Chapter Eight
As night fell, Brock watched Ginger over the campfire as she ate her baked beans out of a can.
Even doing something as mundane as that made his body react in the most disturbing ways. It was as if he was possessed by some kind of rabid bear that kept him erect at even the slightest hint of Ginger’s presence. It was already driving him mad, and he’d only spent the better part of the day with her. He knew his bear’s tantrum would go away as soon as he mated with her. It was common knowledge among shifters that this kind of thing happened when someone found their fated mate. No matter how many times he’d heard the horror stories about it, he hadn’t believed it--until now, when it was happening to him.
If a regular human had this kind of thing happening inside their own mind, they would probably commit themselves to an asylum. Brock ate his baked beans but his mind wasn’t on his food. He was so excited he could barely digest. He’d spent most of the day hiding his erection from Ginger out of sheer embarrassment. He was a thirty-year-old man who ran his own business, and was not a stranger to the opposite sex. Even when he was a teenager, his body had never responded like this to anyone or anything. He was going to have to do something about it fast, or the man Brock once had been would be replaced with a sex crazed maniac.
He had to share the tent with Ginger tonight, which was probably going to be the most difficult thing he’d ever done in his life. He couldn’t very well pull down her pants and thrust himself inside her without a word, which was the very thing his bear was advocating inside his mind. Loudly.
Brock was not the kind of man to seduce the women he guided into the backcountry. Only on one other occasion had he ever become romantically involved with one of his clients, but she was a local he’d known for most of his life, and so wasn’t technically a client. He didn’t like having one-night stands any more than he liked having relationships. Considering his hesitance to get involved, his trysts had been becoming fewer and farther between as the years went by. When he was younger, he had been more willing to put himself out there. In the last couple of years, he just didn’t want to deal with the drama anymore.
When the elders of his clan began pressuring him to find a mate, all he could think about was the drama that dating always seemed to bring his way. Little did he know that the bear inside his mind would give him this kind of hell when he found his fated mate.
Brock took the cans and buried them in a hole in the ground so no wild bears would find them. He needed to go to sleep, he needed to be unconscious and get all of the growling and roaring and sexual desire out of his mind. The oblivion of sleep was his only release, and it couldn’t come fast enough.
“Time to turn in for the night,” he told Ginger. “Need to get as much rest as possible for the last leg of the trip.”
He climbed into the tent and pulled off his boots before slipping into a sleeping bag. Ginger came in behind him and zipped up the tent door. The smell of her sweat hit him like a ton of bricks, and his erection went stiff instantaneously.
God dammit.
He turned over on his side and squeezed his eyes closed, trying to block out how Ginger overwhelmed his senses.
She climbed into her sleeping bag beside him and let out a little moaning sigh. That was just too much. He put his hands over his face. There was no way he was going to be able to sleep in the tent with her tonight and retain his humanity. He had to get the hell out of here.
“I think it would be better if I let you have the tent yourself,” he said crawling towards the door.
She rose up on her elbow and looked at him quizzically in the flashlight’s glow. “Where are you going to sleep?” she asked, the concern thick in her voice.
“I’m a bear shifter. I can sleep in the woods. It will give you more space to rest, relax, and recuperate. What’s good for you is good for me because we need out to your father’s land tomorrow.”
“Well if you’re sure...”
Brock burst out of the tent and zipped it back up behind him. Striding into the forest, he peeled off his clothes until he stood naked in the chill, damp underbrush. His human skin beginning to prick with cold, Brock rolled his shoulders and threw his head back in a silent roar. His body grew, his back curved, sharp teeth sprouted from his jaw. Brock’s grizzly puffed in the night air, scratching the ground.
He scented his mate. His urge to take her drowned out his reason. The bear pivoted toward the tent, sniffing and scratching. The grizzly mind, now in control, wanted nothing more than to propel the human back to the tent to take his mate. Brock’s human mind wrangled with his animal instinct, forcing the beast to turn back around and head into the forest.
As soon as he broke through the underbrush into the woods, he shot into a run. He galloped past low hanging branches, and they broke against his chest and over his back. The slap and sting of drying leaves on his flesh braced his consciousness. The faster he ran, the farther away he got from the woman lying in the tent, the freer his bear was from the drive to claim her.
He came out of the forest onto the rocky river bank. He could smell the fish under the water, salmon thrashing upstream towards their spawning grounds. He dove into the water, his teeth gnashing at the wriggling, slick scaled creatures under the surface. He bit down hard on the large Chinook salmon, the taste of its blood and flesh bursting over his tongue. He brought it back to the shore and tore into it, gorging on the tasty treat.
Not full yet, he continued fishing. His bear would gorge until his belly was full. When finally the grizzly had satisfied himself, he wandered into the forest and curled up to sleep.
When the morning came, Brock shifted back to human form. He couldn’t let the grizzly walk back into camp and confront Ginger. Better to go back as a naked man, cold and shivering, then to frighten his would-be mate.
