brisk click on his way by. Sensitive data secured.
From the bear and a lost tourist? Not likely.
Still, never could be too careful given the nature of his work. Patent-worthy research if all played out as he suspected. And when it came to his job, he was never wrong. The stakes were too high. Too personal.
His father had worked the old-school oil pipelines, like most of the population in the small Texas town where Royce had grown up. It had been a tight community. A loss of one sent ripples throughout that touched them all.
When his former fiancée’s father had died in an explosion, Royce’s world had been blown apart too. Then his fiancée miscarried their baby and left the country. Left him...
Shaking off the past, Royce dressed with methodical speed, shrugging into a fleece-lined flannel shirt, then tugging on a parka, and stepped into boots on his way to the door to deal with the massive curveball thrown at his day. This would have been the perfect secluded afternoon for productive thinking. He’d come to the wilderness retreat for peace, a slice of time with no distractions. No question, creating a safer, ecologically friendly oil pipeline was personal.
Corporations vied to get him on their payroll, but he preferred to work solo and, thanks to selling off a few patents, he had a multimillion-dollar cushion to innovate on his own terms. Such as working here. Alone.
So much for that plan.
Thinsulate gloves were all he could afford to wear and still use the tools at his disposal to rid them of the bear’s threat. A flare gun and, as a last resort, a shotgun.
“Tessie,” he said firmly, “stay.”
She huffed in apparent irritation at being kept inside, but she didn’t budge.
“Good girl.” He tossed the words of praise over his shoulder.
Bracing himself, he unlocked the door that opened into a short igloo-style tunnel. A blast of frigid air whipped inward hard and fast, damn near freezing his breath in his chest. A painful breath, as the cold air crackled in his lungs. Steeling himself, he pressed into the howl of the blizzard wind, the blaring horn roaring almost louder than the bear.
Royce pushed forward into the full slam of storm winds. If he could steer the bear away before it reached the driver, or distract the bear long enough for the woman to bolt inside...
The grizzly ambled faster toward the SUV idling beside Royce’s dual cab truck. Now that he was outside, he could see the SUV spewing sludge from the back wheels as the vehicle worked—in vain—to reverse out.
With a flying leap and roar, the beast pounded on the hood of the woman’s vehicle, enormous paws taking swipes at the windshield. Even through the thick swirls of snow mixed with sleet, Royce could see the glint of long, lethal bear claws.
The time for finesse had ended.
Royce shouted, “Hey, you, teddy bear, check me out.”
His voice got lost amid the car horn blending with the unforgiving blizzard. The grizzly’s ears twitched but still he—or she—continued to rock the SUV, chunks of slush clotting in the shaggy coat. The blizzard dumped its fury faster and faster from the sky, wind carrying the flakes sideways in stinging icy bullets. Royce raised the flare gun and popped a flaming missile into the air, careful to avoid the frosted branches.
With a roar, the bear’s massive head swung around.
“Yeah, Paddington, now we’re in business,” Royce shouted, gripping part of his unbuttoned parka and spreading it wide, making himself appear as big as possible.
Bears usually preferred easy prey, so looking large could help scare him off. But he wasn’t counting on it. He kept the shotgun in hand even as he held his coat open. “Yeah, you. Back off, Baloo.” Who knew there were so many jolly bears in literature? Kids should be taught to steer clear of them, not cuddle the creatures. “There’s no food in my trash, and that little lady there isn’t going to be dinner.”
Or an appetizer, or canapé even, given the woman appeared to be more of a wiry sort.
The car horn pierced the air, long and loud, as the woman pressed the hell out of it. She had some serious mojo. No diving under the dashboard in fear for herself. She revved the engine, puffing thicker exhaust into the cold.
As the driver’s side window eased down, a head peeked out. That pink parka shone, hood up, but a coal-dark ponytail trailed free along her shoulder. “I’m trying to back up, but either the tires are stuck or the bear weighs too—”
“Get back in there before Winnie the Pooh takes off your head with one swipe of the paw,” Royce barked. Quick calculations told him he needed to get that bear away from the SUV within the next two to three minutes or the windshield would almost certainly shatter. The grizzly was big, but not too big to climb through the busted front glass.
“Of course I’m going to stay in the car,” she shouted back. “I just wanted to know if you can think of something I should be doing differently. I have no intention of budging until Winnie-the-Pooh bear trundles back off into the Hundred Acre Wood—”
The bear’s paw swiped off the side mirror, inches from her face. Fat snowflakes quickly piled on top of the shattered mirror, covering it in a testament to the power and fury of the Alaskan storm. Also, a reminder that Royce was up against more than just a grizzly.
Squealing, the woman tucked back into the SUV as the bear rolled off the vehicle and landed on the ground. On both back feet, wobbling but not down and not retreating.
No more playing around.
Royce raised his shotgun.
Aimed.
The SUV lurched backward, then forward, snow spewing. Apparently, the bear’s weight had been keeping it in place, after all. Royce’s shot went wild and the four-wheel drive skidded on the icy ground inches past him. The gleaming silver SUV was on a fast track to bashing into his igloo hideaway.
Royce launched to the left, out of the vehicle’s path, while keeping eyes on the grizzly. The bear lumbered off into the tangle of slick trees. Clearly Teddy-Baloo-Paddington-Winnie thought better of tangling with that pink parka.
Speaking of which.
Royce checked right and—thank God—found the SUV at a stop in a puffy snowbank, the horn silent at last. The driver? Already climbing out from behind the wheel. Apparently unscathed.
And not as wiry as he’d originally thought. She was petite, alright, but with just the right kind of curves showcased in ski pants and a parka cinched at the waist.
A cute-as-hell—but still unwelcome—vision.
Now that the bear was gone, suspicion burned more than the frostbite threatening his face. Royce had to wonder. What was this woman doing out here in the middle of nowhere?
And what did she want with him?
* * *
Naomi Steele resented playing the wilting flower for any man.
She’d been born in Alaska, was a quarter Inuit on her dead mother’s side. Growing up,