Yeah, Dog! Get him! Get that bear!
“What the hell is going on in here?!”
Hmmm. The bear speaks English. That’s something new. I’ve never had talking bears in my dreams before. Must be the cabin that’s inspiring my creativity.
“Who the hell are you?!” he growls.
Rude. This bear has a lot to learn about human manners.
Then a smell hits me and it doesn’t compute. Smellovision? Since when do I have that in my dreams? My brain urges me to get up because there is something very wrong with this odor. It smells like a stinky dog who hasn’t had a bath in about a year. And it’s right up against my nose.
“Holy crap, Jaws, have you been rolling in something?” My words are a little slurred, from the wine or the sleep I’m too disoriented to know for sure.
When my eyelids finally peel open, I have to blink several times to get the images in front of me to make any sense. And then when they do, I shoot from my lying-down position to a sitting-up one and grab the very angry little dog and hold him against me along with the covers.
There really is a bear in here.
“You’d better start talking, Lady, or you’re going to be in a lot of trouble.”
“You’re not a bear.” I’m blinking too much. The wine is kicking my ass. What time is it, anyway?
He scowls at me. “What?” His gaze drops to the table and takes in my wine glass. “Are you drunk?”
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” I’m finally getting my wits back and realizing the situation I’m in.
Me and Jaws.
Alone.
In a cabin.
In the middle of nowhere.
And a strange man has broken and entered.
I look out of the corner of my eye and see a knife on the counter about six feet away. My heart plummets when I realize I’ll never make it there in time.
“What am I doing here?” he asks, incredulous. “That’s pretty rich coming from someone who broke into my cabin.”
“Your cabin? This isn’t your cabin. This is James Oliver’s cabin. And Jana’s too, probably.” My chin goes up. “They loaned it to me.”
He lets out a long hiss, shaking his head as his chin drops. “Fucking-A awesome.”
He’s not reacting like I expected him to. “You know them?”
He leaves the family room and goes into the kitchen. “You could say that.” Opening the fridge, he leans in to see what’s inside.
“That’s my food in there, and I don’t have a lot, so don’t even think about stealing any.”
He glances at me over the door and then goes back to his food-ogling.
“You buy that wood out there on the porch?” he asks, his voice muffled by the fridge.
The strange question throws me off, making me forget I should be scared. Jaws is confused too. He stops growling and sits down next to my hip.
“Yes.”
He stands and looks at the fireplace. “Tell me you didn’t try to start a fire with ho-logs.”
“Ho-logs?” I look over at my pitiful attempt at fire-building, trying to figure out what he’s talking about. I used logs, but ho-logs? Is that a brand? “What’re those?”
He closes the fridge and stares at me with his mouth hanging open. He’s kind of smiling and shaking his head.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m trying to figure out if you’re really that ignorant or if you’ve had waaay too much of that wine.” His gaze fixes on the mostly empty bottle in front of me.
“What?” I throw the covers off me, accidentally covering Jaws. He struggles to free himself as I stand to face the intruder. “Did you seriously just call me ignorant?”
“Did you seriously not know you have to split the logs down to a reasonable size to get them to burn? You can’t put the bigger ones on until you already have the fire going or it won’t be hot enough for them to catch.”
I glance at the logs in the fire and realize they really do look kind of big. Oooooh, waaaait a minute. Did he say ho-logs or whole logs? I’m betting the latter.
I shrug. “I’ve never lived in the mountains before.”
“Where are you from?”
“Boston.”
“It snows in Boston, last time I checked.”
“Yeah, well, it might snow in Boston but that doesn’t mean I build fires there.”
He points to the fireplace. “That’s not going to burn.”