Chapter One – Christopher
Ah, there was something magical about this time of night.
The witching hour,Christopher’s bear rumbled.
No witches here,Christopher replied as he reached to secure a loose strand of fairy lights along the edge of the maintenance shed roof.Just us bears.
So true,his bear said, as he pushed his senses out. All the guests staying at Bear Creek Cabins were sound asleep.
Christopher breathed deeply, savoring the crisp midnight air that carried hints of pine and wood smoke. A faint curl of chimney smoke rose from Cabin Three, glowing gold in the lamplight, and somewhere down the valley, a lone wind chime tinkled in the cold. This was his domain. The quiet hours when most of the world slept.
He climbed down from his ladder, and the snow crunched beneath his boots as he stepped back to admire his handiwork. Perfect. A reminder that Christmas was coming. It was his favorite time of year when everyone was filled with goodwill to all.
You mean guests tend to complain a little less at Christmas,his bear said.
Something like that,Christopher said.Although they might complain a little more if I don’t get my chores done.
He moved with practiced quiet across the fresh powder, his boots leaving deep imprints that would be covered by morning. The maintenance rounds were second nature after so many winters working at Bear Creek Cabins, a ritual that brought him a sense of peace. Check the generators, top off the woodpiles,and make sure the paths remained clear so the guests could get to their cars in the morning.
An earlier storm had brought four fresh inches, transforming the cabins into snow-capped gingerbread houses. The twinkling lights he’d strung along the eaves made them look almost edible—peppermint-bright and storybook perfect.Beautiful, but treacherous for the pipes. He’d already thawed one threatening freeze at Cabin 5, where the Wilsons were staying with their three kids.
Christopher smiled to himself as he thought of the excited faces of the three children. They were certainly filled with the joy of the season. They were here for the weekend and had visited the local nature sanctuary and fed the reindeer. He could still hear their laughter echoing faintly from earlier that evening, when they’d built a snowman with a crooked carrot nose and borrowed one of his old hats.
Christmas is even more special when seen through the eyes of children,his bear said with more than a hint of longing.
As if on cue, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and tapped the screen. Another message from Michael, this one a video: Emmy giggling as Sarah helped her hang a handmade ornament on their tree. The three of them looked…complete.
Christopher tucked the phone away, ignoring the hollow feeling that expanded beneath his ribs. He had the cabins. He had purpose. He had…
His bear huffed.We have work. Not the same thing.
You think I don’t know that?Christopher murmured as he trudged back toward the main lodge. The snow muffled his footsteps while, one by one, the stars pierced through gaps in the clouds. Somewhere an owl called, low and haunting.
“Magical,” Christopher whispered as he took a moment to enjoy the winter night.
Back in the office, he shook snow from his jacket and hung it by the door. The coffeemaker gurgled a welcome. He’d set the timer before starting rounds, and now the rich aroma filled the small space as he poured himself a cup in the blue ceramic mug that Mrs. Abernathy had given him last Christmas. “For the man who fixes everything,” she’d written on the card.
Everything except himself.
He settled into the worn leather chair by the window, watching snowflakes dance in the blue-tinged light of the security lamps. The reservation book lay open on the desk, all cabins accounted for except the last name on tonight’s list. Sorcha O’Neill. Cabin 7.
His finger traced the neat handwriting. Irish name. Journalist, according to her booking notes. Coming to write about Bear Creek for a travel magazine.
“Probably caught in the storm,” he said to the empty room, though something in his chest tightened at the thought of her out there in the blizzard.
His bear sighed.I’m sure she’s tucked up safe and sound somewhere.
You’re right,Christopher replied, as he found himself checking the clock again.12:37 AM. Late for anyone to be driving these mountain roads.
He took another sip of coffee and pulled up the weather app on his phone. The storm was moving east, leaving clear skies in its wake. At least the morning would be bright, perfect for the kids who’d be dragging their parents out to build snowmen at dawn.
He was about to start on his paperwork when he felt it…there was something out there. The hair on his arms stood up beneath his flannel shirt. Something was coming.
His bear, usually a steady presence at the back of his consciousness, surged forward with startling intensity.Not something. Someone.
Outside, a sound broke the stillness—the distant purr of an engine struggling through snow. Christopher sat up straighter, senses sharpening as headlights appeared through the trees, painting the snow-laden branches in stark relief.
The car crawled up the drive, tires spinning occasionally before finding purchase. A small red sedan, not built for mountain winters. It pulled up to the office, engine cutting off with what sounded like relief.
