The Bear’s Christmas Love (A Bear Creek Christmas #2)

Chapter One – Christopher

Ah, there was something magical about this time of night.

The witching hour, Christopher’s bear rumbled.

No witches here, Christopher replied as he reached to secure a loose strand of fairy lights along the edge of the maintenance shed roof. Just us bears.

So true, his bear said, as he pushed his senses out. All the guests staying at Bear Creek Cabins were sound asleep.

Christopher breathed deeply, savoring the crisp midnight air that carried hints of pine and wood smoke.

A faint curl of chimney smoke rose from Cabin Three, glowing gold in the lamplight, and somewhere down the valley, a lone wind chime tinkled in the cold.

This was his domain. The quiet hours when most of the world slept.

He climbed down from his ladder, and the snow crunched beneath his boots as he stepped back to admire his handiwork. Perfect. A reminder that Christmas was coming. It was his favorite time of year when everyone was filled with goodwill to all.

You mean guests tend to complain a little less at Christmas, his bear said.

Something like that, Christopher said. Although they might complain a little more if I don’t get my chores done.

He moved with practiced quiet across the fresh powder, his boots leaving deep imprints that would be covered by morning.

The maintenance rounds were second nature after so many winters working at Bear Creek Cabins, a ritual that brought him a sense of peace.

Check the generators, top off the woodpiles, and make sure the paths remained clear so the guests could get to their cars in the morning.

An earlier storm had brought four fresh inches, transforming the cabins into snow-capped gingerbread houses.

The twinkling lights he’d strung along the eaves made them look almost edible—peppermint-bright and storybook perfect.

Beautiful, but treacherous for the pipes.

He’d already thawed one threatening freeze at Cabin 5, where the Wilsons were staying with their three kids.

Christopher smiled to himself as he thought of the excited faces of the three children.

They were certainly filled with the joy of the season.

They were here for the weekend and had visited the local nature sanctuary and fed the reindeer.

He could still hear their laughter echoing faintly from earlier that evening, when they’d built a snowman with a crooked carrot nose and borrowed one of his old hats.

Christmas is even more special when seen through the eyes of children, his bear said with more than a hint of longing.

As if on cue, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and tapped the screen. Another message from Michael, this one a video: Emmy giggling as Sarah helped her hang a handmade ornament on their tree. The three of them looked…complete.

Christopher tucked the phone away, ignoring the hollow feeling that expanded beneath his ribs. He had the cabins. He had purpose. He had…

His bear huffed. We have work. Not the same thing.

You think I don’t know that? Christopher murmured as he trudged back toward the main lodge. The snow muffled his footsteps while, one by one, the stars pierced through gaps in the clouds. Somewhere an owl called, low and haunting.

“Magical,” Christopher whispered as he took a moment to enjoy the winter night.

Back in the office, he shook snow from his jacket and hung it by the door.

The coffeemaker gurgled a welcome. He’d set the timer before starting rounds, and now the rich aroma filled the small space as he poured himself a cup in the blue ceramic mug that Mrs. Abernathy had given him last Christmas.

“For the man who fixes everything,” she’d written on the card.

Everything except himself.

He settled into the worn leather chair by the window, watching snowflakes dance in the blue-tinged light of the security lamps. The reservation book lay open on the desk, all cabins accounted for except the last name on tonight’s list. Sorcha O’Neill. Cabin 7.

His finger traced the neat handwriting. Irish name. Journalist, according to her booking notes. Coming to write about Bear Creek for a travel magazine.

“Probably caught in the storm,” he said to the empty room, though something in his chest tightened at the thought of her out there in the blizzard.

His bear sighed. I’m sure she’s tucked up safe and sound somewhere.

You’re right, Christopher replied, as he found himself checking the clock again. 12:37 AM. Late for anyone to be driving these mountain roads.

He took another sip of coffee and pulled up the weather app on his phone. The storm was moving east, leaving clear skies in its wake. At least the morning would be bright, perfect for the kids who’d be dragging their parents out to build snowmen at dawn.

He was about to start on his paperwork when he felt it…there was something out there. The hair on his arms stood up beneath his flannel shirt. Something was coming.

His bear, usually a steady presence at the back of his consciousness, surged forward with startling intensity. Not something. Someone.

Outside, a sound broke the stillness—the distant purr of an engine struggling through snow. Christopher sat up straighter, senses sharpening as headlights appeared through the trees, painting the snow-laden branches in stark relief.

The car crawled up the drive, tires spinning occasionally before finding purchase. A small red sedan, not built for mountain winters. It pulled up to the office, engine cutting off with what sounded like relief.

Christopher was already reaching for his jacket when the driver’s door opened. A woman emerged, bundled in a long wool coat, her hair catching copper highlights from the porch light as she reached back inside for her purse.

