After she built the fire, she opened the flue, and the smoke went out through the chimney without any problems. She breathed a sigh of relief as the fire warmed the cabin.
She went to Brock and placed her cool hand on his forehead. He was burning hot. She didn’t have any idea what that meant. She didn’t know what was natural for shifters. And even if he had been a human, she would have no idea how to take care of gunshot wound to the leg. She was a musician, not a nurse.
She found an extra quilt tucked in a chest and pulled it up over Brock. With no idea what else to do, she brought a chair beside the bed, took his hand in hers, and began to sing softly as he slept.
James had taken her one last hope, and he had an injured the man she was coming to adore. It all seemed so hopeless now. But she couldn’t lose herself in grief. She had to stay strong for Brock. He had to heal or they would both be lost. She had no idea how to get back down the mountain by herself, or even if she could.
There was no way to contact the outside world. Cell service didn’t work this far up into the mountains, and they didn’t have any walkie-talkies. It was just she and Brock. They had to depend on each other to make it out of this.
She sang for him into the night, and when his fever seemed to finally break, she was so exhausted that she climbed into the bed beside him. She wrapped her arm around his chest, nestled into his shoulder, and closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep.
Chapter Ten
In the morning, Brock sat up in bed, his leg still aching deep to the bone. He remembered the sound of Ginger’s sweet voice as she sang to him and held his hand the night before. The raging bear within had been tempered by the wound, and had listened to his mate sing sweetly to him through the daze of pain. It had been a healing balm for him as his fevered mind and body tried to repair itself.
Ginger still slept beside him, her face relaxed from the constant state of worry she always seemed to be in. He flipped the quilt off of his body and looked down at his leg. The rag she had tied around the wound was soaked through with blood. Brock slowly untied the bandage and looked down at the flesh below. It was already beginning to heal. The place where the bullet had pierced his skin was beginning to heal over with new flesh. However, he was still a long way from being repaired enough to make it back down the mountain. He wasn’t even sure he could walk yet.
Ginger stirred beside him, leaning up on her elbow with a gasp. She blinked up at him where he sat above her. The worry that always marked her face returned immediatel,y and she reached out to him to touch his hand. The gentle expression of affection warmed his heart. He sank back down into the bed beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her head to his chest.
At first, she seemed shocked but quickly relented and snuggled against him, relaxing into his embrace. She let out a soft sigh, and ran her hand over his chest. Brock tilted his head and planted a kiss on Ginger’s forehead. She whimpered under her breath, and looked up at him into his eyes.
“You sang to me all last night,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“I didn’t know what else to do.”
He wrapped his hand around her fingers and held it against his heart, pulling her more tightly against his chest. Ginger seemed to melt into him, as if she had been waiting for his embrace all along. His bear cooed inside his mind, no longer fierce and ferocious. The animal was wounded as well, and could feel the pain. Now all he wanted was to be close to her. Ginger’s warmth radiated through him and filled him with comfort.
“I think it has healed me,” he said softly.
“My singing can’t heal anything,” she said. “But your natural shifter healing can. The wound was much worse last night.”
“It’ll take me about another day to be well enough to travel again,” he said.
“Do we have enough food or supplies to last that long?”
“I think so. If not, we can always fish in the river. The salmon are spawning all the way up here.”
Ginger climbed out of bed and went to check the fire. Brock watched her as she threw logs into the wood-burning stove. She found Brock’s camping kettle and put it on top of the stove to heat water for coffee. As she moved about the small cabin, Brock couldn’t keep his eyes off her.
Her generous curves swayed under her jeans and fleece. She was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Now that his bear had calmed within his mind, he could really appreciate the woman his instincts told him was the one.
Ginger was soft and sweet. But she was loyal, hardworking, and determined. He wanted to know everything about her. He wanted to give her everything she ever wanted.
“Where did you learn to sing like that?” he asked her.
She stood over the stove, making oatmeal in Brock’s camping pot. “I went to the Conservatory of Music in New York City. I studied as a violinist. But as a musician, I also learned vocals to a certain degree. I wouldn’t consider myself primarily a singer though.”
“You have one of the loveliest voices I’ve ever heard. Better than what I hear on the radio.”
She looked over at him and giggled with a smile. “Well, thanks. That’s nice of you to say, even though it isn’t true.”
“It is true. What kind of music did you study at the Conservatory?”
“Classical. I’ve been playing violin since I was three years old. But I had to leave the Conservatory when my father became ill. I never finished my degree, and now I have over one hundred thousand dollars’ worth of student loan debt I still have to pay off.”
“When did your father die?”
She took a deep ragged breath and let it out, not looking at him. He could see tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. She blinked them away and looked back up at him. “I guess it was about a week ago now.”
“Your dad just died a week ago?” His heart hurt for her. He had no idea she was in such deep mourning for someone who obviously meant a great deal to her.
“Yeah. My dad and I were very close. He was a single parent from the time I was a little girl. He gave me my first violin. When he got sick, he didn’t want me to come home to take care of him. But there was no way I could leave him to die alone.”