He hurried through the forest and came out into the meadow where they’d camped. She still wasn’t awake, and he could see the heat rising from the dying coals still in the fire pit. He pulled his clothes back on and stoked the fire, preparing coffee and breakfast for the woman still sleeping inside the tent.
When he poured the first cup of coffee, the tent zipper zipped open, and Ginger stepped into the pale morning sunlight.
“Oh my God, I’m so sore,” she said, walking out of the tent on wobbly legs.
She sat across from him on a log. He handed her a tin cup full of hot coffee. She took it gratefully and sipped the steaming brew carefully. Her hair was disheveled and sticking out in all directions around her head, making her look like an adorably messy little angel as the sun glowed behind her.
Brock smiled and poured himself his own coffee. Getting away from her last night was the best thing that he could’ve done. He didn’t want to think about what he would have been capable of if he had stayed the night in the tent with her. His bear was out of control, and being this close to the woman he was meant to mate with for the rest of his life was showing him that the bear could not be trusted in this delicate situation.
Last night, Brock had come to realize that there was no way around the mating. He would have to find some way to tell Ginger that she belonged with him, and hope that she felt the same way. Considering that she was a human, and did not have an instinctive fated mate like a shifter did, the conversation promised to be an awkward one.
He needed to find out more about her, get to know her, romance her the way that a human woman needed to be romanced. Too bad Brock had no idea how to do such a thing. If they had been at home, and not out in the middle of the wilderness, he might have asked his mother or one of the elders how to best handle the situation. But as it was, he was on his own. He would have to start soon or he would lose it completely. He didn’t want to know what would happen to him if he denied his bear any longer.
Chapter Nine
Ginger drank her coffee and ate the breakfast that Brock cooked for her. By the time they were ready to set out from the camp, her legs were so stiff and sore that she didn’t know i
f she was going to make it any farther. Not only that, but she was confused by why Brock hadn’t slept in the tent the night before. Her budding attraction for him almost made her grateful that he had decided to spend the night in the woods alone.
She didn’t know what she would have done if he had slept in the tent with her the night before. She couldn’t help feeling tingly and warm all over every time she looked at him. The few minutes that they spent lying side-by-side last night had made her gush heat between her legs. She hadn’t felt that way in so many years that the pressure of it had hit her hard.
The intense drive to take his hand, or put her arm around his waist, or reach up on her tiptoes to plaster kisses all over his face was increasing by the minute. She didn’t understand why she wanted this guy so badly. Maybe he was really good looking. That was definitely true. But Ginger had never been the kind of girl who just jumped on a guy because she was feeling super frisky. Brock definitely made her feel that way, and it was a completely new sensation.
If her legs hadn’t been so sore, and she weren’t so dog-tired, she might have pushed Brock into the bushes and climbed on his lap. Her every other thought was of doing that very thing. As she climbed up the trail behind him, watching his sexy behind move as he walked up the steep slope, she had to stop periodically and squeezed her eyes closed to force out the visions of making love to him in the forest.
Maybe when this was all over, she could ask him if he wanted to go out for a few beers, and they could get to know each other a little better.
Brock was over six feet tall, muscular and scorching hot. He could have any girl that he wanted. Why would he want a girl like Ginger? With her kinky red hair, freckled pale skin, and overly curvy figure, she didn’t think that he would want her. Not only were her looks not what she believed he would want, she was broke and homeless.
It was all so depressing and confusing. Ginger tried to stop thinking about any of it as she forced herself to continue the trek up the mountain. Thoughts of making out with Brock should’ve made her feel better, but they didn’t. The made her feel worse. It was just another example of something that she could never have. This hot man with his family and his business. He would never want a girl like her. She was a failure and a loser and not model-esque in any way, shape, or form.
Ginger focused on the pain of placing one foot in front of the other. Somehow, it braced her and cleared her mind from all her dark thoughts. The pain was real, and it was something that she could count on.
The day stretched on. They stopped periodically to eat power bars and drink water.
Her father’s cabin could be reached by helicopter, but there was no way that she could afford to hire a helicopter to take her out there. Not that she could even afford Brock’s services. This was all charity for him. She was so abundantly grateful that he would be willing to take her out here like this, waste his time on a broke girl like her, and give her supplies and clothes to wear. He was a good person and it just made her attraction to him even more difficult to bear.
As the day started to tip towards evening, they came into a clearing where a little cabin was nestled against the backdrop of the forest and mountains beyond. The river that ran downhill towards the ocean burbled just beyond. When Ginger saw the rustic wood walls of her father’s cabin, tears began to well in her eyes. They’d finally made it.
She let her backpack slip from her shoulders outside the front door of the cabin. Pulling the keys out of her front pocket, she lifted them to the lock on the door and opened it. Inside, the dark cabin smelled of dust and damp, but everything was in its place, waiting to be used.
“Your father built a good cabin. It’s still well equipped. It could still be used as a hunting and fishing cabin.”
“I know. My dad put a lot of energy and effort into this place. He loved it. This is where he wanted his ashes spread.”
