How to Lose an Heiress in Ten Days

one | emberly

ONEEmberly

There’s a bear standing in the road.

A really large, really shaggy, National-Geographic-documentary Bear in the road.

Did I mention it’s standing?

Like, on its hind legs?

Making it look about ten feet tall. Which happens to be five feet higher than my rental, a ’57 Thunderbird convertible I named Rosie.

It’s also staring at me.

Why didn’t I pick a Range Rover this time? Because Rosie gets better gas mileage. And because she’s more fun. I love driving down the road with no barrier between me and the sun and the sky and …

The top is down.

Which means there’s no barrier between me and The Bear, either.

It snorts and my hands freeze on the steering wheel as another thought rips through my mind.

Maybe bears are like bulls, triggered by certain colors.

Like pink.

I should have done some research on the local wildlife. And taken the Range Rover.

Always review your options before you make a decision, Emberly.

Nona’s advice. And this time, I’m going to take it.

Options … options.

I’ve met celebrities, the CEOs of global corporations, and (although I can’t name any names) real-live royalty, but I’ve never been coached in bear etiquette.

Wait? Proceed with caution? Back up—slowly—and hope the bear doesn’t chase Rosie down like a cat with a mouse?

Beep the horn …

The bear drops to all fours as my seatbelt catches me mid-jump and holds me in place.

Because I wasn’t the one who’d beeped.

I glance in the rearview mirror and see a wall of metal—the front grill of a pickup truck parked a foot from Rosie’s bumper.

The bear must have reviewed its options, too, because it’s ambling into the woods without a care in the world while the driver hops down from the cab of the truck and strides toward me.

He’s tall, with shoulders as wide as some of the trees that line the road.

His dark brown hair is on the shaggy side, too, which makes me wonder if I should have taken my chances with the bear.

But it’s too late. He’s almost to my door—which I instinctively reach out to lock before I realize it won’t do any good because, that’s right, the top is down.

“Are you okay?”

He’s towering over me now and I suck in a breath. Because even though he looks a little … rustic … his eyes are an incredible shade of watercolor blue. Cerulean deepening to indigo …

“Are. You. Okay?” He measures out the words one by one, as if he thinks I didn’t hear him the first time.

I did, but it’s not my fault I got distracted.

“Yes?” I test the word. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“Your … car?” His tone—and the slight curl in his upper lip—questions whether Rosie qualifies as one.

I decide not to take offense. He did come to my rescue, after all.

A hero in faded jeans and a rumpled tee-shirt.

With incredible blue eyes. Did I mention that?

He also has good bone structure and the five o’clock shadow on his chin totally works with the whole jeans, T-shirt, and pickup truck ensemble.

He frowns and I realize he’s waiting for an answer to this question, too.

“Also fine. It was the bear …” I shudder, a delayed reaction to cruising around the corner and having to stomp on the brake to avoid a collision with the furry obstacle in the middle of the road.

He glances at the narrow gap in the hedge of trees the bear had managed to squeeze through. “Otto? He’s harmless.”

It has a name?

Where Am I? Okay, I know that technically I’m somewhere in northern Wisconsin. The GPS brought me here on purpose. The better question would probably be, Why am I here?

I’m the one who always plans the Suite Sixteens annual reunions. Books beachfront hotels with day spas and boutiques. Peaceful retreats, where the trees are confined in pots scattered around the pool deck instead of being allowed to grow into walls that block the sun.

But not this year. This year, the girls wanted to do something different. Their word, not mine.

I don’t mind different. But if I’d been given a vote (which I wasn’t) before they’d reserved a cabin in The Middle of Nowhere, I would have picked, oh, maybe a different state. Country. One with beachside hotels, day spas, and boutiques.

Oh, and sans Bears. Let’s not forget that. Which leads me to defend myself.

“It was standing on its hind legs.” I don’t speak bruin, but that had to mean something.

He shrugs but it only draws attention to the sculpted biceps that would make Sven, my personal trainer, green with envy. Maybe he’s a lumberjack. Are those still a thing?

“Otto acts tough, but he’s so old, I doubt he has any teeth left.”

“He has claws,” I mutter.

I also want to point out that smart people stay away from animals that can shred them into tiny pieces. They don’t give them cute names. But that would sound ungrateful, considering he did scare the bear away.

Before I can thank him, though, one eyebrow lifts.

“Um … if you and your car are fine.” He presses down on the last word. “Maybe you don’t have to block the road anymore?”

“I’m not—” Anymore?

And that’s when I realize my rescuer hadn’t beeped his horn at Otto the bear. He’d beeped it at me.

“Of course. No problem.” I hide my embarrassment behind a bright smile and give him a breezy wave. Put Rosie in gear, press the gas, and hear the kiss of metal on metal as her bumper connects with the pickup’s grill.

What I hear next is a low growl.

It does not come from the bear.