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ONE
TIMBER
“Damn Mounties,” Timber grumbled to himself as he peered at the tracks, which were human footprints.
Timber stood on the invisible border between Montana and the southern part of Canada. He was surrounded by thick woods on one side and a monolithic mountain range a few miles from where he stood.
The Mounties weren’t supposed to get this close to the American border unless they were standing at the official entrance to Canada. But they thought no one was watching around here.
Well, they were wrong.
Timber was here, and he wasalwayswatching.
And the next time one of them comes into my territory, they’ll be sorry.
A cold finality enclosed Timber’s thoughts. He would never hurt a human unprovoked, but he had to uphold the boundaries surrounding his property. Otherwise, the humans who wandered in would get hurt by things much worse than him.
The humans would never believe it, but Timber knew there were some things in these woods that could do more damage than bullets.
Timber was only keeping the balance because that was his job as a bear shifter and leader of the Montana Maul. They were a group of bear shifters who lived in the territory that Timber and several other bears protected.
Timber resolved he would deal with the Mounties later if they made the same mistake twice. For now, he’d walk back to the cabin he had built at the base of the mountain range. But as he walked, he realized he was going to have a problem getting home.
Montana was going through the dregs of winter, and snow still lay thick on the ground. But soil erosion had occurred where the snow had melted, and this had caused a small landslide that now stood right in the middle of his pathway to home.
Timber growled under his breath as he took several large steps backward. Then he took a running leap and grabbed hold of a low-hanging branch of a nearby pine tree.
“Sorry,” he grunted. Timber wasn’t sure who had instilled the habit of apologizing to foliage in him, but he had been doing it since he was a child.
It had probably come from the mother he couldn’t remember.
His muscles strained as he hung onto the branch, and he almost rolled his eyes as he looked at the drop beneath him. He’d never make it in human form, not even with the increased strength and speed that were melded to his DNA as a shifter.
Timber started the shift as soon as he let go of the branch. Hands and feet became claws. Dark fur sprouted from his skin. His teeth lengthened, sharpened, and hardened while his face became a muzzle.
Timber fell through the air, more bear than human, and hit the ground with a roll.
Getting to his feet, he heard a shriek ring through the air. A shriek filled with pain and agony. Angry crows took to the sky, disturbed by his shift and the sound.
Timber broke into a lumbering run and let the bear take over.
* * *
Timber looked downat the baby he had named Marigold.
His baby.
Then he looked at the grave several yards from the cabin where he had buried her mother, who had died in childbirth.
It was not recommended that shifters have children with bears who were not their mates. And the grave proved it.
A one-night stand with Serenity Ledbetter almost ten months ago had resulted in a pregnancy and her death. Shifter women weren’t designed to carry the babies of men who weren’t their mates.
And now Timber had a baby to take care of.
Such a fucking waste, he thought as he looked at the grave.You didn’t know she would die. This isn’t your fault.
Serenity hadn’t planned any of this very well, but she had at least arrived with the basics that Marigold would require for her first few days of life. Timber had formula and diapers, the bare minimum. They wouldn’t last much longer, but it was a start. And for that, he was grateful.
