Snowed In With The Grumpy Bear

Chapter 1 Tolin

TOLIN

The first thing I hear is the crunch of tires on gravel. The second is my brother’s voice, far too cheerful for the cold mountain morning.

“Tolin! Open up!”

I don’t move from the kitchen table. I’ve been staring at the same glass of water for an hour. My bear stirs beneath my skin, alert but not alarmed. Ronan. Of course it’s Ronan. He’s the only one who bothers making the five-mile trek up to my cabin anymore.

The door swings open without permission. My brother fills the frame, all seven feet of him, snow dusting the shoulders of his heavy coat. Behind him, I catch a glimpse of silver hair and delicate shoulders.

I groan.

“You brought Mother.”

Ronan steps inside, making room for the small human woman who raised two bear shifters with nothing but sharp wit and an iron will. Lenora surveys my cabin the way a general surveys a battlefield. Her nose wrinkles.

I shove back from the table, the chair legs scraping against the floor. The cabin is a disaster. Dishes piled in the sink. Laundry draped over every surface. Dust on the mantle thick enough to write my name in. This is not how I wanted her to see my home.

Ronan shuts the door behind them, a satisfied smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. I want to put my fist through it.

“You are a fucking asshole for this,” I say to him, keeping my voice low.

“Tolin.” Mother’s voice freezes me mid-sentence. “Watch your mouth.”

She’s already past me, pushing through the mess straight to the kitchen. Of course. The kitchen where dishes have been piling up for three days in murky water and I haven’t taken out the trash in over a week.

“Mother, wait.” I follow her, my bear rumbling with embarrassment. “Let me clean up first.”

She’s already rolling up her sleeves, turning on the faucet. She sticks her hand under the stream, adjusting the temperature. “If I waited for you to clean up, I’d be waiting until the next hibernation season.”

I reach past her to turn off the water, my hand dwarfing hers on the handle. “I can handle my own dishes.”

She looks up at me with those brown eyes that have never missed a single thing in her sixty-two years of living.

“Clearly you cannot.” She gently but firmly moves my hand away and turns the water back on.

“I called the cleaning service for you. Three times. They sent three different workers. All three quit within a day.”

I glance at Ronan, who’s leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, watching me like I’m the evening’s entertainment.

My scar throbs. The three jagged lines across my right cheek, put there by his claws when I challenged him for Alpha and lost. Some days I forget they’re there. Today is not one of those days.

“They quit because they couldn’t do the job properly,” I say.

“They quit because you were cruel to them.” Mother scrubs harder at the pot. “Don’t lie to your mother, Tolin. You have never been good at it.”

The truth sits heavy in my gut. She’s right. I ran them off on purpose. A man who scrubbed too loud. A woman who hummed while she worked. Another man who had the audacity to try to make conversation. I didn’t want any of them here, invading my space, witnessing the mess I’ve made of my life.

“A cluttered home is a cluttered mind.” Mother rinses the pot and sets it on the drying rack. She raised two rowdy bear cubs in a one-bedroom cabin after our father died—she’s seen mess before. “You think any woman wants to live like this?”

“Good thing I don’t have a mate, then.”

She pauses. Sets down the dish she was holding. Turns to face me fully. Behind me, I feel Ronan straighten, the air in the cabin shifting with sudden tension.

“You will,” she says simply. “Fate delivers to those who deserve it. And when she comes, what will she find? A home that looks like its owner has given up on living?”

I don’t answer. My bear paces inside me, restless and agitated. He doesn’t like Mother being disappointed in us. Neither do I, if I’m being honest.

“Get cleaning supplies,” she says to Ronan. “They’re in my bag in the truck. And you.” She points at me. “Start on the laundry. We’re not leaving until this place looks like a home instead of a cave.”

I open my mouth to argue, but one look from her shuts me down. Some instincts run deeper than the bear. The instinct to obey your mother is one of them.

We clean for two hours. Mother handles the kitchen. Ronan dusts and wipes down surfaces. I gather laundry. Nobody talks much. Ronan grunts when he moves furniture. Dishes clang in the sink. That’s about it.

“You missed a spot,” Ronan says, pointing to a corner I’ve already swept twice.

“You missed an invitation to shut the hell up.”

He grins, and for a moment we’re cubs again, wrestling in the dirt behind our mother’s cabin, neither of us knowing what the future held. Before the challenge. Before the scar. Before I exiled myself to this mountain to nurse my wounded pride.

“The clan needs its winter wood delivered,” Mother calls from the kitchen. “You know hibernation is coming.”

“I never miss a delivery.” I haul another basket of laundry toward the small utility room. “They’ll have more than enough. I’ve been cutting since September.”

