Page 36 of Wild Daddy

"Stay close," Cade murmurs, voice low. "Bears don't like surprises. Neither do I."

I nod, trying to focus on his broad shoulders instead of the way his voice makes my stomach flutter. Even tracking wildlife, he manages to make simple instructions sound like promises I want him to keep.

"What exactly are we looking for?" I ask, pulling out my notebook. Though honestly, at this point I'm not sure what my thesis is even about anymore.

"Bear sign. Scat, claw marks, bedding areas." He stops beside a massive pine and points up. "See those scratches? Fresh ones, about eight feet up. Big male marking his territory."

"Sounds familiar," I mutter, then flush when he shoots me an amused look.

I crane my neck back, studying the parallel gouges in the bark. "How can you tell it's recent?"

"Sap's still bleeding. And see how the bark hasn't started to heal over yet?" He reaches up to trace the air near the marks without touching them. "This was made within the last few days. Maybe less."

The academic part of my brain immediately starts cataloging observations, but there's something else happening too. Something about the way Cade reads this forest like it's written in a language I'm only just learning to recognize. It's not book knowledge—it's something deeper, more intuitive.

"Cade?" I say, then catch myself. We're technically working right now, gathering research data. "I mean, what would you do if we actually encountered the bear that made these marks?"

His glacier-blue eyes find mine, serious. "Depends on the situation. Male black bears usually aren't aggressive unless they're protecting food or feel cornered. But the rules are simple: don't run, make yourself look bigger, back away slowly. And if he charges, you get behind me and stay there."

"You'd put yourself between me and a bear?"

"Little girl, I'd put myself between you and anything." Matter-of-fact, but it hits me like a physical touch. "That's what protection means."

I swallow hard, warmth spreading through my chest. "Right. Protection." Though the way he says it makes me think of entirely different kinds of protection. The kind that involves a lot less clothing.

We continue deeper into the forest, and I find myself cataloging everything—not just for my thesis, but because I want to remember this. The way Cade reads this place like it's written in a language I'm only learning to recognize.

"Look here," he says, crouching beside what looks like a pile of dark pellets. "Fresh scat. Still warm."

I kneel beside him, pulling out my phone to take pictures. "Scat? That's a fancy word for poop. Who's the highbrow one now?"

He snorts. "Smart ass."

"How fresh?" I ask, grinning.

"Very." He stands slowly, scanning the area with new alertness. "We should—"

"Oh my God," I breathe, pointing to a set of tracks leading off the main path. "Are those...?"

"Bear tracks. Big ones." His voice has gone tight.

Real bear tracks? This I have to document.

I'm already moving, following the tracks with my phone out, excitement overriding caution. This is exactly what I need for my research—actual evidence of bear activity, documented in real time. Professor Harrison will be so impressed.

"Marley!" Cade's voice cracks like a whip behind me. "Get back here. Now."

"Just a second, I want to get a better angle on these prints—"

I push through a cluster of low pine branches, following the tracks around a massive boulder, and freeze.

Fifty feet away, a black bear the size of a small car is standing on her hind legs, massive head swiveling toward me sniffing the air. And behind her, partially hidden in the brush, I catch a glimpse of movement that makes my blood turn to ice.

Cubs.

The mother bear drops to all fours with a thud that I feel in my bones, and suddenly every wildlife documentary I've ever watched comes flooding back. Mother bears with cubs. The most dangerous situation possible.

She takes a step toward me, huffing, and I realize I can't remember a single thing Cade taught me about bear safety. My brain has gone completely blank except for one thought cycling on repeat:I'm going to die. I'm going to die because I couldn't follow simple instructions.

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