Chapter 5 Tolin
TOLIN
She’s late.
One hour. One full hour past when she was supposed to arrive, and I’ve been standing in the cold like an idiot, splitting wood I don’t need to split, waiting for a car that should have been here at four o’clock.
The ax splits the log clean through. My bear grumbles beneath my skin, restless and irritated.
We have a delivery to make. The clan’s shed needs its final stock before the storm hits, and I’m standing here in the growing dark, watching snowflakes pile up on the woodpile, because some cleaning lady can’t tell time.
Tardy. That’s the word bouncing around my skull. Tardy, irresponsible, unreliable.
I already know how this weekend is going to go. She’ll show up with excuses. I’ll have to explain everything twice. She’ll do the job wrong, I’ll lose my temper, and by tomorrow morning she’ll be crying in her car on the way back down the mountain.
Same as all the others.
My bear huffs, a low sound of disagreement. He wants me to calm down. He’s been strangely subdued all day, pacing in circles instead of his usual restless prowling. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.
Another swing. Another log split clean down the middle.
The snow is coming down heavier now, thick flakes that stick to my beard and melt against my skin. I can smell the storm building, feel the pressure dropping in my bones. This is going to be a bad one. The kind that buries roads and traps people in their homes for days.
Maybe that’s what’s taking her so long. The mountain roads are treacherous in weather like this, especially for someone who doesn’t know them.
The thought doesn’t make me any less irritated.
I’m about to give up and head inside when I hear it. The distant whine of an engine struggling against the incline. Tires spinning, catching, spinning again. A car fighting its way up the last stretch of road.
About damn time.
I set down the ax and watch the treeline, waiting for headlights to appear. Part of me wonders if I should go down and give her a push. The road gets steep near the top, and if her car doesn’t have four-wheel drive, she might not make it.
But then the headlights crest the hill, and a small sedan crawls into view. Crawls being the operative word. The thing is barely bigger than a golf cart, struggling through snow that’s already several inches deep. I don’t know how she fit all my supplies in that tin can on wheels.
The car pulls to a stop in front of the cabin. The engine cuts off with a shudder that doesn’t sound healthy.
I grab a few pieces of split wood and tuck them under my arm, heading for the porch. Might as well put them by the fireplace while I’m waiting for her to get her act together.
The driver’s door opens.
She steps out into the snow, and I can’t see much of her. Big coat, the kind that swallows a person whole. Boots that look too new for this terrain. Hat pulled low, scarf wrapped high, gloves that are already dusted with white. She brushes thick flakes from her face, squinting against the wind.
I don’t wait for her to compose herself.
“You’re late.”
She startles, turning toward me. Through the scarf and the hat and the snow, I can just make out dark eyes going wide.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Ironwood. The roads were—“
“It’s Tolin.” The correction comes out harsher than I intend. Or maybe exactly as harsh as I intend. “Don’t call me Ironwood. Ever.”
She flinches. Even through all those layers, I can see her body tense.
“Alright. Mr. Tolin. I apologize for—“
“Pop the trunk.” I’m already walking past her, not interested in apologies. “I’ll help unload. I have a delivery to make to my clan and I’m late because I was waiting for you.”
I don’t look back to see her reaction. I don’t need to. I can feel the weight of her stare on my back as I push through the cabin door and dump the armload of wood inside.
The fire is burning low. I’ll need to build it up before I leave, or the cabin will be freezing by the time I get back. One more thing to do because she couldn’t arrive on time.
The front door opens behind me. I hear the rustle of plastic bags, the careful footsteps of someone trying not to track snow inside.
She’s carrying too much. Four bags clutched in each hand, her arms straining with the weight. I don’t know why that bothers me, but it does. Something about the sight of her struggling makes my bear stir, uneasy.
I cross the room before I realize I’m moving.
“Put those down.” My voice comes out gruff, almost angry. “Unpack the items and put them away. I’ll unload the car and park it.”
She looks up at me, and for the first time I see her face clearly.
Dark eyes. Not brown, not quite. Something lighter, almost olive-toned, striking against her rich brown skin. They catch me off guard, those eyes. Hold me in place for a half-second too long.
“Okay,” she says. “Thank you.”
I don’t acknowledge the thanks. I just turn and storm back out into the snow.
I suck in a breath, trying to clear my head. What the hell was that? Since when do I care how much a cleaning lady is carrying?
I pop the trunk and stare at the contents. Bags upon bags of groceries, cleaning supplies, what looks like extra linens. She really did fit everything on the list in this tiny car. I don’t know whether to be impressed or concerned about her spatial reasoning.
My bear is acting strange. Excited. Eager in a way he never is when strangers come to the cabin. Usually he wants them gone as quickly as possible. But now he’s practically vibrating beneath my skin, pushing toward the surface like he wants to see something.
See her.
I grab as many bags as I can carry and head back inside, shouldering through the door hard enough to make it bang against the wall.
And then I see her.
She’s taken off the coat. The hat. The scarf and the gloves. She’s standing in my kitchen in a simple gray polo and black pants, her back to me as she reaches up to put something on a high shelf.
The curve of her ass.
That’s the first thing I notice, and I hate myself for it. Round and full, straining against the fabric of her pants as she stretches onto her toes. Her hips are wide, her waist nipped in just enough to make my hands itch with the urge to grab hold.
Then she turns slightly, reaching for another bag, and I see the rest of her.
Full breasts. Soft stomach. Thick thighs. A body built for comfort, for holding, for—
Her hair.
