Chapter 21
Betty
Waking, I relished that moment of euphoria before my senses took over. I hummed inwardly and smiled. I’d slept surprisingly well. Everything was warm, cozy, and soft, but admittedly musty.
I curled my lip in disgust; fur tickling my nostrils as it always did when Mr. Beans slept on my face. I sniffed and buried my nose deeper into his coat, trying to place the smell. The blooming stink of him caused me to recoil.
“Ugh… Gross, Mr. Beans,” I chastised. In his drama, he was letting himself go.
The scent was very distinct and earthy, as if he’d been rolling in the greenhouse potato bin and then dipping his paws in the tanks. I sniffed again. There was definitely a fishy perfume to his fur, threatening a gag to rise in my throat.
Gray had been spoiling him with filets of river trout since we arrived. Leave it to Mr. Beans to make a cologne of it. It wasn’t unlike him to roll in his food bowl when he was especially taken by a meal.
I stroked his fur, my fingers sinking in to scratch his skin just the way he liked. His coat had grown thick in the colder environment. In response to my scratching, a long, deep purr emanated from him, so profound it vibrated through my entire body like a massage chair.
My eyes snapped open, hand stilling. Unless Mr. Beans had been hitting the gym and dosing testosterone, the sound of his purr was all wrong.
I inched my fingers out of the fur and tried to squirm, but I was wedged like a wine cork in the neck of a bottle. Yesterday’s events rushed back like an avalanche, each disastrous moment a tumbling boulder over the earthquake of the day.
This was not the cabin, nor my bed, nor my cat.
I blinked hard, telling myself to wake the hell up. This was no time to dally. Blinking a few more times, there was too much fur obscuring my vision to see what I was working with. Only a slight glow of light filtered through the bristles of hair, and I couldn’t reach my face to clear it.
It was black fur, pressing in on all sides, dense and cumbersome. To make matters worse, there was a sharp rock digging into my back. My helmeted head, wedged between the cliff and the ground, was immobile.
I was hopelessly stuck, but too scared to even imagine by what.
The furry thing shifted then, and the creature purred one more time, its massive weight rolling against me and stealing my breath. It settled and let out a deep sigh, and thankfully, the distance between me and the wall grew enough that I could shimmy, and shimmy I did.
“Please God, let me live,” I whispered while I wriggled like a worm, inching my way down until I could finally free myself from the crevice that had held me captive. “Why me?” I whisper-cried.
Pushing myself away and scrambling to a sitting position, I put space between me and the enormous, fuzzy black ball of breathing flesh until my back hit the wall on the other side of the cavern.
Bear.
It was a ball of pure bear.
Fuck me.
I stifled a scream, clapping my hands over my mouth. My fingers, once knuckle-deep in the bear’s fur, assaulted me with their smell, like a slap in the face. A squeak of disgust escaped me, and I dropped my hands to spit a few times, sure the smell now lived in my mouth.
The bear rumbled at the sound, but instead of waking, it only nudged itself deeper into the gap I’d vacated.
What the actual fuck? How was this bear not eating me right now?
With hands firmly locked at my sides, I tried my best to move without rustling my outer jacket shell or making a sound. I rose to my knees, then slowly to my feet. Taking one small step back after another, I kept my eyes fixed on the sleeping black bear.
There was bear spray in my supplies at some point, but there was no telling where it was now. Though I’d put many items back into the pack that was currently flattened beneath the bear, I don’t recall noticing the bear spray. With any luck, it was still outside in the snow.
Emerging from the overhang, I spun, now far enough from the beast to feel a modicum of safety.
I fixed my gaze on the ground, scanning for the red and yellow bear spray can.
Kneeling, I brushed away the scant inch of overnight snow.
Wrappers and other discarded items emerged before a familiar neon red nozzle appeared.
I all but dove for it.
Fresh, powder-like snow drifted up my sleeves, bringing back a shiver I thought had long since vanished. I rolled over, coming up and aiming the can toward the bear, feeling like James Bond.
The bear was still sleeping.
I let out a sigh and let the can drop to my side.
A branch snapped behind me.
Trigger-happy, I spun toward the new sound, pressing down on the nozzle and unleashing a far-reaching cloud of yellow-orange spray.
“Oh, hell no!” someone shouted before the orange smoke cleared, revealing Gray.
He clutched his face and coughed hard, bent over with a rifle at his feet. He blinked, his eyes instantly red and swollen, tears streaming down his face.
