Shifter Overdrive by Scarlett Grove
When he poured the first cup of coffee, the tent zipper zipped open, and Ginger stepped into the pale morning sunlight.
“Oh my God, I’m so sore,” she said, walking out of the tent on wobbly legs.
She sat across from him on a log. He handed her a tin cup full of hot coffee. She took it gratefully and sipped the steaming brew carefully. Her hair was disheveled and sticking out in all directions around her head, making her look like an adorably messy little angel as the sun glowed behind her.
Brock smiled and poured himself his own coffee. Getting away from her last night was the best thing that he could’ve done. He didn’t want to think about what he would have been capable of if he had stayed the night in the tent with her. His bear was out of control, and being this close to the woman he was meant to mate with for the rest of his life was showing him that the bear could not be trusted in this delicate situation.
Last night, Brock had come to realize that there was no way around the mating. He would have to find some way to tell Ginger that she belonged with him, and hope that she felt the same way. Considering that she was a human, and did not have an instinctive fated mate like a shifter did, the conversation promised to be an awkward one.
He needed to find out more about her, get to know her, romance her the way that a human woman needed to be romanced. Too bad Brock had no idea how to do such a thing. If they had been at home, and not out in the middle of the wilderness, he might have asked his mother or one of the elders how to best handle the situation. But as it was, he was on his own. He would have to start soon or he would lose it completely. He didn’t want to know what would happen to him if he denied his bear any longer.
Chapter 9
Ginger drank her coffee and ate the breakfast that Brock cooked for her. By the time they were ready to set out from the camp, her legs were so stiff and sore that she didn’t know if she was going to make it any farther. Not only that, but she was confused by why Brock hadn’t slept in the tent the night before. Her budding attraction for him almost made her grateful that he had decided to spend the night in the woods alone.
She didn’t know what she would have done if he had slept in the tent with her the night before. She couldn’t help feeling tingly and warm all over every time she looked at him. The few minutes that they spent lying side-by-side last night had made her gush heat between her legs. She hadn’t felt that way in so many years that the pressure of it had hit her hard.
The intense drive to take his hand, or put her arm around his waist, or reach up on her tiptoes to plaster kisses all over his face was increasing by the minute. She didn’t understand why she wanted this guy so badly. Maybe he was really good looking. That was definitely true. But Ginger had never been the kind of girl who just jumped on a guy because she was feeling super frisky. Brock definitely made her feel that way, and it was a completely new sensation.
If her legs hadn’t been so sore, and she weren’t so dog-tired, she might have pushed Brock into the bushes and climbed on his lap. Her every other thought was of doing that very thing. As she climbed up the trail behind him, watching his sexy behind move as he walked up the steep slope, she had to stop periodically and squeezed her eyes closed to force out the visions of making love to him in the forest.
Maybe when this was all over, she could ask him if he wanted to go out for a few beers, and they could get to know each other a little better.
Brock was over six feet tall, muscular and scorching hot. He could have any girl that he wanted. Why would he want a girl like Ginger? With her kinky red hair, freckled pale skin, and overly curvy figure, she didn’t think that he would want her. Not only were her looks not what she believed he would want, she was broke and homeless.
It was all so depressing and confusing. Ginger tried to stop thinking about any of it as she forced herself to continue the trek up the mountain. Thoughts of making out with Brock should’ve made her feel better, but they didn’t. The made her feel worse. It was just another example of something that she could never have. This hot man with his family and his business. He would never want a girl like her. She was a failure and a loser and not model-esque in any way, shape, or form.
Ginger focused on the pain of placing one foot in front of the other. Somehow, it braced her and cleared her mind from all her dark thoughts. The pain was real, and it was something that she could count on.
The day stretched on. They stopped periodically to eat power bars and drink water.
Her father’s cabin could be reached by helicopter, but there was no way that she could afford to hire a helicopter to take her out there. Not that she could even afford Brock’s services. This was all charity for him. She was so abundantly grateful that he would be willing to take her out here like this, waste his time on a broke girl like her, and give her supplies and clothes to wear. He was a good person and it just made her attraction to him even more difficult to bear.
As the day started to tip towards evening, they came into a clearing where a little cabin was nestled against the backdrop of the forest and mountains beyond. The river that ran downhill towards the ocean burbled just beyond. When Ginger saw the rustic wood walls of her father’s cabin, tears began to well in her eyes. They’d finally made it.
She let her backpack slip from her shoulders outside the front door of the cabin. Pulling the keys out of her front pocket, she lifted them to the lock on the door and opened it. Inside, the dark cabin smelled of dust and damp, but everything was in its place, waiting to be used.
“Your father built a good cabin. It’s still well equipped. It could still be used as a hunting and fishing cabin.”
“I know. My dad put a lot of energy and effort into this place. He loved it. This is where he wanted his ashes spread.”