“So what was it that you needed up here?” Brock asked, walking around the one room cabin inspecting its contents. There was a wood-burning stove in the corner and a rustic bed pushed against the wall. Her father had even dug a well and had indoor running water that came out of the standpipe and drained out of the sink to the outside.
“My father told me on his deathbed that he had been panning gold in the river. He drew me a map to where it was buried.”
“Gold, huh?”
“The truth is that my when my dad died, I lost everything. I’m even going to lose this land soon. The tax bill is due tomorrow, and even if I can find the gold, I don’t know if I’ll get back in time to pay the taxes.”
“I’m sure you can pay the tax bill one day late,” Brock said, putting his hands on his hips.
“The guy who was overseeing my father’s tax file said it would be impossible to give me another extension.”
“Is it someone local?” Brock asked skeptically.
“Yes. James Salvo. He works at the local property tax office.”
“James Salvo? Doesn’t ring a bell. Must be new to the area. So, let’s take a look at that map. My curiosity is running wild right now.”
Ginger pulled the map out of her backpack and unfolded it. It had been written on a napkin with a blue ballpoint pen. It showed the cabin and landmarks around it. The gold was supposedly buried in a hole two feet underground around the back of the cabin towards the river.
“That doesn’t look too hard to find,” Brock said. “I think I saw a shovel outside under the overhang. Should still be usable. Come on.”
Ginger followed Brock outside, and he grabbed the shovel from the under hang where firewood was stored. They followed the directions on the map and came to the space where the gold was supposed to be buried. There was a thick layer of leaves across the ground, already starting to decompose in the late season.
The sun was beginning to set as Brock pushed the shovel into the damp soil. Ginger stood watching him as he dug one shovelful after another out of the ground. Her heart raced in her chest, pounding with anticipation. If the gold was really there, it could save her, it could give her back her life.
After a few tense moments, the shovel hit something. Brock sank to his knees and used his hands to take out the edges of a burlap sack. Ginger gasped, and Brock pulled the sack out of the dark wet soil. It looked heavy and full at the bottom. It was partially decomposed and as black as the soil. Brock pulled it open and reached inside.
Ginger peered into the darkness inside the sack. The sun had already set, and Brock pulled a small flashlight out of his jacket, shining it on to the contents in his hand. Big chunks of raw gold glistened in a pile in Brock’s large palm.
Both of them made excited sounds, and Brock dumped the gold back into the sack.
“I can’t believe it’s really here,” Ginger said, her mind reeling. She could save her father’s land, she could get herself back on track, she could eat a decent meal for once, and pay back Brock for his kindness.
“This gold is worth a lot of money,” Brock said, rising from his crouch to face her.
There was a click as if someone had taken the safety off a handgun. Brock and Ginger snapped their heads in the direction of the sound. “That’s exactly why I’ll be taking that sack,” a man said in the darkness.
Brock shined his light on the person who had spoken. James Salvo stood there in the darkness, steam puffing from his mouth as he spoke. He held the gun with its muzzle pointed at them.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Brock asked him.
“I’m here to take what’s mine. I’ll own this land by tomorrow evening, at the end of business hours. Everything on it belongs to me, including that gold.”
“You can’t do this,” Ginger gasped.
“Oh, but I can, and I will.”
“You won’t get away with this,” Brock said.
“And who’s going to stop me? No one will believe your story. Why would they?”
Brock growled and Ginger could see his body begin to grow larger and push at the seams of his clothi
ng. A gunshot cracked through the night. A bullet sliced through Brock’s leg, and he dropped the sack of gold. He fell backward, and Ginger instantly went to him, forgetting about the gold.
James strode forward, grabbed the gold, and hurried off into the darkness without another word. Panicked, Ginger pressed her hands to the gushing wound on Brock’s leg.
“I can’t believe he shot you,” she said, tears welling in her eyes and streaming down her face.
“I’ll be all right. The bullet went straight through.” He sucked a sharp breath between his clenched teeth. “I need to get inside. I’ll be okay. My shifter healing will take care of this. Don’t worry, Ginger. Don’t worry.” His voice became distant and soft. Ginger could tell he was in a lot of pain.
Slowly, she helped him stand and limp towards the cabin, blood gushing down his leg. She helped him lie across the bed and hurried to find something to tie off his leg to staunch the bleeding. She found an old rag that seemed clean enough and brought it to him to tie around his wound.
“I’ll be all right, Ginger.” His eyes fluttered closed as he lay against the pillow on the bed. The room was almost pitch black aside from the single small flashlight that Brock had pulled from his jacket. Ginger found some matches and lit the kerosene lamp beside the bed. The faint glow filled the small cabin but the room was still damp and chill to the bone.
She knew she had to do something to make sure that Brock would heal properly. They would freeze to death if they stayed in this cold. She took the flashlight and went outside to gather firewood, which she brought back in and piled into the wood-burning stove. She hoped the chimney was clear enough that she could build the fire without smoking them out inside the cabin.