The Mountain Man's Baby Bears
Sophie Stern
Published by Sophie Stern, 2019.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
THE MOUNTAIN MAN'S BABY BEARS
First edition. December 29, 2019.
Copyright © 2019 Sophie Stern.
Written by Sophie Stern.
Also by Sophie Stern
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Alien Chaos: A Sci-Fi Alien Romance Bundle
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Below Deck
Crossing the Line
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Anchored: Books 4-6
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Beware of Dragons
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Dragon Isle (Collection: Books 4-6)
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Good Boys and Millionaires 2
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Office Gentlemen
Ben From Accounting
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Red
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Red: Through the Dark
Red: Beyond the Dark
Shifters at Law
Wolf Case
Bearly Legal
Tiger Clause
Sergeant Bear
Dragon Law
The Fablestone Clan
Dragon's Oath
Dragon's Breath
Dragon's Darling
Dragon's Whisper
Dragon's Magic
The Hidden Planet
Vanquished
Outlaw
Conquered
The Wolfe City Pack
The Wolf's Darling
The Wolf's Mate
The Wolf's Bride
Standalone
Saucy Devil
Billionaire on Top
Jurassic Submissive
The Editor
Alien Beast
Snow White and the Wolves
Kissing the Billionaire
Wild
Alien Dragon
The Royal Her
Be My Tiger
Alien Monster
The Paralegal
Roses in the Dark
Honeypot Babies Omnibus Edition
Honeypot Darlings: Omnibus Edition
Red: The Complete Trilogy
First Shift
The Swan's Mate
Eternity: A Vampire Romance
The Feisty Librarian
Polar Bears of the Air Force
Wild Goose Chase
Star Princess
The Virgin and the Lumberjacks
Resting Bear Face
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Fablestone Clan: A Paranormal Dragon-Shifter Romance Collection
The Mountain Man's Baby Bears
The Mountain Man’s Baby Bears
Sophie Stern
Contents
The Mountain Man’s Baby Bears
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Author
The Bear’s Virgin Darling
Don’t Date Demons
Story Copyright 2019 by Sophie Stern
Heath lives alone, and that's the way he likes it. He lives off the land and he doesn't bother other people, but somehow, other people always seem to find a way to bother him. He helps the other shifters who live in the mountains with him and he does his part to show kindness to others, but what he really wants is to hide away and nurse his wounds. Heath has been hurt - really hurt - and he doesn't think he'll ever be able to move forward.
Then one night, a knock at the door changes everything.
Prologue
Theresa
“I DIDN’T BECOME A WRITER so I could sit around doing interviews,” I grumble, looking around the room.
It’s packed.
Everything about this place is packed. I’m not going to say it’s body-to-body, but it’s pretty close, and the worst part is that it’s all for me.
Well, it’s all for Terri Jones, my alter-ego.
When I decided to become a romance writer, I never dreamed that my career would take off to the point where I would be the star of book signings or book launch parties. I never really considered that people would actually want to read my stories. I mean, sure, we all have big dreams from time to time. We all have things we wish we could do.
But this...
This is something else entirely.
And when I look out at the crowd, I’m surprised that I don’t feel the way I think I should. I don’t feel happy. I look out at the crowd and I just feel anxious.
Nervous.
Watched.
I feel like a bird on display in some gilded cage.
I feel like a monkey at the zoo.
“Interviews are one of the most important parts of being a writer,” my personal assistant tells me. I look over at the beautiful woman. She’s tall and slender and somehow, still very busty. She’s gorgeous, actually, and I don’t know how I managed to get someone as organized or as persuasive as her to be my assistant.
She helps manage every aspect of my life aside from writing. The only thing she’s not managing, actually, is my weekend getaway with my kids. A couple of days spent camping in the woods is going to do me some good.
At least, I hope that it does.
I need it to help.
“They’re the worst, Em.”
“Chin up,” she says. “You’ve got this under control.”
I don’t feel like I do, though. I feel like I’m under a microscope, like every bit of me is being watched by other people.
The problem with being famous, even if it’s just a little bit famous, is that people seem to think that they know you. They read a book or watch a movie and they feel like they understand who you are as a person.
They get this idea in their head that not only are you friends, or in some sort of relationship, but that you owe them somehow.