“So what was it that you needed up here?” Brock asked, walking around the one room cabin inspecting its contents. There was a wood-burning stove in the corner and a rustic bed pushed against the wall. Her father had even dug a well and had indoor running water that came out of the standpipe and drained out of the sink to the outside.
“My father told me on his deathbed that he had been panning gold in the river. He drew me a map to where it was buried.”
“Gold, huh?”
“The truth is that my when my dad died, I lost everything. I’m even going to lose this land soon. The tax bill is due tomorrow, and even if I can find the gold, I don’t know if I’ll get back in time to pay the taxes.”
“I’m sure you can pay the tax bill one day late,” Brock said, putting his hands on his hips.
“The guy who was overseeing my father’s tax file said it would be impossible to give me another extension.”
“Is it someone local?” Brock asked skeptically.
“Yes. James Salvo. He works at the local property tax office.”
“James Salvo? Doesn’t ring a bell. Must be new to the area. So, let’s take a look at that map. My curiosity is running wild right now.”
Ginger pulled the map out of her backpack and unfolded it. It had been written on a napkin with a blue ballpoint pen. It showed the cabin and landmarks around it. The gold was supposedly buried in a hole two feet underground around the back of the cabin towards the river.
“That doesn’t look too hard to find,” Brock said. “I think I saw a shovel outside under the overhang. Should still be usable. Come on.”
Ginger followed Brock outside, and he grabbed the shovel from the under hang where firewood was stored. They followed the directions on the map and came to the space where the gold was supposed to be buried. There was a thick layer of leaves across the ground, already starting to decompose in the late season.
The sun was beginning to set as Brock pushed the shovel into the damp soil. Ginger stood watching him as he dug one shovelful after another out of the ground. Her heart raced in her chest, pounding with anticipation. If the gold was really there, it could save her, it could give her back her life.
After a few tense moments, the shovel hit s
Ginger peered into the darkness inside the sack. The sun had already set, and Brock pulled a small flashlight out of his jacket, shining it on to the contents in his hand. Big chunks of raw gold glistened in a pile in Brock’s large palm.
Both of them made excited sounds, and Brock dumped the gold back into the sack.
“I can’t believe it’s really here,” Ginger said, her mind reeling. She could save her father’s land, she could get herself back on track, she could eat a decent meal for once, and pay back Brock for his kindness.
“This gold is worth a lot of money,” Brock said, rising from his crouch to face her.
There was a click as if someone had taken the safety off a handgun. Brock and Ginger snapped their heads in the direction of the sound. “That’s exactly why I’ll be taking that sack,” a man said in the darkness.
Brock shined his light on the person who had spoken. James Salvo stood there in the darkness, steam puffing from his mouth as he spoke. He held the gun with its muzzle pointed at them.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Brock asked him.
“I’m here to take what’s mine. I’ll own this land by tomorrow evening, at the end of business hours. Everything on it belongs to me, including that gold.”
“You can’t do this,” Ginger gasped.
“Oh, but I can, and I will.”
“You won’t get away with this,” Brock said.
“And who’s going to stop me? No one will believe your story. Why would they?”
Brock growled and Ginger could see his body begin to grow larger and push at the seams of his clothing. A gunshot cracked through the night. A bullet sliced through Brock’s leg, and he dropped the sack of gold. He fell backward, and Ginger instantly went to him, forgetting about the gold.
James strode forward, grabbed the gold, and hurried off into the darkness without another word. Panicked, Ginger pressed her hands to the gushing wound on Brock’s leg.
“I can’t believe he shot you,” she said, tears welling in her eyes and streaming down her face.
“I’ll be all right. The bullet went straight through.” He sucked a sharp breath between his clenched teeth. “I need to get inside. I’ll be okay. My shifter healing will take care of this. Don’t worry, Ginger. Don’t worry.” His voice became distant and soft. Ginger could tell he was in a lot of pain.
Slowly, she helped him stand and limp towards the cabin, blood gushing down his leg. She helped him lie across the bed and hurried to find something to tie off his leg to staunch the bleeding. She found an old rag that seemed clean enough and brought it to him to tie around his wound.
“I’ll be all right, Ginger.” His eyes fluttered closed as he lay against the pillow on the bed. The room was almost pitch black aside from the single small flashlight that Brock had pulled from his jacket. Ginger found some matches and lit the kerosene lamp beside the bed. The faint glow filled the small cabin but the room was still damp and chill to the bone.
She knew she had to do something to make sure that Brock would heal properly. They would freeze to death if they stayed in this cold. She took the flashlight and went outside to gather firewood, which she brought back in and piled into the wood-burning stove. She hoped the chimney was clear enough that she could build the fire without smoking them out inside the cabin.
After she built the fire, she opened the flue, and the smoke went out through the chimney without any problems. She breathed a sigh of relief as the fire warmed the cabin.