“Ginger, I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” She stirred the oatmeal in the pot, staring at its contents. “The truth is, when he died the bank foreclosed on the mortgage on his condo and I got kicked out. I used the last bit of my money to come up to Alaska to follow what might’ve been the delusional ramblings of a dying man. I didn’t know if the gold was really here are not. If it hadn’t been, I would’ve to spend stranded in Alaska. I guess I’m going to be stranded in Alaska anyway.”
“You aren’t stranded, Ginger. You have me.”
“Brock, you’re sweet. I appreciate you holding me this morning. And I’m sure once you’re feeling better, you won’t be interested in me anymore.”
“But that’s where you’re wrong. I’ll never stop being interested in you.”
She looked up at him with her eyes wide and dropped the spoon in the oatmeal. “Why are you talking like that? I can’t have my heart broken again. Not now. Not when I’m at the end of my rope, and I’ve lost everything. Please don’t play with me.”
“I’m not playing with you, Ginger. I’m definitely not playing with you.”
“How could you possibly want me? I’m a mess. I’m penniless. I have nothing to offer a man like you.”
He sat up and flung his legs over the bed. The wound stung like crazy, but he wanted to face her when he said it, even if he couldn’t stand. “Ginger, listen to me. I have to tell you something that you might not understand. I don’t want to scare you. Or make you think you have any obligation to me. But from the moment I saw you, I knew that you were my fated mate. You’re the one for me. The only one.”
She stood there with a confused, shocked expression on her face. The smell of burning oatmeal wafted from the pot, and she quickly pulled it away from the he
at before dumping the contents into two tin bowls. She stood over the counter with her back to him, her body tense.
“I knew shifters had fated mates. The woman I met the first day in Juneau told me that she helped shifters find them. I never expected that to be me.”
“What woman?”
“I think her name was something like... Babs Bula. She gave me a business card for a dating website she runs.”
“I should have known,” Brock said.
Ginger turned around and pulled a rumpled business card from her back pocket. “Yes, this is it. Babs Bula. FGD.com.”
“Fairy Godmother Dating,” he said. “I know that woman. Believe me, we all know her.”
“So she finds mates for a lot of shifters in Juneau?”
“Oh yes, she finds people mates. Her tactics might be questionable, but her results speak for themselves.”
“Do you think she planned this? How is that even possible?”
“Who knows? No one knows with Babs. We don’t even know if she’s a shifter or a human or what.”
“She told me to call you. She said you’d work with me for two hundred dollars.”
“Of course she did.” Brock shook his head in disbelief and wonder.
“You did work with me for two hundred dollars.”
“I did. The moment I saw you my bear started roaring inside my head that you’re my mate. I didn’t have a choice. I had to keep close until I figured out what to do. When I became the clan leader, two days ago, the elders of my clan thought it was the best time to start pressuring me to find a mate of my own.”
Ginger brought the oatmeal over to Brock in bed and sat down at the chair beside him. He took a bite, and the warm cereal felt good going down into his stomach.
“Did you not want a mate?” Ginger asked him.
“I didn’t. Not really. Not until I met you.”
“And you wanted me just because your bear was roaring at you?”
“Well, that was part of it. But not all of it.”
“Oh? What else, then?”
“You’re a strong woman, Ginger. Determined, brave, loyal. Not to mention devastatingly beautiful.”
At that, Ginger almost spat her mouthful of oatmeal back out into her bowl, she was laughing so hard. “I’m devastatingly beautiful?”
“Yes. The contrast of your beautiful red hair and your gorgeous pale skin. Your curves are fucking hot. I won’t even tell you what my bear’s been putting in my head about that.”
“Oh please tell me,” she said in a teasing voice.
“I think would be better if I showed you instead,” he said in the same teasing voice.
She looked up at him through her thick lashes and bit her lip, shaking her head “no” slightly. “You’re still injured. You won’t be showing me anything until you’re fully healed. We need to get off this mountain and back to safety. I’m not going to be the reason that it takes you longer to repair.”
“You’re probably right. When I show you what my bear has in mind, I want to do it the right way. That means having all of my strength.”
Ginger took her empty bowl, giggling as she stood from her chair, and placed it on the counter near the sink. “I’m going to try a little bit of fishing, and see if I can catch something for lunch. Do you need anything while I’m out?”
“I have everything I need.”
Chapter Eleven
Ginger’s head was buzzing as she left the cabin. Her entire body seemed to be on fire from hearing Brock’s revelation. She was his fated mate. Who ever would have thought that she and Brock belonged together? It was too exciting and too much to even take in all at once.
She’d been robbed, Brock had been shot, and they were stranded on top of the mountain, miles away from help. She had to think about survival right now, but the budding feelings in her heart wouldn’t let her go. She’d found Brock incredibly sexy from the first second she laid eyes on him. He’d made her gushy and gooey all over. But she’d never expected a man like him to be attracted to her. Being his mate? How could that even be real?
