Page 7 of A Bear's Journey

They’d talk about it later.

“I’m heading back into town,” Craig said. “You?”

“I think these ladies are getting tanked on martinis,” Jasper said. On cue, he heard a shriek of laughter from the bar. “I’ll probably call their drivers for them and head out. Want to get a drink at the usual?”

“Sounds good,” Craig said, and Jasper heard the rumble of his truck engine starting up. “See you in thirty.”

You didn’t tell him about the wolves, Jasper thought as the phone line went dead.

I didn’t want to do it over the phone, he told himself.

He stood, straightened his shirt, and walked back into the bar, a smile plastered on his face. When he walked through the door, both women squealed, and he noticed that they were each on a second martini.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “Where were we?”

* * *

Twenty minutes later,as promised, Jasper called Lois and Alice’s drivers, and they were both heading back to their mansions in the mountains overlooking Granite Valley. If he’d done his job, they’d be breaking out their checkbooks to donate to his dad’s campaign again. It had been a long twenty minutes, listening to gossip while all he wanted to do was shout I FOUND HER from the rooftops.

Most days, Jasper liked this job. Sure, lots of people were quick to scream nepotism when they found out that he worked for his dad, but it was a hard job, and he was good at it. He’d grown up with a politician, a politician’s wife, and a Papa who’d gotten very good at deflecting the truth by the time his parents came out of the triad closet.

Of course he was good at talking to rich people and convincing them that what he had to say was what they wanted to hear.

Heart hammering, he pushed the door to the Bear’s Den open and was immediately greeted by the slight smell of stale beer, the red lights that surrounded the bar, and hair metal on the jukebox.

Exactly where I want to be, he thought, pulling his button-down shirt out of his pants as he walked, undoing the first button as he did.

Craig was already there, drinking a beer, and he gave his mate a quick on-the-lips kiss before sitting down next to him.

“If we’re not going to go out and grab her right now, at least tell me what’s going on,” he said dryly.

“She was feral,” Jasper said.

“You told me that part,” Craig said, with a shrug.

The bartender slid a paper coaster in front of Jasper. “Whacha want?” he asked. Dave the bartender was a paunchy human with a long, raggedy beard, best known for getting surprisingly good beers for a dive bar, and also for ruling the jukebox with an iron fist.

“Anything new?” asked Jasper.

“Got that fancy IPA from Russian River,” Dave said.

Jasper’s eyebrows went up.

“I’ll take it.”

Dave pointed at Craig, whose beer was near the bottom.

“Another Coors?”

“You got it.”

Dave left, and Craig gave Jasper a look.

“So I like fancy beer,” Jasper said, summing up a conversation they’d had a thousand times.

“She was feral,” Craig said, getting them back on track.

“Right,” said Jasper, as Dave slid him the beer. “Really feral. Ten years feral.”

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