“Hello?” she said in a low whisper as she came toward him. “I’m so sorry about the time…I took a wrong turn back in Millerville, and then the GPS went out, and…” She looked up, meeting his eyes for the first time.

The world stopped.

Christopher felt it like a physical blow. That moment shifters spoke about, but he’d never quite believed. Recognition. Connection. Belonging. His bear surged forward, suddenly alert and intensely focused.

Mate, he growled. Our mate.

She was tall, with luscious curves that her practical winter clothing couldn’t disguise. Her face was flushed from the cold, with a scattering of freckles across her nose, eyes a startling green-gold that seemed to look straight through him.

“You must be Christopher,” she said, extending a gloved hand. “I’m Sorcha O’Neill. I believe you’re expecting me?”

The understatement almost made him laugh. Sorcha had no clue he had been expecting her his whole life.

And now here she was.

“Yes,” he managed, taking her hand. Even through the layers of gloves, the contact sent electricity racing up his arm. “Yes, we’ve been expecting you.”

Christopher felt it immediately. That internal click. The world sharpened, every scent and sound amplified—the whisper of snowflakes landing on her coat, the subtle spice of her perfume beneath layers of clothes, even the quickened rhythm of her heart.

“I was worried I would be too late,” she said breathlessly, her eyes locked on his.

His bear went still, then rumbled deep within him, Tell her she’s not late, she’s just in time…to save us from our loneliness.

“Welcome to Bear Creek Cabins, Sorcha,” he managed, his voice steadier than he felt as the world seemed to tilt on its axis.

“Thanks.” She shivered, and her teeth chattered as she spoke.

“Come on, let’s get you out of this weather.” He reluctantly let go of her hand and ushered her toward the office.

As they walked through the snow, Christopher found himself hyperaware of the space between them, which hummed like static. Or maybe it was just in his head, brought on by the shock of finally meeting his mate.

They reached the office, and he held the door open for her as she stepped inside. As the warmth enveloped her, Sorcha unwrapped her scarf, revealing more of that copper-flame hair, and Christopher busied himself with the guest book to keep from staring.

“Once you are signed in, I’ll take you over to your cabin,” Christopher said as he offered her a pen.

“Thank you.” She took the pen, her handwriting looping confidently across the page. “I’ll only be here two nights,” she said, glancing up with those remarkable eyes that made his knees go weak.

No. She’s here forever, his bear answered with a deep internal growl of certainty that resonated through Christopher’s bones. Not two days.

We’d better make them good ones, then, he replied, swallowing a smile. So good, she’ll never want to leave.

He completed the check-in, sliding the key to Cabin 7 across the desk. “Okay, I’ll grab your bags and show you the way.”

“I can manage,” she replied, though her voice held a hesitation.

“It’s all part of the service,” he offered, already reaching for his coat. “Especially at this hour. And in this weather.”

“Okay then,” she relented with a small smile.

They left the warmth of the office and stepped back into the night. A night that felt different now. Never again would he feel alone. Never again would he ache with longing.

Sorcha popped the trunk, and he grabbed her luggage, one suitcase and an overnight bag. Then he led her to cabin number 7 and waited by her side while she unlocked the door.

Inside, he set down her luggage and began his usual welcome spiel. Although he had to focus hard to remember the words, even though he had spoken them so many times before. All he wanted to do was declare his undying love to her. But it was a little too soon for that.

Are you sure? his bear teased.

He cleared his throat and said, “The thermostat is just here, and extra blankets are in the chest at the foot of the bed. The fireplace is already stocked with…”

“I don’t mean to be rude,” she interrupted, her voice tinged with exhaustion, “but can we do this in the morning? It’s been a long day, and I just need to get to bed.”

Something protective stirred in his chest. “Of course,” Christopher said, though his bear wished they could stay, could watch over her while she slept. “Sleep well. I’ll be in the office if you need anything. Anything at all.”

He stepped back onto the porch, pulling the door closed behind him. The cold air hit his face, but it didn’t dampen the warmth spreading through him. His wish…the one he’d made that night with his friends…had materialized in the form of this woman.

His mate.

His bear settled contentedly as he made his way back to the office. This is how it begins, he whispered.

Christopher paused halfway there, turning to look back at Cabin 7. A light glowed softly through the curtains, casting a golden rectangle onto the snow. He stood motionless, watching as snowflakes drifted through the lamplight, feeling the weight of the moment settle around him.

From that vantage point, he could see all of Bear Creek Cabins, the familiar buildings, the pristine blanket of snow, the office window spilling light onto the drifts. Everything looked exactly the same as it had been an hour ago, and yet everything had changed.

Tomorrow, he thought, smiling into the softly falling snow. Tomorrow would be the first day of the rest of their lives, whether Sorcha O’Neill knew it yet or not.