She gripped the fishing pole and tackle in one hand and her father’s ashes in the other. It was time to scatter the ashes like he’d wanted. She opened the plastic container and untied the plastic bag inside. She dusted them around the outside of the cabin and crept down to the riverbank to scatter them among the rocks and trees.
The wind ruffled in her hair, blowing it in her face. She brushed it away and felt a sense of peace and ease, as if her father were there with her, telling her he had found his own peace. Love filled her heart for her dad, and a tear slipped down her face.
She cast her line and waited, her mind a chaos of thoughts and feelings she couldn’t sort out. After about fifteen minutes of casting and reeling, she got a bite at the end of her line. Excitedly, she began to reel the line in. The fish fought against her. It required all of her strength to pull the bright red salmon out of the cold Mountain River and onto the bank.
She unhooked the fish from the line and quickly put it out of its misery. Triumphantly, she carried the salmon back up the riverbank and through the forest to the cabin. Inside she found Brock sitting in the chair beside the wood-burning stove, slowly putting logs into the fire.
“What are you doing up?” she asked.
“The fire was dying, and I was feeling well enough to stoke it up. I see you caught a fish.”
She held it up with a huge grin on her face. “I did! Now we’ll have protein for lunch and dinner.”
“My resourceful, beautiful, little mate. I’m the luckiest man alive.”
She chuckled as she passed him on her way to the sink. “Are you sure you didn’t get hit on the head when you fell?”
“You’re going to have to learn how to take a compliment, my darling. There are a lot more in store for you.”
Ginger just looked down at him with a stifled giggle inside her mouth. How had she been so lucky to land a guy like him? Maybe fate was real. Maybe a girl like her, who had gone through so many trials and troubles, could get rewarded in the end by finding a man who would say things like that and make her feel the way she did every time she looked at him.
She put the fish in the sink, and Brock rose behind her and hobbled across the room until he stood beside her.
“Let me do that,” he said, taking the fish and the knife from her hands.
“You shouldn’t be out of bed yet.”
“I’m feeling better all the time. You went out and caught our lunch; the least I can do is clean it for you.”
Ginger prepared a frying pan from her father’s collection of cooking utensils with oil that was still good. Moments later, Brock had the cleaned fillets, and they were searing in the pan. The delicious smell filled the cabin, and Ginger flipped them onto plates when they were done. They sat at the small table and chairs, Brock still walking with a limp.
It was amazing how quickly he healed. Ginger marveled at this as she ate her portion of salmon.
The wound had covered over with new skin and all that was left was a raw red welt. “How does your leg feel?” Ginger asked him between bites.
“It feels much better, but I doubt I could make it back down the mountain until tomorrow morning.”
“Another night here?” she asked.
“It will reopen if I travel on it too quickly.”
Heat pricked in Ginger’s face, and she knew she was blushing. Images of her and Brock in the same bed flashed through her mind. He’d told her she was his mate. What that meant for them now, she didn’t know. But she had a few ideas.
One of them was seeing Brock without a shirt on. She just imagined what he must have under all his flannel and Gor-tex. She’d had her head on his chest earlier. He had been so sweet and tender when she hadn’t expected it. The suddenness of it scared her, but she also wanted to run headlong into his arms.
The promise of fate intrigued her. Shifters mated for life. They loved forever. She would never be alone again. Brock rose and
took their plates to the sink, limping heavily as he walked. She hurried up beside him and took the plates the rest of the way.
“Sit, regain your strength. I don’t want you to be in pain longer because you want to be gallant.”
He handed her the plates and laughed as he limped to the bed. He lay down on the bed, reclining with his arms tucked under his head. He was wearing his tight fitting, long sleeved undershirt. This hard chest tapered down into his slim waist and the skin on his navel peeked out from under his shirt.
Ginger bit her lip and turned away to the kitchen sink. There were some soap crystals in a dish so she began rinsing and washing the dishes in cold water. When she finished washing the dishes, she turned around and with a soft rag in her hands. The shirt had inched up higher on Brock’s chest. He was watching the leaves fall outside the small, thick paned window.
Her body seemed to vibrate in a cacophony of emotions and sensations. She wanted to walk over to him and climb on his lap, running her hands under his shirt. He glanced over at her and broke her spell.
“Come sit with me,” he said, reaching out his hand.
She crossed the room and took his hand before carefully crawling up on the bed beside him. He put his arm around her and they lay there looking out the window with their bellies full. Still sore and tired from the trip up the mountain; Ginger’s eyes began to flutter closed.
The next time she opened them, it was pitch black and Brock was moving around the cabin in the light of a single flashlight.
“What time is it?” she asked, groggily.
“Early. We should go soon. I’m healed enough to travel.”
“Do I smell coffee?”
“Yes. I stoked up the fire.”
“Come back to bed, I’m cold,” she said, reaching out to him.
He came to her and climbed under the blankets, still in his undershirt and jeans. His hands were warm on hers when he enveloped them and brought them to his chest. His body heat warmed her from the chill, and she drew closer to him, wrapping her arm over his chest.