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Goldie and the Billionaire Bear
Chapter One
Adrian

Maybe if I hadn’t been so tired, I would have caught the signs before it was too late.

I would have turned on a light, for one thing. Or kept my shirt on. I would have seen her bag by the door and the bowl of half-eaten oatmeal on the table.

I would have seen her in the bed before I nearly laid right on top of her.

But then, I would never have been in a stand-off with a beautiful blonde stranger in my cabin while she held my mom’s cowboy figurine in my direction like she was going to defend herself with it should the need arise.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

Lifting my hands in surrender, I hesitated. I wasn’t exactly at my best. I needed to clear my head before this went any further.

It was time to press pause and back things up a bit.

~Fifteen Minutes Earlier~

The farther I drove, the deeper my dread grew.

My family’s cabin was the last place I wanted to be, but after hanging out with the guys, Mom had sprung her nasty little surprise on me—and it got to me.

I had to get out of there. To think. To search.

Bad memories, awkward conversations, and experiences I’d suppressed for years—they were all rearing their annoying heads at the sight of every new tree.

To anyone else, I was sure the view here was spectacular. All I saw were the arguments and disappointments that made me leave in the first place.

All the reasons I should have known better than to expect any kind of inheritance after Dad’s passing.
So to find out that inheritance had actually been granted—but that it was missing?

Yeah. I wasn’t about to wait around back at the ranch.

How could I sleep and wait until morning to look for it? I knew the answer; I wouldn’t have been able to rest. Not until I got to the bottom of this.

Dad had rarely reached out to me in any way other than in admonishment. Though I knew better, part of me hoped that this lockbox he’d bequeathed to me might actually be different. Part of me hoped that it might hold something in it that could help me see him in a different light.

I mean, he was gone now. I didn’t want to keep resenting him.

A haze shrouded over my mind. Weariness trickled from the top of my skull, along my forehead, and down into my eyes, which began to droop.

I gripped the steering wheel and shook myself. The smartness of my spontaneous action was fading—fast.

It was nearly midnight, and I was tired.

I was tempted to turn back, catch a few Zs, and come again in the morning when it made more sense—when I was in a better mental state rather than braving the winding mountain roads half asleep. But I’d already come this far. In fact, I was fairly certain I’d be at the cabin within minutes.

Whether it was the middle of the night or not, I didn’t need any kind of direction to tell me I was almost there. It’d been years since I’d been to the cabin, but the way there was instinctive. The truth was, I could probably find it in my sleep.

Not that I wanted to test that theory. This car was new.

The road widened momentarily. A single cab, white Toyota pickup was pulled off to the side. The sight was just what I needed. My curiosity blinked, rousing me enough to keep me awake. The truck was abandoned from the look of things, unless someone was having car trouble.

I pulled to a stop beside the pickup and glanced around. No one was in sight. The hood wasn’t gaped open. Maybe someone had picked up whoever this person was, and they’d be coming back for the vehicle in the morning.

This particular route was popular with off-roaders and mountain bikers. If it wasn’t the middle of the night, I would have thought they’d hauled their bikes from the truck bed and were out enjoying the scenery. Maybe they were camping.

Whatever the case, I shrugged it off and pulled back onto the road until I saw the dirt road in the trees, so often missed by passersby. It was a good thing I’d seen it—the exhaustion wearing on my eyes was getting heavier.

The road turned from pavement to dirt. I braced myself through the bumpy jaunt that led to my least favorite place in the world.

I shook my head a few more times to remain coherent enough to make it to the cabin’s driveway. Though the road leading there wasn’t paved, the driveway was.

The Hummer I’d bought when I’d come back for the funeral took to the road better than I expected. An SUV wasn’t typically the kind of car I drove—I tended to prefer something a little sportier—but its military style was dope. I liked its massive storage and comfortable driver’s seat too.

Lofty and solemn, the cabin came into view through a break in the trees. The exposed logs were stacked perfectly. Though right now they were shadowed, I knew come morning they would glow in the sunlight.

Something hitched in my chest, but I did my best to disregard it. It was the same indignant, stubborn resentment I’d experienced every time I’d come here.

You’d think with Dad gone now, the bitter feelings would leave too. But no, they were still as insistent as ever.