The Bear’s Capture

I couldn’t stay up here forever even if I wanted to. And I really wanted to. I wanted Bear to notice me, to see past my pin-straight brown hair, the Plain Jane appearance, and the Olive Oyl skinny body. He was masculine and big, strong and muscular. I was short and felt frumpy, not pretty at all, certainly not for a man like Bear.

But I wanted him to see me, to notice me.

God, I wanted it so badly.

Pushing away from that counter, I took the paper bags with me and walked out to my car. I heard birds chirping overhead, a woodpecker a few feet away. I tipped my head back, following the thick lines of the redwood trees, the noise from those birds seeming to go on for miles.

And then there wasn’t any noise, just this peaceful stillness that seemed to encompass me.

The quiet was loud … peaceful.

Maybe one day when I came up here I’d have the nerve to tell him how I felt, that I was here, that I wanted him to notice me. Maybe one day I’d have the courage to tell Bear that I loved him, that I wanted to stay with him, isolated from everyone and everything.

Just the two of us.

I kept saying that, but it seemed that “one day” never did come.

2

Bear

I stood behind a thick redwood, watching as she drove off, her Jeep bouncing on the uneven terrain. My body was tight, hard in all the right places. I should feel shame for wanting her, for the things I thought about, the things I wanted to do to her. But I felt nothing but possessiveness and territorial desire.

In one hand I held an axe, the fallen tree I’d been chopping up for firewood just a few feet from me. I should’ve gone and spoken to her, said something, asked her to stay for dinner.

Told her she was mine.

I’d stayed back, hidden behind the trees, concealed by the shadows. Been a coward.

But I wanted Susie like I wanted to breathe. I’d watched her for years, desired her for just as long. She was the first woman, the only one who stirred my cold heart, had it beating faster, harder. But I was a coward, unsure how to proceed, knowing that if I told her what I wanted, that I desired her above all else, that I wanted her with me always, it would scare the hell out of her.

But a part of me, one I kept buried, hidden because of the ferocity of it, the intensity, was slowly rising up, taking control. It was growing stronger, that primal need to make Susie mine rising up like a tsunami, about to level anything in its path. Maybe I was weak, or maybe I was just ready to finally have a woman of my own. But I was letting that beast consume me, welcoming it. I was letting it take charge.

The next time Susie was up here she’d know exactly how much I wanted her.

* * *

Susie

I grabbed the two coffees from the barista and headed over to the small table in the corner. I glanced over at my best friend, Sherry, who’d gotten the nickname Cherry in high school due to her obsession with the fruit. She was already sitting down, her smart phone in hand, her eyes wide as she no doubt read one of her latest romance books. I sat down and set the cup in front of her, but she was oblivious to my presence.

For a few moments, I found humor in watching her read, knowing that she was probably on one of the juicy parts if she wasn’t even taking her focus off the screen. Leaning back in the chair, I brought my cup to my mouth and took a long drink of the vanilla chai late.

We lived in a pretty backwoods town, the population small and intimate, but our coffee shop was pretty damn incredible. It wasn’t one of those chain stores with the fancy drinks that took you thirty seconds to rattle off. It was a mom-and-pop coffee shop that sold homemade pastries along with specialty drinks.

And the vanilla chai latte was probably the fanciest one they had.

It was also heaven in a glass, an addictive ambrosia that I seemed to get daily with no guilt.

I glanced around the coffee shop, three other tables filled. One of them had Mr. Kingsley, a forty-five year old bachelor who also happened to be the twelfth grade English teacher at our local high school. He sat behind his ancient laptop, no doubt grading papers, his black rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He had this scowl on his face, then he shook his head and muttered something to himself as he typed away on his computer.

Then there were Bret and Harper, newlyweds who were expecting their first child. It had been a shotgun wedding due to Harper’s father, the town pastor, pulling it all together once he realized she was knocked up out of wedlock.