The Bear’s Christmas Wish (A Bear Creek Christmas #1)

Chapter One – Michael

It’s that time of year again, Michael said as he stood near the entrance to North Peak Pines, waiting for his friends to arrive to help select a tree fit for the Bear Creek town square.

Yes, another tree, another Christmas... his bear rumbled.

Another Christmas alone, Michael finished, his breath forming delicate clouds that dissolved into the still December night.

He wouldn’t let the melancholy blunt the quiet pride he took in providing Bear Creek’s centerpiece each year, a tradition stretching back to his great-grandfather, when North Peak Pines was just a sapling of an idea.

A low engine note rolled up the lane, and snow squeaked under his boots as he turned toward the sound.

Headlights swept across the snow-dusted timber arch, reflecting off the tin star he had hung up a couple of days earlier, when the tree farm officially opened for Christmas.

Then Daniel’s truck appeared, tires crunching over frozen gravel as it rounded the final bend into the parking area.

A small voice whispered in the back of Michael’s mind, the same one that visited him each December like a Christmas ghost. If he didn’t find his mate soon, the North family tradition might end with him.

No cubs to teach the proper way to select a tree, no next generation to inherit the gentle slopes and neat rows of pines.

He pictured little boots double-stepping in his tracks and felt an ache of longing in his heart deeper than the biggest snowdrift.

There’s still time, his bear assured him, with more patience than Michael himself could manage some days. Have the trees taught you nothing?

Patience. Michael heard his grandfather’s voice in his head. It was one of the first lessons the older man had taught his grandson. That trees take time to grow. They can’t be rushed. They can’t be forced.

A lot like waiting for a mate.

Daniel emerged from his truck, his broad frame silhouetted against the vehicle’s interior light.

Steam curled from the four travel mugs clutched in his hands, and tucked under his arm was a familiar brown paper bag that released the enticing aroma of his famous Christmas treats—spiced honey cookies shaped like pine trees, a tradition Daniel had created when they’d first started these annual outings.

Michael breathed in the scent of cinnamon and orange peel, which filled him with a sense of nostalgia. Daniel’s mom had baked the same cookies from the exact same recipe when they were kids.

“Hope I’m not late,” Daniel called, his breath visible in the crisp air. “The kids insisted on helping with the cookies, which meant twice the mess and half the speed.”

Before Michael could answer, two dark shapes emerged from the tree line as James and Christopher, in their bear forms, appeared, noses lifted to catch the scent of Daniel’s baking.

Their massive paws left deep impressions in the snow as they approached, moonlight gleaming on their thick winter coats.

Snow dusted their paws like icing sugar.

With a shimmer of magic that never ceased to amaze Michael, they shifted, the transition seamless, and the two men strode through the snow. James, in his practical dark jacket, and Christopher with his trademark cap pulled low, leaving footprints rather than pawprints.

“Right on time,” Michael said with a broad smile as the four men greeted each other with bear hugs and backslaps. The physical contact settled his bear, who always found comfort in their makeshift pack. The night always seemed less empty when the four of them stood shoulder to shoulder.

“These smell incredible,” James said, accepting a mug from Daniel and inhaling deeply. “Mulled tea?”

“With a hint of blackberry,” Daniel confirmed, passing the remaining mugs around. “New recipe. Figured we needed something special for our annual expedition.”

Christopher reached for the paper bag. “Please tell me these are your pine tree cookies. I’ve been dreaming about them since last December.”

The men huddled in the moonlight, steam rising from their mugs as they caught up on the week’s happenings.

From Christopher’s latest midnight repair at Cabin 7, to James’s encounter with tourists who’d gotten their car stuck in a snowbank, and Daniel’s preparations for the school’s holiday bake sale.

Somewhere down in the valley, a bell chimed the hour.

As if in reply, a gust of wind made the cold branches creak.

When the last crumb had been eaten and the tea was gone, Michael collected four axes from the tool shed, each one meticulously sharpened for the occasion. “Ready to find Bear Creek’s centerpiece?”

“Ready and willing,” James said as they each accepted an axe.

They headed up the slope, their boots crunching through the frost-crusted snow as they made their way to the higher elevations where the tallest trees grew. The moonlight was bright enough that they didn’t need flashlights, casting the pines in silver and shadow.

“Another year, another Christmas,” Christopher said as they walked, voicing what they were all thinking. “And here we are, four eligible bears, still unmated.”

“At least we have each other,” Daniel replied, clapping James on the shoulder.

James nodded, his slate-blue eyes reflecting the moonlight. “Sometimes I wonder if our mates are even out there.”

“They are,” Daniel said with conviction. “Mine’s probably just stuck in traffic somewhere.”

Michael chuckled. “Must be a very long traffic jam!”

“As long as she gets here someday,” Daniel replied with a wry grin.

Michael’s bear huffed in amusement. She will. We just have to keep believing.

I’m trying, Michael told his bear.

They fell into a comfortable silence as they crested the hill. The higher elevation revealed a breathtaking view of Bear Creek below, its lights twinkling like fallen stars against the dark valley. The air here was sharper, colder, filled with the pure scent of pine and winter.

The path narrowed as they climbed higher, the snow deeper here where the wind had sculpted it into gentle drifts between the trees.