I gasped and dropped the can into the snow, running up to him. “Gray, God... are you okay?” My breath plumed out like clouds in front of me as I remembered to breathe.
“Ugh, damn it, Buttercup,” he grunted, falling to his knees and reaching for some snow to wipe his face.
I heard a growl from behind us and spun around to see the black bear lumber out from under the overhang. It looked bleary-eyed and tired, as if it wasn’t ready to wake up yet. Regardless, it was huge.
“Bear!” I yelled, grabbing my discarded bear spray and fumbling to get my thumb on the trigger again. I put myself between Gray and the bear, prepared to lay down my life.
Grabbing my weaponized wrist, Gray halted me. “Betty, stop,” he wheezed. “She won’t hurt us.”
I glanced from the bear to Gray, then back to the bear, my eyes wide with alarm.
The bear yawned and plopped down onto its rump.
I jumped, feeling the ground shake under the bear’s weight.
She sat there, watching us as though casually sitting at the park watching birds, nose in the air, sniffing blindly.
“Her name is Tallulah,” Gray added, energy calm but panting. “She’s old and quite accustomed to my company. Don’t worry, I’ve only ever seen her eat fish, not New Yorkers.”
“I... I... what?” I stammered. My heart pounded like a drum, threatening to escape my chest and start its own rock band.
“She won’t hurt us,” he clarified. He face-planted into the snow, a muffled sigh escaping.
I watched the bear, convinced she was asleep again, though upright.
Hand on chest to regroup my emotions, I allowed myself to take in the stinky ball of fur.
She was cute, I’d give her that. I could see the age on her, despite knowing almost nothing about black bears.
She had a peppering of white fur around her eyes and a droopy snout.
I guessed these were signs of age in the same way they would be for humans?
Once I calmed down, after several long minutes, I put a hand on Gray’s back to comfort him. He remained face down in the snow, only surfacing to draw breath.
There was a distinct and growing sense of guilt blooming in my gut. I’d betrayed his trust, scared him by leaving, and now rendered him blind. He’d saved my life, and this was my way of repaying him?
He lifted his face from the snow. “What the hell are you doing out here, Betty?” he asked frankly. His face looked flushed; his eyes were puffy.
I slipped off a glove, took his chin, and tilted his head back to see better. His hat was pushed back, and I pinched the bill and tipped it the rest of the way off his head. “Do you have a first-aid kit?” I asked, my voice shaky.
He nodded, eyes still shut. “It’s on the snowmobile, just around the bend,” he ground out, adding, “I knew Tallulah’s den was around here, and I didn’t want to startle her by driving right up to the entrance.”
I looked at the cliff and the overhang I’d scaled. It was rather obvious now. Clearly, it looked like a bear’s den. I’d been in a rush yesterday and wasn’t accustomed to the idea that bear dens could just exist, plain as day.
I rocked to my feet and jogged around a copse of trees in the direction Gray had gestured. The snowmobile sat near a tree, engine still clicking with heat. Larry was there inspecting a bag strapped to the back and perusing the contents; it did not surprise me.
As I approached, he stood tall, chattering as though to defend his motives. I shook my head at him but left him to his perusing. Fumbling with the bag’s straps, my hands were shaking from the adrenaline of the last fifteen minutes. Finally getting it open, I searched for the first-aid kit.
Larry wasted no time sticking his nose into the bag alongside me.
Finding the kit, I slid it out and set it on the seat of the snowmobile. Inside, I found a canister of saline spray.
“Yes, perfect,” I whispered, snapping the kit shut and shoving it back into the bag.
I refastened the flap, much to Larry’s dismay, then jogged back to the mouth of the overhang. Larry didn’t follow, too busy trying to get the flap open again.
I hurried to Gray’s side as he slumped forward in the snow. I gave Tallulah a wary glance; she too had slumped onto the ground, her snout tucked under her paw, fast asleep.
Icy snow crunched as I knelt before Gray.
He sat up again at the sound, and I took his stubbled chin in my hand once more.
“It’ll sting, but open your eyes for me, alright? I’ve got saline spray.” I tilted his head back.
“Okay, I’ll try my best.” He opened his eyes, blinking furiously as tears fell down his cheeks.
I shook the can and sprayed each of his eyes, wincing and biting my lip as though feeling his pain. With my thumb, I wiped away as much residual saline as I could; his lashes glittering in the sunlight that had just reached us over the mountains.
