Dr. Catamount’s electric wand hovered over my gel-slicked belly like a metal detector at the beach.
Sam held my hand as we stared up at the monitor behind us.
He’d given us all our baby books, and even if Sam favored the dusty Scandinavian shifter tomes to the more modern literature, any guidance at all had been a hashtag-BLESSING.
And it certainly didn’t hurt that the doc was a hot-as-hell mountain lion shifter with sandy hair and transfixing olive eyes.
A grainy black-and-white image appeared on the monitor over Dr. Catamount’s shoulder.
Sam’s grip tightened, and my breath caught in my throat.
“There they are, Helen,” Dr. Catamount said with a smile, pointing out two little black blobs on the screen. “Two healthy cubs.”
Seeing my baby bears up there on the monitor was amazing. I blinked back tears. Sam and I had created these little cheese puffs. No sight could’ve been more beautiful.
But…if I was being honest…
I was also scared shitless.
The reality was settling in. In a little under six months, I was going to be a mom.
I felt like I still had so much growing up to do myself.
I glanced at Sam, who stared back at me with shimmering eyes.
I’d do everything in my power not to let my man down.
“Would you like to know the sexes?”
“Oh, um…” I hesitated. “I thought it was too early.”
“Shifters develop a little faster than humans,” Dr. Catamount explained.
“I’d rather it be a surprise,” I said, looking to confirm with Sam. He nodded.
“Good call, mama bear,” he said. “I love doing things the old-fashioned way.”
“You got it. I won’t say a word.” Dr. Catamount used a free hand to zip his lips. “But I’ll happily print you out a picture for the fridge.”
“Please do!” Sam said. He gave me a playful little elbow. “Their first baby photo!”
I grinned back. Sam’s excitement was infectious, even if I did feel a bit conflicted on the inside.
Dr. Catamount put away his ultrasound wand and got to work on the computer.
“By the way, Helen, how’s your friend Brittany doing?”
“She’s fine, I think,” I said cautiously. “She moved to Denver.”
Dr. Catamount nodded.
“I love Denver,” he said, a little purr in his voice.
Sam and I shared a look.
Sam and I left the clinic and walked down a street that led to Forest Lake. I had a meeting scheduled that morning with Jack’s artist friend at his studio and gallery, which was located on the water near the marina.
We found the address: a rickety little shack at the end of a short pier. The roof was all sticks and branches, making it look a little like a beaver lodge.
I smirked.
He did have a point.
“How do I look?” I asked, giving my hot pink sundress a little twirl—the perfect compliment to my boots.
“Like you should be hangin’ in the loo,” Sam said, admiring me.
“You’d look pretty either way,” Sam said, kissing my forehead. “Good luck, babe. I’ll catch up with you in town afterward.”
An art job in Bear Creek?
It sounded almost too good to be true.
I opened the creaky front door and wandered inside. The space was filled with a bunch of weird wooden animal carvings. The kind you see sold by the roadside in, well…a hick town like Bear Creek. Tourist trap kind of junk.
There were carvings of every species of animal. Bears, wolves, big cats, birds, fish…and a disproportionate number of beavers.
I looked around for paintings, but I could barely see the walls past all the crappy carvings.
“Helen Goulding?” said a whistling voice. I searched the room again, eventually spotting a squat old man waddling out of a back room. I must’ve stood a head taller than him.
His acid-wash jeans and salmon-colored T-shirt were covered in sawdust, and a pair of plastic goggles hung around his neck.
“Yes?” I said tentatively.
He smiled, revealing a set of buck teeth.
“Leslie Flattail,” he said, extending his hand. “Jack tells me you want to become an artist?”
“Yes, that’s right,” I said carefully. “I just graduated from Boulder State as a studio art major. I earned the Reynolds Foundation Fine Arts Award…”
I reached into my bag for a copy of my resume and tried to hand it to Leslie. He waved it away with a hand, which I noticed was slightly webbed.
“Thanks but no thanks, doll. I just want to see what you can do. Other than match my outfit,” he chuckled, noticing that we were both wearing shades of pink. “You got a portfolio?”
I showed him my phone screen, swiping through a selection of my most recent paintings. Wildlife and landscapes from the Forest Lake area, and some of my older work—mostly portraits and still lifes.
I’d gotten a lot of compliments on my painting of Sam’s bear down by the water, and so I’d continued painting nature subjects and scenes for the rest of the semester.
