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Fourteen hundred pounds of inland grizzly — massive even by Alaska standards — came barreling toward them with shocking speed. A wall of brown fur and muscle moving with the deceptive grace of an animal that had no right to be that fast.

Brutus.

Two winters ago, Cal had found him half-starved and snarling in a poacher’s trap up on the north ridge, front paw mangled, eyes wild with pain and fury. What followed wasn’t so much a rescue as a stubborn negotiation between two scarred creatures. Cal had dragged him back, set the paw, and spent three weeks nursing him in the barn. When the door finally opened, Brutus had looked at the tree line, looked at Cal… and sat down.

That had been that.

Now he was charging straight at them, massive head lowered, breath steaming in huge clouds, radiating pure single-minded joy.

Cal shifted his weight. His stance widened. He braced.

“C—” Sage’s voice shot up, high and tight. Her hand clamped onto his arm. “Cal — what the fuck is that — CAL⁠—”

“It’s fine,” he said calmly. “He’s a friend.”

“IT IS NOT FINE— THERE’S A BEAR— THERE IS A BEAR RUNNING AT US⁠—”

Brutus hit him head-on.

Not gently. Brutus didn’t do anything gently. The massive enthusiastic grizzly launched the last six feet and slammed into Cal’s chest like a wrecking ball. Cal went down hard, backward into the snow in an epic white explosion. Brutus landed on top of him, enormous paws planted on his shoulders, massive head shoving happily against his chest and neck in that full-body greeting he’d never outgrow.

From underneath the mountain of warm fur and muscle, Cal couldn’t see much. Snow slipped down the back of his collar. Hot, bear breath huffed against his face as Brutus grunted and snuffled happily.

And then Sage screamed. Gut-wrenching. The sound of a terrified girl watching the only safe person she had left get mauled.

What happened next happened very fast.

Sage dropped the cookie bag and launched herself at the grizzly.

All five-foot-three, hundred-and-sixty-something pounds of her came flying in screaming, no weapon, no plan, nothing in her head except not him, not him, you don’t get to take him. She landed on Brutus’s broad back, arms scrambling around his thick neck (which was roughly the size of a tree trunk), legs kicking wildly against his sides.

“GET OFF HIM!” she shrieked, voice cracking. “GET OFF— I’LL KILL YOU, I SWEAR TO GOD I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU⁠—!”

The grizzly stopped.

He went perfectly still, massive head turning slowly with the confused dignity of an animal who had simply been greeting his person and was now dealing with the baffling sensation of a very small, very loud creature attached to his back like an angry squirrel.

He looked at Sage.

Sage looked at him.

His enormous brown eyes — the size of coffee mugs — held zero aggression. No threat. No predatory gleam. Just pure, profound hurt confusion, wondering why a tiny screaming creature had tried to murder him.

Silence stretched between them.

Except for Sage’s ragged breathing and a single, indifferent bird calling somewhere in the trees.

And then — from underneath Fourteen hundred pounds of grizzly and snow — Cal started laughing. Deep, rolling, unstoppable laughter that shook his whole body and made Brutus grunt in annoyed protest at the vibrations.

Sage froze.

She was still straddling the bear’s broad back, fists full of thick fur, heart hammering like a war drum. But Cal was laughing. Alive. Unharmed. Lying in the snow under a goddamn grizzly bear, snow down his collar, cracking up like this was the funniest thing he’d seen all year.

She looked at Brutus. At his massive, gentle, utterly bewildered face.

She looked at Cal — red-faced, shaking with laughter in the snow.

Slowly, with as much dignity as a person could possibly salvage while dismounting a massive grizzly in front of the man she’d just tried to save, Sage slid off Brutus’s back. She brushed snow off her duster. Off her jeans. Straightened her collar with meticulous care, like she was reassembling her pride piece by piece.