“What’s in bear spray, anyway?” I asked, trying to distract him while I continued to flush the orange substance from his eyes and face.
His voice was raspy and broken. “Mostly capsaicin. It’s basically pepper spray.”
I giggled. “So I just pepper-sprayed you?”
He nodded.
I tilted my head from side to side. “Yeah… but bear spray sounds cooler. I think I’ll stick to that when I tell people the story.”
He chuckled this time. It felt good to hear him laugh.
I kept stroking a thumb along his cheek and scruffy beard. I couldn’t help it. He was so beautiful up close. His skin appeared rugged and weathered, telling a tale of winters spent on the cold tundra. He was unique, like a restored artifact, full of stories.
His eyes opened, and he peered at me despite the haze of moisture covering his eyes, searching my face in return. A feeling passed between us, one I’d buried the last few weeks—I had to look away.
Hand falling from his face, my gaze found Tallulah again. She was snoring sweetly. “I should have guessed you’d have a pet bear. You’re like a Canadian Tarzan out here.”
He chuckled again, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. They seemed to give him less trouble now; he could keep them open for longer periods.
“I think she saved my life,” I continued. “I was freezing. If it weren’t for her, I’d be a Betty popsicle right now.” I leaned back, pulling my knees to my chest. “I can’t believe she just sidled up to me and fell asleep like that.”
Gray grunted. “She’s a mother. She’s raised a lot of cubs over the years. I could see how she’d have that instinct to keep you warm and safe.”
I nodded. “Mothers are fierce protectors,” I said.
There was silence for a long while.
Gray finally sighed, tension returning. “What the hell were you doing out here?” he asked again, leaning back and crossing his legs. Tears still streamed down his cheeks.
I wrung my hands and bit my lip. If I were going to demand his truth, then I’d have to give him mine, at least some of it. “I found my cell phone in my purse and…” I began.
His scrutinizing gaze and blood-shot eyes made me halt. His glare hurt, looking as if he knew what I’d say next, like I were some predictable, petulant child.
“I… I thought if I got high enough up that cliff, maybe I’d get a signal, and…” I looked up the cliffside where my severed rope still hung from the overhang.
“You fucking climbed that?” he bit out, sniffling.
I shrugged sheepishly. “Well, yeah. I’m an experienced climber. You know that I can handle that.”
“I do, but out here in the middle of nowhere, alone? Betty,” he chastised. “And if you’re so experienced, why does the rope appear frayed?”
I shrugged defensively. “Yeah, so… well. We’ll get to that part later.” I waved him away.
He looked at me, seeing right through my bullshit. His eyes were swollen but earnest. “I’m trying to keep you safe, and you’re making that damn near impossible.”
I dropped my chin, looking into my lap. I felt ashamed.
“I don’t think you understand the extent of the danger, and that’s my fault,” he continued.
I began gathering snow into a pile in front of me. “I just wanted to make sure my family was safe. I wasn’t trying to, like, run away or be stupid. Nash, Sybil and my dad are my entire universe. I thought if I could just let them know I was safe, and to be safe themselves, then I could relax.”
“You don’t trust me,” he said. It wasn’t an accusation, but spoken like a fact.
It was my turn to scrutinize him. “If you were me, would you?” I asked.
He seemed to have nothing to say to that.
It was true, for all we had between us, we also had very little.
I knew Gray on a surface level—in an odd offshoot of reality that only existed in New York.
It’d been a mistake spending the last few weeks avoiding him when I should have been trying to understand this version of him instead.
But I couldn’t shelf these very real feelings and concerns in order to play forest fae with this man.
Fear and desperation consumed me, drove me.
Maybe if I’d been working on building trust, I would have been able to quell the fear.
I didn’t have to shoulder this burden alone.
If I’d listened instead of fighting him, he would have let me in.
Instead, I’d given him every reason to hide information for fear I’d do something stupid to jeopardize my life—as I had.
If we could just trust each other, all of this would have been easy.
“Can we start over?” I blurted.
He rubbed a hand down his wet and ruddy face. “Let’s just get back to the cabin, and then we can have a conversation about this, okay?”
Aside from the damage I’d done with the bear spray, I could also see the underlying exhaustion in his features. How long had he been out here looking for me? All night, at least. Had he even slept?
I nodded. “Do you want me to drive?” I asked, trying to make it sound cheerful and helpful. “So you can relax?”
He scowled, but conceded in that way men do: with a grumble and a resigned look on his face.