Page 22 of Stuck with the Hero Next Door

Chapter 6

Bear Warnings and Shaky Plans

Levi

I’m not saying I was avoiding the firehouse. But when you’ve alphabetized the supply closet three days in a row and invented an entirely new system for coiling hoses (which, by the way, no one appreciated), maybe it’s time to admit you’re a little... twitchy.

Mrs. Calhoun thought so. She handed me a bundle of recycling when I passed by her house after church let out on Sunday morning and muttered something about “burning off the fidgets.” That’s how I ended up hiking toward the falls with a granola bar, a thermos of questionable coffee, and the restlessness that even duct tape and disaster drills couldn’t fix.

Everwood had its usual morning charm turned up to eleven. Doc Herndon waved from the bench outside his clinic, where he was holding court with four dachshunds in matching sweaters. At the bakery, someone had spelled “YOU’RE BEARY SWEET” on the chalkboard sign beside a tray of paw-shaped cookies. And at the trailhead, the world smelled like pine and petrichor, the dirt still damp from last week’s rain.

I pulled into the lot, and there it was—Janet’s car, which was a surprise, since my sister’s idea of wilderness was the backyard hammock. I figured maybe she’d finally taken up foraging or was trying to impress that accountant from Bozeman who composts.

But then halfway up the mountain I saw her.

Not Janet.

Cassie Grant, all ponytail and bounce, strolling up the trail like she was on her way to meet a fairy godmother.

“Cassie?” I called out.

She turned like I’d startled her mid-spell. “Levi? Are you following me, or is this a new small-town tracking service I wasn’t warned about?”

“I’m just here for the fresh air and mild panic. You?”

She grinned and shrugged. “Fulfilling my daily quota of wandering into potential elk territory. It’s on my planner between coffee and regretting my life choices.”

I chuckled, adjusting the strap on my pack. “Well, you might want to move that regret up a slot. You missed the signs—literally. Bear activity’s up this week. Even the town council meeting had a ‘Do Not Feed the Bears’ addendum.”

Her smile faltered. “Are you serious?”

“Sadly. We’ve had tracks, scat, and one very cranky raccoon mistaken for a cub. I was just about to head up the trail to clear my head, but now I’m thinking we should walk it back instead.”

She hesitated, scanning the woods like she expected a bear to wave from behind a tree.

I softened. “I’ve got bear spray. Two cans, actually. One for me, one for someone who doesn’t bring her own on enchanted forest strolls.”

Cassie rolled her eyes but stepped closer. “Fine. But if this ends with me being a cautionary tale on a trailhead pamphlet, I expect you to come up with a better story.”

“Deal. But I get editorial rights.” I pulled the spare can from my pack and clipped it to her belt loop.

We turned back toward the trailhead, her steps matching mine. Somewhere, a squirrel chirped like it had strong opinions about our invasion of its territory. And just like that, the woods didn’t feel so heavy.

Not with her beside me.

We’d only gone a few steps when Cassie pointed to a tree and squinted. “Is that a claw mark or just a tree trying to up its dramatic flair?”

I leaned closer. “Claw mark. Black bear, judging by the height. Probably just passing through.”

She stared for a second, then muttered, “Fantastic. I’ve officially wandered into a National Geographic episode.”

“Don’t worry. Bears hate confrontation,” I said. “They’re like my Uncle Pete at family dinners. Show up, eat too much, disappear when someone mentions feelings.”

That got a real laugh—sharp and surprised, like she hadn’t expected to find anything funny in the woods today. She brushed a stray curl from her cheek and shot me a sideways glance. “So, is this your thing? Wandering the forest rescuing helpless city girls?”

I made a show of considering it. “Technically, you’re a mountain girl now. And I only rescue people with questionable hiking judgment.”

She gasped. “Rude.”