Page 20 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

And he’s still wild.

Better safe than sorry.

My pulse kicks up. Not fear—awareness. Calculation.

I lift a hand toward her without looking away from Scar.

“Look,” I say, voice low and sharp, “don’t panic?—”

“What?” she snaps, turning her head to follow my gaze.

And fuck, I’m too late.

Lightning flashes, turning the world white for a split second, and Scar’s silhouette becomes a massive, unmistakable shape just yards off the road.

Her whole body goes stiff.

She inhales like she’s about to scream.

“Don’t—”

“BEAR!” she shrieks, and the sound rips through the storm like a siren. “THAT’S A BEAR!”

“Yes,” I bite out. “I noticed.”

“Oh my God!”

She backs up fast—too fast—heels sliding in the mud, arms flailing like she’s trying to balance on a tightrope instead of a death wish.

Her perfume hits the air in a punchy cloud—expensive, floral, completely wrong out here—and Scar huffs again, ears angling forward.

Agitated.

Curious.

Not charging, but not leaving either.

“Scar, you old bastard!” I bark, stepping forward and throwing my free arm wide, making myself big. “Get out of here!”

He doesn’t.

He stomps once—just once—and the vibration travels up through the ground into my boots.

The woman makes a noise that’s half sob, half curse.

“I’m going to die on a mountain,” she gasps. “In heels.”

“This is not the time for commentary,” I growl.

I keep my eyes on Scar, keep my stance steady. I know this bear.

He’s been around for years. He doesn’t like surprises, and he really doesn’t like shrieking surprises that smell like a department store.

“Go on,” I command, lower now. “Get.”

Scar swings his head like he’s deciding whether I’m worth listening to.

Then City Slicker—because I’ve already decided that’s her name in my head, because I don’t know her real name though I’m sure it’s just as fancy and ridiculous as she is, something like Delilah—screams again.