“And what about yourself?” She appears in the doorway, drying her hands on a dish towel. “Your pantry is bare, Tolin. Your refrigerator has more empty space than food. Hibernation will be here soon. You need someone to help you prepare.”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“You’ll go into town,” she corrects. “You’ll hire someone. A worker who can stock your pantry and keep this place tidy while you finish your deliveries. Shadow Suds has never failed to find someone willing to work, even for difficult clients.”

“Difficult.” Ronan snorts from across the room. “That’s one word for it.”

I shoot him a look that promises violence later. He just raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. The Alpha of the Ironwood Clan doesn’t scare easily. Especially not from his younger brother who already lost one fight to him.

“This isolation isn’t good for you.” Mother’s voice softens.

She crosses the room and reaches up to touch my face.

Her fingers trace the edge of my scar, and my bear goes still beneath her touch.

“You weren’t meant to be alone on this mountain, son.

Bears are solitary by nature, yes. But not like this.

This is punishment. And the only one punishing you is yourself. ”

I can’t meet her eyes. I swallow hard and say nothing.

“I won’t argue with you about coming home,” she continues. “I know you’re not ready. But I won’t watch you waste away up here either. Find a helper. Let someone into this space, even if it’s just to stock your shelves. That’s all I ask.”

“Fine.” The word comes out rougher than I intend. “I’ll go to town tomorrow. I’ll find someone.”

She searches my face for a long moment, then nods. Satisfied, or at least as satisfied as she can be with a stubborn son who refuses to come home.

By the time they leave, the cabin looks like a different place.

The floors are swept, the dishes are clean, the laundry is folded and put away.

Mother made enough food to last me several days, filling containers she brought specifically for this purpose.

Roasted venison, root vegetables, and a fresh loaf of her brown sugar honey bread.

She knows I can’t resist the stuff. My bear has craved brown sugar since I was a cub, and she’s never let me forget it. The woman came prepared for war.

I walk them to Ronan’s truck. The cold doesn’t touch me, but Mother bundles her coat around her shoulders. Human. Fragile. The strongest person I’ve ever known.

“I hope Fate delivers your woman to you soon.” She rises on her toes to kiss my cheek, her lips brushing the edge of my scar. “Because you’re going to die alone on this mountain if you don’t let someone in. And I’m old, Tolin. I want cub grandbabies before I go. Little ones to spoil.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” I say gruffly.

“Not today.” She pats my chest. “But time moves differently for humans. You know this.” She steps back, letting Ronan help her into the truck. “Find a helper. Be kind to them. Practice for when your mate arrives.”

The truck vanishes around the bend. I don’t move. The forest is dead quiet—the way it always is up here, miles from anywhere. Most days I like it. Not now.

Back inside, the cabin still smells like lemon cleaner and Mother’s cooking.

Evidence of her visit everywhere I look.

The folded dish towels by the sink. The organized pantry.

The pillows on the couch that I never bother to fluff.

The jar of instant coffee I keep stocked for the human workers who never last long enough to need it.

I tear off a chunk of the brown sugar bread and eat it standing at the counter.

Then another. The sweetness hits my tongue and my bear practically hums. I don’t know why we crave it so much.

Always have. I just know the pantry is never without a jar of brown sugar, and Mother’s bread is the closest thing to comfort I’ll let myself have.

I sink into my chair by the window and stare out at the trees. My bear settles, heavy and tired. He didn’t like Mother’s words any more than I did. But truth doesn’t care if you’re ready for it.

She’s right. About all of it. The mess. The isolation. The punishment I’ve been inflicting on myself since I lost the challenge and chose exile over submission. I’ve been living like a wounded animal, hiding in the dark, refusing to let anyone see how badly I’m bleeding.

And now I look like a fool. My Alpha brother and my human mother had to drive up the mountain to clean my cabin because I couldn’t be bothered to maintain basic dignity. Because I chased away every person who tried to help.

I touch my scar without thinking, feeling the raised ridges beneath my fingertips. Ronan put it there, but I’m the one who keeps it fresh. Every time I use it as an excuse to stay away. Every time I let my wounded pride make decisions for me.

Tomorrow, I’ll go into town. I’ll talk to Derrick at Shadow Suds, see if there’s anyone left willing to work for the grumpy bear shifter on the mountain. I’ll offer double pay. Triple, if I have to. Hibernation is coming, and I can’t afford to enter it unprepared.

More importantly, I can’t afford to prove my mother right.

My bear hates the idea. Another stranger. More noise, more questions, more talking. We don’t want it. But Mother’s words keep coming back.

Practice for when your mate arrives.

A fated mate. The idea feels distant, impossible. Like something that happens to other shifters, not to a scarred, bitter bear who lives alone on a mountain and runs off anyone who gets too close. What woman would want this life? What woman would want me?

I drain the last of my water and push myself to my feet. No point in dwelling on things that haven’t happened. Right now, I have a more immediate problem.

Finding someone who can tolerate me long enough to stock a pantry.

Given my track record, it might be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.