Wild Love (Rose Hill, #1)(111)
Her expression is strained as she glances longingly back at the ditch. It’s as though she sees my logic. But so badly wishes she didn’t.
I keep going because it seems like the children’s fiction reference really hit home. “Eeyore isn’t trapped in a well. Piglet isn’t off finding him a pot of honey. Just… pretend I’m Owl, and I’m giving you really good advice right now.”
“But… there are babies.”
She all but coos the word. Babies. She says it with extra emphasis like it should make this entire thing endearing. Like it makes her irrational behavior more logical somehow.
But anyone who knows about bears knows that things just got so much worse.
“Please,” I say, trying a less forceful approach while also filling my voice with as much pleading as I can muster. With one arm held out, I fold my fingers over my palm repeatedly, gesturing her forward like I might a skittish horse. I’ve got lots of experience with those. All bluster—until they’re not.
She must pick up on the urgent tone in my voice because her shoulders fall, and she swallows heavily as her eyes dart back and forth between mine, seeming to weigh whether I’m trustworthy.
Finally, I get a nod and a tentative step away from the deep ditch. A heavy, relieved breath rushes from my lungs as she moves toward me.
But that relief is short-lived because, as soon as she moves away, the bear follows her as though attached to an invisible leash.
I almost can’t blame it.
She’s alluring. There’s something about her that makes it hard to look away. You can see it on-screen. Hear it on the radio. And it’s even more pronounced in person.
“Okay, doll.”
“Don’t doll me?—”
“You need to shut up,” I blurt out, keeping my voice as even as possible. My gaze moves beyond her to the massive bear emerging from the slope, four-inch-long nails clacking as it takes its first steps onto the asphalt. The sound freezes Skylar in her tracks. “Walk toward me slowly. Do not run. Do not look behind you. Stay calm.”
She blinks hard and fast. And I can see the moment when she wants to tell me to go fuck myself. But apparently, she does have some sort of survival instinct underneath all that attitude because she actually follows my instructions.
The bear lets out a loud huff, and she stutter-steps, wide eyes latching onto mine for dear life. I nod and gesture with my hand again. As though I can do a single fucking thing for her right now other than try to get her close enough to hopefully dive through the open door of my truck.
She continues walking, but her steps gradually increase ever so slightly in speed. Her breathing turns ragged.
“Good girl. You’re doing so well.” Any other time, I’d laugh at myself for talking to this woman like a horse. But in this moment, my skin hums with tension and my muscles coil as though ready to spring into action.
She nods. But then she peeks over her shoulder and makes a small squealing noise as if she’s just realized the massive size of the bear following her.
But that noise. That noise was not the right one to make. Because the grizzly notices it and is suddenly more interested that it had been. The bear stops and rears up onto its hind legs. The sound it makes now is more of a bark followed by a sniff and an interested head tilt.
A show of curiosity, not aggression.
Not yet anyway.
“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” she whispers, her voice coming up choked and tearful.
With one hand held out, I muster all the calm that I can. “Whatever you do, don’t r?—”
Before I can say the word run, she fucking sprints toward me. And against what would be most people’s better judgment, I leap into action without even thinking.
I head straight toward her.
And the bear.
The bear that is now pawing at the road like it’s ready to charge. It takes a few powerful leaps forward before drawing back.
Now in defensive mode, I do the only thing I can think of. The minute I reach her, my fingers wrap around her bicep, and I curl one arm around the back of her head before tossing us to the ground. My tall body covers her smaller one like a shield.
She squirms against me. “What are you?—”
I cut her off by clamping a palm over her mouth, propping myself up on my opposite arm, and shaking my head. “Stop. Please stop. I need you to be quiet and still. And the bear will probably go away.”
She nods subtly. Enough so that I can remove my hand and cage the entire top of her head in with my forearms.
Her terrified golden eyes search mine again and I can smell something sweet on her breath as she pants nervously into the air between us. Lime and sugar.
“Can we make it to your truck?”
I can barely hear her over the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. “I don’t like our odds of outrunning a grizzly.”
“Okay.” She licks her lips nervously and I watch a stray tear leak out of one eye. It rolls down over her temple before trailing back toward her ear. I trace the wet path with my gaze before meeting hers and giving her my full attention, trying to convey an outward sense of calm that doesn’t necessarily match the way I’m feeling inside.
More tears leak out as we stare at each other.
“I’m sorry.” Her choked sob hits me hard in the chest.
I can hear the huffing of the bear as it draws nearer. I swear the ground feels as though it trembles beneath the weight of its steps. Lighter footsteps thump from lower down in the ditch. And I assume those are the babies.