I thought Leslie would eat up all the Forest Lake stuff given his carvings. But when I glanced up at his face, he was barely paying attention.
“Alright, alright, I’ve seen enough,” he said finally. “You know anything about woodwork?”
I shrugged. Leslie sighed. “What do they teach kids in school these days?”
He got to his feet. “Lookit, doll, I don’t think we’re gonna be able to work together. You’re a painter, and I make chainsaw art.”
“My chainsaw sculptures are world-famous,” Leslie said, looking offended. “I put videos of me making ’em up on the YouTube. Some have over a thousand views!”
More people saw my naked drawing of Professor Hammond!
“I have a little gallery in the back for some of the other local artists,” he went on.
“If things were different, you might have a piece or two that could fit in. But the truth is, people ain’t gonna buy nothing from an outsider. They’d just be taking up space here. I really only agreed to see you because Jack helped me patch a leak in my dam.”
His words stuck into me like a hot knife. My blood boiled with anger.
“So what if I’m from the outside world? I live here!”
Leslie shrugged. “I mean, yeah, technically. But you just ain’t one of us, doll.”
If my blood was boiling before, now it was steaming. I was so mad I couldn’t see straight.
Before I could stop myself, a growl exploded from my throat. Leslie shook his head.
“Look at you. You can’t even control yourself.” He stood up brusquely. “I appreciate your interest, Miss Thing, but this meeting is over. I’ve got chainsawing to do.”
“Bye,” I said as I walked out the door, choking down another growl.
I stormed down the pier, my heavy footsteps rocking the rickety structure as I got more and more pissed.
I’d just lost out on my only chance to start an art career in Bear Creek. And it wasn’t even my fault!
All I wanted to do was go home and eat my feelings. Bake myself a devil’s food cake for my own little pity party.
Hot tears streamed down my cheeks. I almost screamed.
But instead, I did something I didn’t expect…
As I reached the end of the pier, I doubled over, watching as light brown fur sprung out from the backs of my hands. My perfect nails extended into claws.
Inside my body, my bones expanded, snapping and cracking.
And all at once, I understood what was happening…
It was just like last time and that hadn’t ended well!
As usual, I left the hardware store with a hell of a lot more than I planned to. I’d need some supplies for the new house, but they’d just gotten a bunch of these newfangled wrenches in from Germany, and, well, I was like a kid in a toy store.
Normally I didn’t care for modern technology. Too many hats on hats. But when it came to tools? That was a different story.
I checked my phone outside the store. I’d left Helen at Les Flattail’s more than forty-five minutes before, and still hadn’t heard anything from her.
I grinned at the thought. Helen was like one of those paintings of dogs playing poker. She could fit in anywhere. She may have had a rough start in town, but I had no doubt that she’d be able to start an art career in Bear Creek, Boston, or Bombay.
Of course, I much preferred the first option.
I walked toward Hawcroft Market. I’d told Dad we’d pick up some steaks for tonight, and I might as well get started on that. I was sure Helen would find me when she was good and ready.
I couldn’t wait to see that look on her face when she told me the good news.
But as I neared the entrance of the market, I saw customers crowded around the front. A bunch of employees in red vests stood by the doors, keeping folks backed away.
“Hey, what’s the hubbub?” I asked an old lady in the back. I recognized her as the waitress from Rowen’s. She removed the Virginia Slim from her mouth, spitting smoke.
“’Scuse me, ’scuse me,” I said, pushing to the front of the crowd. Soon I was facing one of the red-vested employees.
“I hear you got a bear shifter in there,” I said. “Thought I might be able to lend a paw.”
Two of the red vests looked at each other, then nodded at me.
“Go for it, pal.”
They let me through the door. The tiny grocery store was empty and quiet—well, except for the faint sounds of chewing and growling I heard coming from the baked goods section at the far end of the store.
I cautiously made my way up the cereal aisle, past the oatmeal, then the peanut butter and jelly, emerging on the other side.
My jaw flapped open like a barn door in a windstorm.
There on the market floor, surrounded by about two dozen opened and eaten cake boxes, sat a big caramel-colored Grizzly Bear licking white frosting off her long claws.
She didn’t need a name tag for me to recognize her.
“Helen, babe,” I demanded, forcing myself to be calm. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
