Blair was already moving, stepping in front of the children, her rifle at the ready, heart hammering as every hair on the back of her neck lifted at once. The forest went still in that thick, unnatural way that told her a predator was near.
Jet’s entire body coiled beneath the weight of that silence.
The bear exploded out of the undergrowth in front of them seconds later.
A mass of black fur and claws and rage barreled toward them with a guttural roar that shook the wet branches. Blair planted her feet, shouldering her rifle, ready to fire if she had to, but Jet moved before she could breathe.
He surged in front of her so fast the air seemed to rip.
He reared to his full height, towering, a warhorse made of rain and fury. Blair dragged the kids away from his churning flank. His front legs slashed through the air in a strike so powerful Blair felt the gust of it across her face. Jet screamed, a sound ripped from some ancient place inside him and brought both hooves down with a crack that made the earth vibrate. The blow caught the bear across the shoulder, staggering it, forcing it sideways. The beast roared, swiped, its claws catching Jet’s chest in a shallow arc, but Jet didn’t yield.
With another scream, Jet reared again, a second strike came down, harder, a force of bone and muscle strong enough to crush a skull, and Blair realized with a jolt of awe and terror that if that bear had been a man, Jet would have killed him instantly. The bear reeled back, scrambling. He had to be shocked by a prey animal that didn’t run, didn’t freeze, didn’t fear.
Jet’s hooves hit the ground with a thunderous impact, mud flying, and he lunged forward with another scream, ears pinned, neck arched, hindquarters driving his front half into a territorial, dominant assault.
The bear broke.
It turned sharply and bolted into the trees, crashing through branches in a panic of snapping limbs and heavy breath until the forest swallowed it whole.
Jet stood trembling, sides heaving, nostrils flaring, but solid as the ridge behind him. He didn’t back down. He didn’t move until Blair stepped forward and touched his neck.
“Easy, Rev,” she whispered, steadying her own shaking breath. “Easy, boy.”
Sarah was frozen, eyes wide, mouth open, the branch still clutched in her hands. Joshua pressed himself into her back, staring at Jet with newfound worship.
Jet lowered his head and brushed his muzzle against Blair’s shoulder with a soft, defiant huff, eyes still bright and burning with protective fire.
Blair pressed her forehead to his for a heartbeat, just once.
“You saved them,” she whispered. “You saved all of us.”
Jet, soaked to the skin, bleeding a little, shaking with adrenaline, stood tall like the warhorse he was, as if daring the entire wilderness to try again. Blair stroked his neck, feeling the tremor still moving through him, and exhaled a shaky breath that might have been a laugh if her pulse wasn’t still hammering.
“I guess you showed him who’s boss with your savage fifteen-hundred-pound advantage,” she murmured, letting the warmth of her voice settle him as much as the touch. “Smart guy. That bear isn’t going to take on my heavyweight a second time.”
Sarah dropped the branch, the tension breaking all at once as she burst into laughter, the sound shaky and wild and full of relief. “RCMP black hero, one. Bear, a big fat zero.”
Joshua whooped, half hiding behind his sister, half peeking around her like Jet was the coolest thing he had ever seen. “Yeah! Zero!”
Blair smiled, the knot in her chest loosening, grateful that for one moment they could be kids again instead of terrified survivors. Joshua stepped forward, still holding tight to his sister’s shirt, and looked up at Jet with reverence.
“Can we ride him?” he whispered, hope lighting his eyes.
“Of course you can.” Blair gave Joshua a reassuring smile, letting her voice ease the last thread of fear out of his shoulders. “I’m not putting you on any inferior ATV. Those things are dangerous.” She added a quick wink, the kind she reserved for kids who needed to feel brave again and watched the boy’s eyes spark with something close to wonder.
Blair heard the clatter before she saw them, the slamming of boots against slick earth and the labored breath of two men who had clearly sprinted the last hundred yards. Constable Jake “Beef” Holmstein crashed through the underbrush first, rifle raised, vest soaked, eyes scanning every direction. Years of backcountry work lived in the breadth of his shoulders and the quiet steadiness in his eyes.
Constable Malcolm Tyler emerged right behind him, loaded for bear as well, mud streaked across his cheek and his chest heaving. Tall, broad, golden hair plastered to his forehead, safety already off. He moved like a man who trusted his body and his instincts equally.
“Geezus, Sarge,” Beef said between breaths, “I heard the roar all the way up the ridge. You good? Kids good? Horse good? Anybody need to be shot or arrested?”
“Blair,” Tyler muttered, his blue eyes still scanning the area, “tell me that wasn’t the same bear from the carcass. I had my safety off for the last three hundred meters.” His eyes raked over her. “You good?”
He and Beef had been paired for years, two extremes that somehow made perfect operational sense. Beef was dark-haired, solid, steady as a mountain, the grounding force in any storm. Tyler was light and fast, all quick smiles and razor reflexes, the spark to Beef’s stone. Together they were a walking comedy duo, one deadpan and the other sunshine, bickering over gear choices and terrible coffee but closing ranks instantly whenever Blair needed them.
Tyler had a thing for her. Everyone knew it.
Jet snorted behind her, a pointed, derisive sound that made Beef step back on instinct.
