Free Saving Her Bear: A Second Chances Romance by Alana Hart, Michaela Wright

always.”
    Catherine gasped. How could he ask something so powerful? How could he declare this kind of devotion so confidently when other men couldn’t even agree to second dates without drama? Was he really that sure?
    Finally, as he watched every inch of her face, she took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes. I want to be yours.”
    John smiled and kissed her. Then he rose from the ground, hoisting her onto her feet. She stood there naked from the waist down, her torso barely covered now by a torn red t-shirt. He scanned the forest floor, searching for her shorts, and handed them to her, returning to the chivalrous creature he was when the sun was up. He stood there, rubbing his thighs as he complained of sore muscles.
    She glared at him. “Don’t complain to me about sore.”
    She made a point of letting him see her dust off her backside before she pulled on her shorts.
    “Oh is that so?”
    The waistband of the jean shorts grazed against the scrapes on her hips and she hissed. John furrowed his brow and she showed him her battle wounds.
    “Sweetheart, I wish you’d told me. I would have stopped or -”
    “I didn’t want you to stop. I enjoyed every second of it.”
    John grinned from ear to ear, reaching for her. He pulled her in, nuzzling his nose and cheek against the top of her head, then kissing her and squeezing his arms around her. She felt contained, like a pocket sized little treasure, precious in his arms. He turned his attention to his own zipper and repositioned himself as he did up his fly. They began their trek back toward the road, John slipping out of his hooded sweatshirt, handing it to her.
    “You’re gonna get some looks when you roll back in to the Calhoun house.”
    Catherine gave him a skeptical look. “Why’s that?”
    John made a grand flourish of pulling a couple dead leaves from her hair. She reached up, feeling the brush and dirt caked there and began to laugh.
    “Damn. Bennett’s gonna have a field day.”
    “He really is.”
    Catherine shimmied inside his baggy sweatshirt, breathing in the scent of him as she zipped it up. “So, uh – will it always be like that?”
    John raised an eyebrow. “Not unless you want it to be.”
    She smiled. “I think I might enjoy cozy sex from time to time. Going forward. If I really am ‘yours,’ as you said.”
    “Oh, you are,” he said, grabbing her ass and giving it a good squeeze.
    She felt warm, settled almost, like she knew his company was a constant. Unlike other men, John Fenn didn’t feel like a wavering thing.
    “Nice touch on the stick dolls, by the way. You were planning this, I take it?”
    “What do you mean?” He asked.
    Catherine scanned the branches around them until she found what she was looking for. She smacked the doll, watching it swing there from a long piece of twine.
    John shook his head. “Oh Jesus, that’s fucking creepy.”
    “Cut it out, I know it was you.”
    John stared at her, eyes wide and brows up. “I swear to you on my family name, not me. Are there more of them?”
    Catherine pointed out another two or three in the more distant trees, and John grabbed her around the shoulders, pulling her away from them as though they might bite. “Don’t touch em. You might catch the hermits.”
    Catherine laughed as she turned back toward the truck, ready to trudge through the underbrush. The smell caught her so suddenly, she almost gagged.
    “Catherine,” John said. It was barely a whisper. “Don’t move, baby.”
    She froze, overwhelmed by a sudden sense of dread. Her eyes instantly welled with tears. She recognized the smell. It wasn’t something she would easily forget.
    Catherine stared toward the tree line, holding still as she listened for John to give her further instruction. She couldn’t see the threat, couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but she felt it nonetheless. A moment later, she heard it – a deep chested grunt, followed by the sound of the creature sniffing at something. Suddenly