She went to Brock and placed her cool hand on his forehead. He was burning hot. She didn’t have any idea what that meant. She didn’t know what was natural for shifters. And even if he had been a human, she would have no idea how to take care of gunshot wound to the leg. She was a musician, not a nurse.
She found an extra quilt tucked in a chest and pulled it up over Brock. With no idea what else to do, she brought a chair beside the bed, took his hand in hers, and began to sing softly as he slept.
James had taken her one last hope, and he had an injured the man she was coming to adore. It all seemed so hopeless now. But she couldn’t lose herself in grief. She had to stay strong for Brock. He had to heal or they would both be lost. She had no idea how to get back down the mountain by herself, or even if she could.
There was no way to contact the outside world. Cell service didn’t work this far up into the mountains, and they didn’t have any walkie-talkies. It was just she and Brock. They had to depend on each other to make it out of this.
She sang for him into the night, and when his fever seemed to finally break, she was so exhausted that she climbed into the bed beside him. She wrapped her arm around his chest, nestled into his shoulder, and closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep.
Chapter 10
In the morning, Brock sat up in bed, his leg still aching deep to the bone. He remembered the sound of Ginger’s sweet voice as she sang to him and held his hand the night before. The raging bear within had been tempered by the wound, and had listened to his mate sing sweetly to him through the daze of pain. It had been a healing balm for him as his fevered mind and body tried to repair itself.
Ginger still slept beside him, her face relaxed from the constant state of worry she always seemed to be in. He flipped the quilt off of his body and looked down at his leg. The rag she had tied around the wound was soaked through with blood. Brock slowly untied the bandage and looked down at the flesh below. It was already beginning to heal. The place where the bullet had pierced his skin was beginning to heal over with new flesh. However, he was still a long way from being repaired enough to make it back down the mountain. He wasn’t even sure he could walk yet.
Ginger stirred beside him, leaning up on her elbow with a gasp. She blinked up at him where he sat above her. The worry that always marked her face returned immediatel,y and she reached out to him to touch his hand. The gentle expression of affection warmed his heart. He sank back down into the bed beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her head to his chest.
At first, she seemed shocked but quickly relented and snuggled against him, relaxing into his embrace. She let out a soft sigh, and ran her hand over his chest. Brock tilted his head and planted a kiss on Ginger’s forehead. She whimpered under her breath, and looked up at him into his eyes.
“You sang to me all last night,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“I didn’t know what else to do.”
He wrapped his hand around her fingers and held it against his heart, pulling her more tightly against his chest. Ginger seemed to melt into him, as if she had been waiting for his embrace all along. His bear cooed inside his mind, no longer fierce and ferocious. The animal was wounded as well, and could feel the pain. Now all he wanted was to be close to her. Ginger’s warmth radiated through him and filled him with comfort.
“I think it has healed me,” he said softly.
“My singing can’t heal anything,” she said. “But your natural shifter healing can. The wound was much worse last night.”
“It’ll take me about another day to be well enough to travel again,” he said.
“Do we have enough food or supplies to last that long?”
“I think so. If not, we can always fish in the river. The salmon are spawning all the way up here.”
Ginger climbed out of bed and went to check the fire. Brock watched her as she threw logs into the wood-burning stove. She found Brock’s camping kettle and put it on top of the stove to heat water for coffee. As she moved about the small cabin, Brock couldn’t keep his eyes off her.
Her generous curves swayed under her jeans and fleece. She was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Now that his bear had calmed within his mind, he could real
Ginger was soft and sweet. But she was loyal, hardworking, and determined. He wanted to know everything about her. He wanted to give her everything she ever wanted.
“Where did you learn to sing like that?” he asked her.
She stood over the stove, making oatmeal in Brock’s camping pot. “I went to the Conservatory of Music in New York City. I studied as a violinist. But as a musician, I also learned vocals to a certain degree. I wouldn’t consider myself primarily a singer though.”
“You have one of the loveliest voices I’ve ever heard. Better than what I hear on the radio.”
She looked over at him and giggled with a smile. “Well, thanks. That’s nice of you to say, even though it isn’t true.”
“It is true. What kind of music did you study at the Conservatory?”
“Classical. I’ve been playing violin since I was three years old. But I had to leave the Conservatory when my father became ill. I never finished my degree, and now I have over one hundred thousand dollars’ worth of student loan debt I still have to pay off.”
“When did your father die?”
She took a deep ragged breath and let it out, not looking at him. He could see tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. She blinked them away and looked back up at him. “I guess it was about a week ago now.”
“Your dad just died a week ago?” His heart hurt for her. He had no idea she was in such deep mourning for someone who obviously meant a great deal to her.
“Yeah. My dad and I were very close. He was a single parent from the time I was a little girl. He gave me my first violin. When he got sick, he didn’t want me to come home to take care of him. But there was no way I could leave him to die alone.”