Once Upon A Time Series Book 1 Goldie's Bears

By Cindy Larie

How do you choose between three perfect men? This is Goldie's dilemma, after a hike on a beautiful Oregon mountain end up with her racing through the trees, terrified, and with no idea of who she is. Stumbling across a lonely log cabin, she gets more than she bargained for, when she discovers it's owned by three breathtakingly handsome Were-bear brothers who are more than happy to take care of her every need.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cindy Larie
• Release date: Jun 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311758446

Cindy Larie

I am an author of mostly erotica/erotic romance with a bit of scifi and sweet romance thrown in. I have visited or lived in each of the 48 continental United States at one time or another. Hawaii and Alaska are on my list of places to see. I've been to Canada and one day plan to tour Mexico as well. I've worked as a taxi driver, an exotic dancer/waitress, a dump truck driver, a storage facility manager and a traveling carnival worker. I love writing stories more than anything (other than my fabulous grandson (: ) and hope to one day support myself with my stories. I live in Louisiana with my boyfriend, two grown kids, an awesome grandson, and several spoiled cats. I truly believe you can do anything you set your mind to.

Book preview

1

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I woke as the sun was starting its final descent. Twilight was tiptoeing through the forest, tossing shadows like beads in a Mardi Gras parade, and the naturally dim trail was becoming steadily darker. My forehead over my right eye stung and burned as if I’d been branded. Investigating the area led to blood-stained fingers and shadowy memories of tumbling head over heels down a steep incline. Guessing that my fall had been broken by something hard, I canvassed the ground around me. Finding nothing in the immediate vicinity, I widened my search—and stubbed my toe on a half buried rock at the base of the hill. Noticing a black stain on the rock, I leaned closer but couldn’t be sure if it was blood in the rapidly approaching dark.

Had I been up there? Staring toward the crest of the hill, I wracked my brain, but came up blank. I couldn’t remember. Then a chill traced its way up my spine, as I came to the realization that it wasn’t just the past hours I was missing. I couldn’t remember anything at all. What was my name? Where was I from? Why was I here? Where was I going? Was anyone expecting me? Would anyone worry, if I didn’t show up? A wave of vertigo swept me off my feet, as I struggled to fill the blank spots in my head and I gasped for breath, panicking.

A low growl reverberated down the slope, turning into a full-throated roar. It echoed back at me from all around, and I couldn’t tell if it was close or further away. Panic nipped at my heels and fear loomed over me like a towering wave of destruction, unreasonably huge and threatening. The tiny hairs on my arms and along my neck stood at attention and, terrified, I ran. Roots rose to trip me up, and branches reached out to slap me, scratch my face and yank my hair, but I couldn’t stop. Fear had me in its scaly grasp, and I was no better than the mouse hearing an eagle screaming in the distance. I had to flee.

An undetermined time later, a light caught my eye. It flickered through the trees, beckoning to me and promising safety. Exhausted and most likely concussed and dehydrated, I altered my path. I never even paused to wonder what a light was doing in the middle of the forest on an Oregon mountainside. Soon, I was stepping through a rough-hewn gate and walking up a crushed stone path to the door of a lonely log cabin.

Hello, is anyone home? I called, knocking on the door. When no one answered, I knocked harder, and the door swung in on well greased hinges. Warm air drifted out, surrounding me and teasing me with the scent of strong coffee and chili. My stomach grumbled, protesting, and I blushed, glad no one was there to hear it. Clearing my throat, I stepped across the threshold and tried again, Hello, is anyone there?

Behind me, branches broke and the ground shook, in the darkness beyond the reach of the porch light. Sleepy birds took flight, and assorted animals scrambled away, frightened by whatever was out there. Goosebumps chased a path up my arms and, without another thought, I closed and locked the door behind me, securing myself in the seeming safety of the empty cabin.

Hoping the owners would understand, I wandered away from the door and further inside, following the delicious scents that were torturing my nose. On the other side of the tiny entryway, I peeked through an opening and discovered a rustic yet modern kitchen with an adorable breakfast nook. Copper and cast iron pans hung from the ceiling, within easy reach near the oversize stove. Cooking utensils hung on hooks attached to the wall. Glass storage containers, filled with essentials like flour, rice, sugar, coffee and tea lined the counters, and heavy plates, bowls, glasses and mugs were neatly stacked inside shelves suspended above them.

Across from the stove, I discovered the origins of the delicious smells. On the granite counter, in the breakfast nook, in front of three wooden stools, I found fresh brewed coffee, sweet cream, fresh butter, sour cream, cheese and three bowls of chili, bracketed by an assortment of silverware and three huge coffee mugs.

As I stood there, the effects of my sprint of terror seemed to tumble over me like a rock slide. My throat felt as dry as the Sahara desert beneath the noon sun. Every drop of saliva evaporated and my tongue seemed too big for my mouth. Not