly watch the other, few overt attempts are made to connect. Oh, there are run-ins and arguments, awkward words, and stolen kisses. What finally brings them together is a Raven-shifter's chanting an old heart's desired mate spell. Something goes awry -- isn't that always the case? -- and the entire town is thrown into an orgy. Couples who've secretly desired each other unite for a night of passion. Some wake up the next morning aghast at what they've done.

My contribution involves a Scottish bear-shifter sent to Stillwater after she's been targeted by a drug gang. A man she's dated hid drugs in her home. When she finds them, she turns the cache over to the authorities. She's shot, poisoned, and marked for more attempts on her life. The head of her bear sleuth sends her to America -- a new take on witness protection.

Police detective in the magical community is Mateo Savage. This panther-shifter is attracted and yet put-off by the Scottish bundle of sass.

Keep watching. My new book will be available soon! It's in the formatting stages now. it'll be out in eBook and paperback formats. www.vonniedavis.com

My Mind is Traveling More Than I Am by Vonnie Davis

I feel like I've been traveling both physically and mentally since Calvin passed. Lake Marion in South Carolina with my youngest son, DIL, and Ryan at Tina's parents lakeside house was my leaping off point. I've been to Paris to sprinkle some of Calvin's ashes as I promised him. Then onto the Scottish Highlands to visit the areas I've been writing about for the last few years.

The next time I stepped onto a plane it was headed to Boston. I was going to spend three days with my grandson Ryan, a junior at MIT. He was eager to tell me something. Over lobster he'd bought, he told me he's staying on to get a Masters in AI--Artificial Intelligence. His employer, IronNet, is paying for the additional degree He's been with them for two years--fulltime during the summer and part-time during the school year. He loves what he's doing. "Being a Geek is awesome." Ryan is now writing code for a small country in Africa to protect them from terrorists who might try to infiltrate their energy grid and banking system.

We had a grand weekend, hiking over the campus, talking about Shakespeare and current events. We schlepped through the Boston Museum until it closed. Visiting his Frat House where he lives was also on the agenda he'd organized for our time together.

It's located in the Back Bay area of Boston. He has to ride his ten-speed across the Charles River to reach MIT campus. Before we stepped inside, I got this warning. "The first floor is whisper only except for eating time. I want you to see the Study Room. The walls are lined with overflow books from the Boston City Library. You'll see long tables and green table lamps often featured in library scenes in the movies. Oh, and no pictures taking in there, you'll disrupt everyone's concentration. There's a reason our fraternity earned the award for the highest GPA in the whole country." 

Was he for real? This was a frat house. "Toga...toga...toga!"

We walked into a large foyer about twelve feet by twelve, the antique chestnut woodwork gleaming; lemon oil used to polish it fragranced the air. A round interictally carved table sat in the middle. To the right was a huge, book-lined room. Seven students raised their heads in unison, stared at me, and nodded once in acknowledgement before their gazes returned to their laptops. I'm telling you it was darned near creepy scary.

I wanted to tip-toe through that floor for fear my heels would click against the shining wood floors.

The dining room was immaculate, "How many students live here?" Ryan said thirty-five. "Does the Chef--yes, I said Chef--also clean?"

"We all take turns cleaning. Five of us every week, which works out  to about twice a semester." He lifted a shoulder. "Better than at home. There I had to clean my bathroom, my room, and vacuum the upstairs and steps every week." 

On the second floor was a music room with a grand piano and other instruments on shelves. Ryan sat at the piano. "I wrote this just for you, Grandma." He played a classical-sounding piece he'd composed as a semester project for his Musical Technology class (his minor), His professor arranged for the Boston Pops to come to campus to play the piece for the class. He'd titled it "Someone I Can Always Go To" and I bawled like a baby.

"I didn't know you could play the piano," I sniffled.

He grinned. "YouTube, Grandma. You can learn how to do anything there."

My next trip was to Midnight and Magnolias Conference in Atlanta. You know my angst about pitching to agents. Did I even want an agent? Did I want to keep on writing? For that matter, could I even stop? Ah, the emotional travelings of my mind.

Did I want to step back into the stress of writing for publishers or would I self-publish in my own timing?

I received a call from my editor at Loveswept. While on Bookbub and the day after, "A Highlander's Obsession" sold over 2,000 copies each day. So, what was I working on now?

Mercy, did I want to go through this again? Sell or be dropped. I replied to the lady who'd told me I need to dummy down my writing that I'd get back to her.

I decided to toss out a challenge for myself. Depending on how she accepted it would help me decide. So, I emailed her this

Toolbelt Sexy

You know the type, Sue.

Rugged. Hard-working. Alpha. He wears t-shirts strained over hardened muscles, worn jeans that cup his manhood like a lover’s hand, and a quiet expression of determination. Just the sound of his booted footfalls in the other part of your home make you tingle with awareness. Who would guess a toolbelt riding low on a man’s hips could be so sexy, but on these men, it is. Oh yeah, so unbelievably wicked sexy. TOOL BELT SEXY.

Webb

Carlos

Dawson

Each 70-75,000 word book of the Tool Belt Sexy Series is set in a different place. There are few secondary characters. The desire, the passion, and the bumpy ride to their HEA is designed to fulfill the fantasies of romance readers.

She wants the first three chapters of book one. Oh, AND she wants to hear about "Golden Charm," the book more women's fiction than romance I'd pitched to agents at the conference in Atlanta. My chin dropped. How...how did she hear about that? Who had she spoken to?

This was creepier than college students actually studying in a Frat House. 

My editor from HarperCollins emailed me today. "Momma V...I think of you often and hope you're adjusting to the painful change in your life. I just wanted to give you a bit of nice news --Santa Wore Leathers has been selected for the Kindle monthly deal of the month. I'm sorry not to tell you sooner, but we only just found out. Please do shout about it on Social … " 

So, my traveling mind continues to hop about. Decisions made: I'll keep on writing. I can't NOT write. Yes, I'll continue to submit and lick my wounds when I'm turned down or a three-book contract is limited to two because of sales numbers. For sure, I'll continue the self-publishing. I love that level of control.

Oh, and those professional head shots I had taken at Midnight and Magnolias? These are the two chosen from the eight.

Vonnie Davis writes contemporary, paranormal, and romantic suspense.

"Sizzling Romance with a Twist."