“This is the section I’ve been saving,” Michael said, gesturing to a stand of magnificent trees, their branches dusted with frost that sparkled in the moonlight. “Any of these would make the town proud.”

“And you,” Christopher said, tilting his cap as he looked up at the tips of the pines. “You should be proud of what you do here.”

“I don’t know how much credit I can take,” Michael said. “These were planted by my father.”

“And he passed that legacy on to you,” James insisted.

Michael chuckled. “Well, most of the time. He’s still planning to help out again this season. When it comes to helping people find the right tree, he’s never going to retire.”

The men spread out, circling the candidates with practiced eyes. Christopher knocked snow from one trunk, measuring its girth with his arms. James stood back, assessing height and symmetry. Daniel ran his fingers along the needles, testing their suppleness.

“This one,” Michael finally said, stopping before a majestic blue spruce. “Strong central leader, full all the way around, and the perfect height for the square.”

His friends gathered around, nodding in agreement.

“She’s a beauty,” Christopher said appreciatively.

“A proper tree for Bear Creek,” James added.

“Okay, let’s get to it.” Michael went first, then the friends took turns with the axe, each man striking in rhythm, their breaths forming clouds in the cold air. Between swings, they traded stories of Christmases past and gentle barbs about each other’s technique.

“Put your back into it, James,” Daniel teased. “You swing like you’re afraid of hurting it.”

“I’m being precise,” James countered. “Unlike some people who think brute force solves everything.”

“Hey, my method works,” Daniel laughed, taking his turn.

Christopher leaned toward Michael. “What do you want to bet Daniel makes the final cut?”

“No bet,” Michael replied with a wave of his hand. “He always does.”

True to prediction, it was Daniel’s powerful swing that sent the spruce tilting with a soft creak, snow drifting from the crown like shaken glitter. “Timber,” he called unnecessarily as the tree began its graceful descent.

They stepped back as it fell with a satisfying whoosh, landing with a muffled thud in the deep snow. The scent of fresh sap filled the air, sharp and sweet against the frosty night.

As they stood admiring their work, a streak of light blazed across the star-filled sky—a shooting star, brilliant against the darkness.

“Quick,” Daniel said, pointing upward. “Make a wish.”

The others followed suit, a moment of silence falling over the snowy clearing. Michael felt his bear stir with yearning as he wished for the same thing he did every year…someone to share his life with, his heart, his home, his legacy.

His bear chuckled. You know, we’re probably all wishing for the same thing.

For a mate, Michael said.

Obviously, his bear replied.

When Michael opened his eyes, his friends were all standing with the same wistful expression on their faces. If only wishes did come true.

“Did everyone get their Christmas wish in?” Christopher asked.

James snorted. “For all the good it’ll do. I’ve been wishing on stars for longer than I can remember, but they never come true.”

“This time it’ll work,” Daniel insisted, clapping a hand on James’s shoulder. “I can feel it.”

“All I feel is the cold on my nose,” James said, and the others laughed.

“Come on, this’ll soon warm you up,” Michael said as he uncoiled the rope he’d been carrying over his shoulder.

They secured ropes around the trunk and began the work of hauling the tree back down the slope, their combined strength making the task easier. Steam rose from their bodies as they worked, their conversation dwindling to occasional grunts and directions.

Back at the cutting yard, they worked efficiently to prepare the tree for transport, Michael operating the netting machine that would bind the branches for protection.

Soon, he’d deliver it to the town square, where the Bear Creek holiday committee, along with a bunch of volunteers, would decorate it ready for the lighting ceremony.

“That should do it,” Daniel said, securing the last of the netting. He glanced at his watch. “I should head back. Promised the kids we’d make hot chocolate and start our holiday movie marathon.”

“Give them my love,” Michael said, embracing his friend.

James and Christopher exchanged looks. “We should get going, too,” Christopher said. “Early shift tomorrow.”

After final handshakes and back-slaps, Daniel climbed into his truck, the headlights briefly illuminating the yard before he turned toward town.

James and Christopher moved toward the tree line, already shimmering with the magic of their shift.

Within moments, two bears stood where men had been, their dark shapes soon disappearing into the forest.

Michael stood alone in the sudden quiet, breathing deeply of the winter night. The first delicate snowflakes began to fall, catching in his dark hair and melting against his warm skin. He tilted his face upward, letting them land on his eyelids, his cheeks, his lips.

Something smells different, his bear suddenly rumbled, alert and interested in a way Michael hadn’t felt in years.

Michael inhaled again, searching for whatever had caught his bear’s attention. There was the familiar scent of pine, the crisp snow, the lingering notes of Daniel’s spiced cookies, but nothing unusual.

But his bear would not let it go. There is something…stirring. Perhaps our mate is no longer stuck in a traffic jam.

Now that’s wishful thinking, Michael said, shaking his head with a rueful smile. The shooting star has you imagining things.

But his bear remained restless as Michael secured the yard then got in his truck and drove over to the small cabin, which he called home, on the other side of the tree farm. Something’s coming, he insisted. Something important.

Michael paused at his doorway, taking one last look at the star-filled sky, now veiled by gently falling snow. For just a moment, he allowed himself to hope that perhaps this Christmas might be different after all.