Mama bear.
Followed by two cubs who looked like they’d only recently discovered legs.
Way too early for that.
Way too early for any of this.
“Oh no,” I whispered again. “They shouldn’t even be up yet.”
“I’m aware,” Carson murmured.
She wasn’t charging. Not yet.
But her attention was fixed on us all, swiveling, low, and assessing. Her posture wasn’t defensive, not exactly, but protective in a way that made every instinct inside me scream for caution.
“We need to shift left,” I whispered. “Toward the ridge. Give her the space she wants.”
“Agreed.”
We moved slowly, every motion deliberate, and Mama Bear huffed again, nudging her cubs behind her with one massivepaw. Carson eased us farther left until a thick spruce created a natural barrier between the small family and us.
Another tense minute.
Her ears twitched.
She sniffed.
And then, mercifully, she turned away first, guiding her cubs deeper into the woods, their tiny paws pattering through the snow.
Only once she was well out of view did my lungs finally restart.
Carson breathed out, too.
Carefully.
“Well,” I whispered. “That was fun.”
He shot me a sideways look. “That’s your definition of fun?”
“I’m very outdoorsy.”
“I’m aware,” he said, but his voice sounded different.
I didn’t like what that did to me.
Actually, I liked it too much, which was the problem.
He scanned the trees again before turning fully toward me. “You all right?”
“Yes,” I said, maybe too quickly. “Totally fine.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“I mean,” I amended, “my blood pressure is somewhere near Jupiter right now, but other than that? Great.”
“You handled it well.”
The praise warmed me stupidly from the inside out. I swallowed. “You did too. Especially the… protective thing.”