It’s a bit dangerous, and a bit strange, and a bit uncomfortable.
“Take a deep breath,” Em tells me. “And then get back out there.”
She gestures to the room o
f people. I know why she wants me to mingle. We’re here celebrating the launch of a new book I wrote, and while I’m proud of my work, I’m also kind of a shy girl. I’m not exactly the type of person who just throws myself out there.
I’m not the type of person who just goes for it.
Even when it comes to promoting my own work.
“Fine,” I tell her. After all, I hired Em to push me. I pay her to help me overcome my awkwardness and to put myself out there no matter what it takes. “But tomorrow, I’m leaving for my trip.”
“Camping with your kids?” She shakes her head. “You’re nuts.”
“They’re going to love it.”
“Maybe, but you never know what could go wrong. Wouldn’t it be better to just stay at some nice, quiet resort?”
“Maybe,” I tell her.
But that’s never been my style. I guess that’s part of what makes me a good writer. I’d rather go take a chance. I’d rather take a risk. I want to do things and explore new places and just be.
I don’t want to be the person who takes the easy route, even if it’s staying at a luxurious hotel, just because that’s what people expect.
I’d rather go get lost in the woods.
I’d rather have an adventure.
“How old are your kids, anyway?” She asks. Em has never come right out and said it, but I’ve always gotten the impression that she doesn’t really like the fact that I’m a mom now. I don’t think she thinks this is a good career move. I can’t really blame her because she’s not wrong. Being a mother is exhausting, especially since I’m doing the entire solo-parenting thing.
I’m definitely putting books out at a slower pace, and I’m booking fewer events, but it’s not because I have kids. It’s because I have the freedom to slow down a little bit. I’m not less of a writer because I’m a mother now. I just happen to have made enough money writing that I can afford to reduce my workload and start doing the other things that I want to do.
Life exists beyond the pages of a book.
I don’t always feel that way, but it does.
“Old enough.”
Em shrugs and pushes her hair back before looking back out over the crowd.
“It’s a good group. You should mingle.”
She gives me a gentle push. Well, as gentle as a physical push can be, and I move out into the group of people. This is it, then. This is my moment to shine.
I start making my way through the crowd. As I move, people randomly reach out and shake my hand, wave at me, or say hello.
“Hi, hello, thank-you-for-coming!” My entire mouth feels like it’s full of superficial greetings and comments, but that’s fine. It’s more than enough for me. It’s enough to get me through this moment.
Just a few more hours, and then I can go home and finish packing because tomorrow, I’m going on an adventure.
Tomorrow is the day when I finally get to walk away from the city, at least for a little while, and just find some peace and solitude.
Tomorrow is the day when everything changes.
Chapter One
Heath
“Come get a drink with us.”
The slender blonde receptionist is lovely. She’s cute, perky, and helpful, but she’s also not even sort-of my type. She happens to be the object of affection for half of the real estate office. There would be no quicker way to cause a ruckus in town than to take up Elizabeth’s offer of a drink, even if it is as part of a group.
“I’d love to,” I tell her honestly. “But tonight’s no good.”
One of the realtors behind her visibly relaxes, and I nod my head toward him. His lips cock up in a little smirk. Yeah, we understand each other. I have no interest in moving in on his woman. Whether he’s mated to the girl or not, he’s got his eye on her, and that’s as good as being unavailable in my book.
“Too bad,” she smiles. “Maybe another time.”
I don’t say anything. Instead, I nod and turn, heading out the door with my bright red folder in hand. It’s hard to believe that I finally acquired the rest of the land I wanted. It took me a long time, but I’m finally the owner of nearly fifty acres.
It’s all mine.
I shake my head and head through the tiny parking lot and to my car. Then I climb inside, start the engine, take off back into the mountains.
Back toward my home.
The drive takes less than half an hour and when I pull into the narrow parking lot in front of my cabin, I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Home sweet home,” I mutter, and I get out of the car. Spot, my blue heeler, sees me from the window of my little cabin, and I hurry up to open the door and let him outside. Spot jumps up into my arms and I hold the little guy. He was the runt of his litter and even now, as a full grown adult, he’s small.
“Good to see you, boy,” I tell him.
I mean it, too.