It’s loose now, tumbling around her shoulders in a riot of thick, dark curls. Wild and untamed, the kind of hair that would wrap around my fingers like silk. The kind of hair my cubs would have.
Wait. What?
My bear erupts inside me, roaring with raw recognition that makes no sense. We haven’t caught her scent. We haven’t imprinted. There’s no fated bond here, just a woman unpacking groceries in my kitchen.
A beautiful woman. A fucking gorgeous woman.
Why the hell did Derrick send me the most beautiful woman on his staff?
That’s why he was so insistent on the phone. All those warnings about being nice, about not running this one off. He wasn’t just worried about his business. He was worried about her specifically.
I’m going to kill him.
She turns fully, catching me staring. Those olive-toned eyes meet mine, and something shifts in her expression. Surprise, maybe. Or wariness.
I look away first, dropping the bags on the counter.
“I’ll get the rest,” I mutter, and escape back into the cold.
The snow is falling harder now, thick curtains of white that blur the treeline. I stand by her ridiculous little car and breathe, in and out, trying to get myself under control.
What is wrong with me?
I’ve had beautiful women in this cabin before. Not often, and never for long, but it’s happened. I know how to compartmentalize. I know how to keep my hands to myself and my mind on the task.
But something about this one is different.
My bear won’t settle. He’s pacing, agitated, trying to force the shift. He wants to go back inside. He wants to be near her.
I don’t understand it. She’s covered in that chemical smell from Derrick’s cleaning company, the sharp artificial scent that always makes my nose itch. I can barely catch anything underneath it. Just a faint whisper of something sweet, something warm, something that makes my mouth water.
It’s probably her shampoo. Or her lotion. Something mundane that my stupid bear is latching onto for no good reason.
I grab the last of the bags and head back inside, bracing myself.
She’s made progress while I was gone. The pantry doors are open, cans and boxes lined up on the shelves. She works steadily, doesn’t look up when I enter.
Professional. Focused. Not here to make friends.
Good. Neither am I.
I set the bags down and lean against the counter. She’s already unpacking, sorting through everything.
She reaches for a bag of brown sugar and pauses, glancing at me.
“Where do you want this?”
“Top shelf. Left side.”
She nods and stretches up again, and I find myself staring at her ass.
Enough.
“We need to set some ground rules,” I say, my voice harder than it needs to be.
She lowers onto her heels and turns to face me, expression neutral. Waiting.
“This is my home,” I continue. “I have certain expectations. The kitchen needs to be spotless at all times. Dishes washed and put away immediately after use. No clutter on the counters.”
She nods. “Understood.”
“The bathroom as well. Clean towels daily. No water spots on the fixtures.”
“Of course.”
I push off from the counter and walk toward the living room. She follows at a distance, hands clasped in front of her like a student awaiting instruction.
I stop in front of the fireplace and point at my chair. The worn leather one by the window, where I sit every night and stare at the trees.
“This chair,” I say slowly, making sure she understands, “is mine. You don’t sit in it. You don’t move it. You don’t touch it. I don’t like it smelling like the employees. Like that chemical cleaning solution.”
Something shifts in her expression. Her jaw hardens almost imperceptibly.
“You’re very particular,” she says evenly.
“I’m paying you double to deal with particular.”
“You’re paying me double to clean and stock your pantry.” Her voice is calm. “Not to be insulted about how I smell.”
My bear goes still, surprised. The other employees never talked back. They just nodded and scurried away, eager to avoid my wrath.
This one is looking me dead in the eyes.
“I’ve heard about you,” she continues, and there’s something sharp underneath that pleasant tone.
“Everyone at Shadow Suds has heard about you. The grumpy bear shifter who runs off every worker Derrick sends. I came anyway because I need the money and I don’t scare easy.
But I’m not going to stand here and let you make me feel like garbage for doing my job. ”
She pauses, letting that land.
“So. Are there any other rules about your chair that don’t involve insulting me? Because I have a lot of groceries to put away.”
I stare at her.
No one talks to me like this. Not the cleaning staff. Not the townspeople. Not even Derrick, most of the time. The only people who don’t shrink from my temper are my mother, my brother, and that sparky woman at the school—Merit.
But this woman. This curvy, beautiful, sharp-tongued woman.
She’s not afraid of me.
“The bathroom is down the hall,” I say finally, my voice rough. “I need to wash my hands before I make my delivery.”
I don’t wait for her response. I just turn and walk away, shutting the bathroom door behind me with a click.
The mirror shows me exactly what I expect. A scowling bear of a man with a scar across his face and frustration in his eyes. A man who was just put in his place by a woman half his size.
I turn on the cold water and splash it on my face, trying to shock some sense into myself.
What is happening?
My bear is practically purring now, pleased as hell about the whole exchange. He liked her standing up to us. He liked her bright eyes, the set of her jaw, the way she refused to back down.
And my body liked her too. Liked her way too much.
I grip the edge of the sink and stare at my reflection, willing my blood to cool down. Because for a moment there, watching her lecture me in my own kitchen, all I could think about was bending her over the table and showing her exactly how particular I can be.
This is a problem.
A serious problem.
I promised Derrick I would behave. I promised myself I would get through this weekend without running off another employee. But I didn’t account for this. Didn’t account for a woman who looks like that and talks like that and makes my bear lose his goddamn mind.
Maybe I need to run her off after all. For both our sakes.
Or maybe I need to get control of myself and act like a civilized person for once in my miserable life.
I splash more cold water on my face and take a deep breath.
Two days. I just have to survive two days. I’m not worried about the storm I’ll figure out how to get her down the hill.
How hard can it be?