Page 46 of Once Upon A Bear

She glanced back, wondering if Gideon had left to head home, but he stood there watching her, and as she turned around, his hands came up in a gentle wave, with the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

She wasn’t sure what it meant that she had turned around and that he was still standing there…but she liked it.

It didn’t matter, though. Once she gave him the potion, he would become part of his family again, and he would forget her.

He wanted her because he needed her right now.

Soon enough, he wouldn’t need her anymore, and she wouldn’t hear from him again until he had an injury or sickness for her to heal.

That was the life of a healer.

Guinevere tromped through the woods toward home, with elation at a job well done warring with dread over Gideon’s next potion.

The little girl was already on the mend—the herbs Guinevere had recommended combined with the gentle push of healing magic she’d used when she’d checked for fever.

But now she was heading home to give Gideon a potion, and she knew he was going to hate it, and it was unlikely to work.

If only she could get her potions right the first time, instead of it taking three times to find success.

She glanced at the entrance of Gideon’s den as she passed it and startled when the man himself was lounging against a tree beside it.

“You scared me,” she exclaimed, pressing her hand to her heart.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently as he came up alongside her and followed her toward home. “Is the little girl feeling better?”

“She is,” Guinevere confirmed.

They made the rest of the short walk in silence. Guinevere opened her door, ushering him in, and he immediately saw the bottle on the table.

Gideon stared at the glowing bottle of potion with dread, and Guinevere’s insides swirled.

What kind of healer was she if everyone she tried to heal hated it?

She hung her satchel on the hook by the door and gestured to the potion.

“Here goes nothing,” he said, uncorking the bottle, pinching his nose, and chugging it.

He set the bottle down, making a terrible face, and immediately belched—probably loud enough that they could hear him from Eldenwilde.

“That one might have been worse than the first,” he choked out, his voice merely a hoarse whisper.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, wrinkling her nose. “I wish I knew how to make it better.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said.

Guinevere raised an eyebrow at him.

“Maybe it is a little,” he admitted, “but it’s not as if you’re trying to make them taste terrible. You just never learned how to make them better, and that’s not your fault.”

“I suppose it’s not,” she said.

She studied him closely. Any changes in the potion should have been taking effect by now.

She watched as the hair on his arms stood up and then, quick as a flash, disappeared.

Her eyes widened.

She looked up at his head, where all his hair had also disappeared.