Heading inside, I leave the door open so Spot can come in after he runs around for a few minutes. It’s cool outside: not cold, though. The weather is perfect for leaving the door open on a night like this. The sun is starting to set, but it’s cold enough that there are no mosquitoes: no bugs. It’s just me and Spot tonight.
That’s just the way I like it.
I start frying up some meat for dinner and open up a biscuit mix. Most of my food comes fresh. I grow just about everything I eat. Well, I grow it or I kill it. Either one. Biscuits, though...those are one thing I’ve never been able to give up.
I’ve been in the mountains for over a year now, but biscuits are still a comfort food to me. Even after everything that happened to me, I still crave that. Having something delicious, tasty, and easy to make just somehow helps all of the stress and the tension just float away.
It’s a wonderful feeling, really.
It’s the best.
Once I’m done cooking and I’ve set the table, I call Spot inside for the night, close the door, and sit down to eat. He starts chowing down on his own dinner over in the corner, but I take my time. I’ve got a new romance novel by Terri Jones to enjoy. I picked it up while I was in town. No, it might not be hyper-masculine to enjoy reading romance books, but I don’t really care.
Losing myself in a book, just as I lose myself in baking, is a wonderful feeling.
Besides, I’ve had enough stress and pain in my life. I don’t need to prove how masculine and manly I am by using my free time to do things like watch war movies or go camping. Not that there’s anything wrong with either of those things. It’s just that for me, books and food mean a whole lot more than war.
I’m halfway through chapter two when Spot and I both look up at the same time. Something’s wrong. There’s something – or someone – outside of the cabin. A glance at the clock tells me it’s after eight, which is strange. Nobody comes up to my cabin during the daylight hours. I’ve never had a single visitor up here ever. Why would someone be here at night?
I don’t bother doing anything silly like flipping off the lights. If someone is here to cause trouble, then they already know I’m here. Pretending that I’m not is a pointless waste of energy. Stealthily, I move to the window. Carefully, I lift the curtain aside and peer out into the darkness.
Nothing.
Hmm.
I sniff, and I believe I catch the faint scent of a shifter. No, scratch that. There are two of them. They’re bears, too, if I’m not mistaken. Why didn’t I notice this before? How could there be someone in the forest that I didn’t notice?
It doesn’t seem possible, but it is because there it is again.
Spot makes a low whining sound and I gesture for him to be quiet. Not that I expect him to listen to me. He’s a good boy, but he’s also got his own personality. He’s not the kind of dog who’s going to obey me blindly. Nah. Spot will do whatever it takes to protect me, and that’s not always a good thing.
With a sigh, I sit down on one of my dining chairs and just sit. I know
I heard something. It sounds like a knock at the door, but it’s very, very quiet.
Am I losing my touch?
I can’t be, right?
For just a second, I wonder if I’m going crazy, or if there really is something out there.
But then the sound comes again.
This time, I throw open the front door to the cabin.
“What the hell do you want?” I yell out into the night, but to my surprise, there’s once again no one there.
But then I look down.
Two little brown bear cubs are shaking on my porch. They’re holding each other, as if for support, and they’re terrified.
Crap.
I scared them.
“Hey, little guys,” I squat down. “What are you doing here?”
Nothing.
They just stay right where they are and look at me with horror in their eyes.
Perfect.
“Where’s your mother?” I ask, looking around. I didn’t smell a third shifter. I didn’t hear one, either. What kind of mother lets her little cubs go wandering off? And these are definitely shifter children, which makes it even worse.
The cubs don’t say anything, and I suddenly start to wonder if there’s some sort of serious problem.
Do these kids even have a mother?
Where is she?
And why is she letting them wander away?
One thing is for certain: it’s cold outside, and I’m not letting these two kids freeze to death.
“Come on inside,” I tell them. I gesture into the cabin. Then I get up and step aside so they have room to come in without feeling crowded or scared. For a minute, I think they’re going to resist, but apparently, they really are feeling cold because they rush right on inside.
They don’t shift back to their normal forms, though, which is strange.
I close the door behind us and move to the fireplace. I throw a few more logs on to start warming it up. Then I look over at the bears.
I can’t tell how old these cubs are. I’d guess they’re three, maybe four years old in their human forms, but why are they bears?