Brock showed Ginger to one of the guest suites on the second floor of the lodge. She dropped her backpack on the bed and slid into a rocking chair. Brock knelt in front of the fireplace in the corner and began to build a fire for her. She watched his strong back as he bent over the hearth, arranging the wood just right. He lit a match and kindled a wadded up bundle of newspaper. Moments later, there was a flickering fire radiating warmth through her bedroom.

The queen-sized log poll bed was covered in a handmade patchwork quilt. It looked incredibly comfortable and was calling her name. Her eyes felt like they were beginning to droop shut and she would lull herself to sleep at any moment. She stretched in the rocking chair when Brock stood from the fireplace.

“I’m so tired,” she said, yawning.

“If you need anything to eat, the kitchen downstairs is fully stocked. There’s an oven and a microwave. Feel free to use anything you need.”

“Are you leaving?” she asked, suddenly feeling like she didn’t want to be alone.

“I don’t live at the Lodge. I live in my own cabin around the corner from here, and I’m about to head home. Is there anything else that you need?” He looked down at her with some unreadable expression in his eyes. It was a mixture of fear and sadness and something else she couldn’t pinpoint.

“No. I’m fine. You’ve been incredibly kind. Thank you for helping me,” she said in a soft voice.

“Don’t mention that. I’ll see you in the morning, bright and early.”

With that, he gripped the doorknob and strode out into the hallway. Ginger could hear his footsteps clomping down the stairs, and the front door of the Lodge opening and closing behind him. She let out a long breath and sighed, rocking in the rocking chair. She was alone.

Something inside her seemed to crave Brock’s presence. It was really the most ridiculous thing, but his leaving made her feel suddenly empty in some way. It was almost as if she wanted to cry. She decided the emotions were simply an expression of her fatigue and she needed to go to bed.

She peeled off her clothes and climbed under the clean, comfortable blankets on the soft mattress, and laid her head on the down filled pillow. Her whole body screamed its exhaustion as her tight muscles slowly unwound and relaxed. Her bed at home was nowhere near as comfortable as this. Its lumpy mattress had been in the same place since she was three years old.

Ginger had been a child prodigy on the violin, and had gone to study in the Conservatory in New York as soon as she graduated high school. When she was at the Conservatory, she’d lived in the dorms. With her bright future and shining talent, Ginger had never expected to wind up broke and alone and homeless. But when her father took ill, she’d had to leave school and go home to take care of him. There was no other choice; she wasn’t going to let her father die alone with no one to nurse him.

Then, while she was helping her father from his hospital bed to his wheelchair, her grip had slipped and she’d broken her hand in several places. She could no longer play violin at the level she had before. Her career was over. She still owed over one hundred thousand dollars in loans for a degree she hadn’t even finished.

With the mounting student loan debt from the expensive private musical conservatory school that she was unable to finish, her father’s medical bills and tax debt, Ginger was left less than penniless when he finally passed away.

Ginger squeezed her eyes closed, trying to black out the memories of her broken dreams. If she could find the gold her father had stashed up at the hunting cabin, she could possibly pay off his tax debts and have a little bit left to start over again. She was skilled enough at music that she could give children lessons or play in a bluegrass band.

She could do none of those things until she had at least a little bit of financial security, because at this point Ginger had nothing and no home to even go back to. Her father’s condo had already been foreclosed upon the day she left for Alaska. The last two hundred dollars to her name was slated for Brock and the journey out into the backcountry.

If her father’s stories about the gold he’d panned from the stream that ran through his land were just the ravings of a dying man, Ginger would be far worse off than she was before. She would be stranded in Alaska with no way back to Seattle or any of the people she knew there.

A tear slid down her face and plopped on her pillow. She missed her father. She missed the dreams she once had as a young woman. All that kept her going was the hope that she could pay the tax debt on her father’s beloved hunting cabin and have something left of him that would help her carry on with her life.

With a heavy heart, Ginger slowly fell asleep.

In the morning, her stomach rumbled loudly and woke her up from fitful dreams. She groaned and sat up in bed, wiping the sleep from her eyes. Today would be the day that Brock would take her out into the backcountry for the first time. She threw her legs over the side of the bed and stepped down onto the cold wood floor.

She took a shower in the bathroom off her bedroom and got dressed in a clean pair of clothes with thermal underwear underneath. She slipped into her worn-out Converse, and trotted down the stairs to the main floor of the lodge. Brock had mentioned that she could find food in the kitchen, so she searched around the first floor until she found a gleaming stainless steel kitchen suitable for a small restaurant.

She opened the refrigerator, pulled out eggs and bacon, and began cooking them in the pans on the gas stove. She found coffee, cream, and sugar, and made herself a pot in the coffee pot on the counter. In no time, she had herself a hearty breakfast and a cup of coffee that she took to sit in the window seat looking out on the backyard behind the lodge.

There was a garden outside with mature trees and shrubs. Though late in the season, goldenrod and Russian sage still bloomed in a profusion of yellow and purple. Little pink flowers lined the flowerbeds in front of the larger flowering shrubs. A manicured lawn stretched out under the kitchen window, inviting her to come outside and walk around.

She heard the front door of the lodge open and close, and the sound of boots walking across the polished wood floors. A second later, Brock popped into the kitchen, dressed in his outdoor clothes, ready for the trek into the backcountry. Ginger looked down at her shabby street gear and frowned. Brock had been right--there was no way she would make it all the way to her father’s hunting lodge dressed like this.

“I see you found the food. Good. You won’t be hungry. When you’re done, we’ll start finding you the appropriate gear to make the trek.”

“I’m ready now,” she said, standing with her plate and mug. She rinsed them off in the sink and set them on the counter before following Brock out into the main room of the lodge. He unlocked a door and flicked on the lights inside.

Beyond was a small outdoor supply store, with everything from sleeping bags to hiking boots.

“We don’t have much of a selection, but we should have enough to fill your needs. The first thing we need to find you is a proper pair of shoes. What’s your size?” He asked.

“Seven and a half,” she said, looking through all of the racks of clothing and shelves of cooking gear. Brock handed her a shoebox and pointed to a chair in the corner.

“Try these on. This is the only style we have but we do have your size.”

Ginger went to the chair and changed into the hiking boots. When she had them laced up she walked around, testing the fit and the feel. She had owned a few pairs of hiking boots in her life, and these seemed to fit the bill.

“I think these should work just fine,” she said.

“You’re going to need some pants and a jacket at least,” he said. Ginger had seen the price tags on most of the high-quality outdoor gear they had in the store. It was pricey stuff--just the shoes were worth half of what she was going to pay Brock for his services. He thrust a jacket into her hands and then flicked through the racks of pants before picking out a pair and pushing them into her arms as well. She was slightly embarrassed that he had picked her exact size.

Even though Ginger had been living on powdered doughnuts from 7/11 and microwave burritos, she hadn’t lost the natural curves she’d developed the instant she’d hit puberty. Having a curvier figure than what was most popular for women these days, knowing that Brock knew exactly what her size was seemed a little bit embarrassing.

“Where can I try these on?” she asked about the pants.

“There’s a fitting room right through there,” he said, pointing at a curtain-covered doorway. She took the pants and the jacket and went into the fitting room where she kicked off her new hiking boots and old pants. She slipped on the new pants that hugged her curves perfectly and stepped back into her hiking boots. When she had the boots laced up, she slid into the jacket and zipped it up.

She looked at herself in the mirror. She was not only hundred percent warmer, she was also more comfortable, and felt ready to make her trek out into the wilderness.

She slid open the curtain and found Brock standing in the shop with his hands on his hips. He stared at her with the strangest expression on his face. She couldn’t tell if he was checking her out or if he was annoyed as hell to be talking to her at all. Considering that he was probably the hottest man she’d spoken with in ages, his unreadable expression was particularly unsettling.

“Much better,” he said. “You’re going to need a better sleeping bag, some gloves, and hat. I have everything else. You can borrow a hiking backpack and carry your share of the gear. We’re going to have to share a tent up there. It will be too heavy to carry two. I hope you’re going to be all right with that.”

She looked at Brock’s rugged, handsome face and nodded her head “yes,” perhaps with slightly too much vigor. Brock frowned and turned away.

“Good,” he said, with his back to her. “I have my gear already packed. We’ll pack up the rest of the gear we need and get moving. Daylight’s burning. We’ll only make it halfway up before sunset. You ready for this?” he asked her.

“I sure hope so.” Under her breath, she said, “Because this is my only hope.”

Brock began packing a second hiking backpack and had it ready for her to slip over her shoulders in only a few moments. “We’ll drive up to the trailhead and then we’ll be on foot from there. Let’s get moving.”

Brock lifted his own backpack and led her out to his pickup truck, where he put both backpacks in the back seat and climbed behind the wheel. Ginger got in beside him and strapped on her seatbelt, butterflies flapping inside her stomach.

“So, Ginger, did your parents name you that because your hair is so red?”

Ginger rolled her eyes. That wasn’t the first time anyone had ever made that connection and it definitely wouldn’t be the last. Ginger was definitely a ginger. She had kinky carrot red hair, milky pale skin, and a swath of freckles that covered almost every square inch of her body.

“Ha ha ha,” she said softly, looking out the window as the truck bumped down the gravel road. “Why is your name Brock?”

“I have no idea. It rhymes with rock. Maybe that’s what my parents were going for.”

“Are you a rock?”

“I have no idea. Everyone expects me to be.”

Ginger gazed over at the handsome man driving the truck. He had revealed something of his himself to her, and she wasn’t sure how to react. Her heart went out to him. Something seemed to be weighing on him, like there was a great deal of pressure coming down on him from every side.

“What do you mean?” she asked, wanting it to know more about this man that made her tingle all over.

“Yesterday I became the leader of my bear clan.”

Ginger had no idea that Brock was a bear shifter. Considering his height, rugged handsome features, and the sheer power of his presence, she should have known.

Ginger had met shifters before and they all had something in common with their animal form even when they were humans. Brock definitely had something in common with a bear. She could see it in his eyes and the shape of his face and nose. There was something powerful and feral about it. It called out to her and made her want to get closer to it, to feel its wild nature consuming her and drowning out all of the blackness in her life.

“And you don’t want to be the leader of your bear clan?” she asked.

“I do, I suppose. I knew I would be since I was a kid. My dad wants to step down now, so the responsibility falls on to me. But there are things that come along with that responsibility that I’m not sure I’m ready for.” He glanced over at her, his eyes bright. He gave her in assessing look that confused her and made her look away.

“What kind of responsibilities?” She asked.

“It’s nothing. Just shifter traditions.”

“Is there something you’d rather be doing?”

Brock pulled off the highway onto a narrow gravel road and continued along it until he’d parked deep in the forest. “I’d rather be doing this,” he said pulling the backpacks out of the backseat. He helped Ginger strap on her backpack and then pulled on his own.

“This?”

“Taking tours out into the wilderness. That’s all I really want to do. That’s part of the reason I accepted this job. I need to clear my head. Get away from town for a while before I make any decisions about the future.” He continued to look at her like he was inspecting her in some way, and his expression gave her a warm flooding feeling in her stomach that went lower and tingled between her legs. Ginger looked away and bit her lip, confused why Brock was having such an effect on her.

He closed the truck doors and shoved his keys in his pocket. “Let’s go,” he said, charging up the trailhead and into the forest beyond.