“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Baloo,” Louie answered, just as solemnly. Then, a big smile creased his simian features and he jumped on the bar. “What are we all standin’ here for? Special oc-ca-sions deserve biiiig cel-e-bra-tions!”

“Now yer talkin’!” Baloo exclaimed, putting on his hat. “Maestro, strike up the band!” He snapped his fingers and the band broke into a rousing rendition of ‘I’m Gone’.

Kit tugged on Baloo’s shirt. “Papa Bear, we’ve got to deliver the butter pronto!” he reminded sternly and pointed to his watch. “The ice is gonna melt out in that heat.”

Baloo, bouncing to the music, waved him off. “Aw, relax, partner. Bo’s Better Bitter Butter’ll make better biscuit batter if it’s a little warm. What’s better than a warm biscuit? Man, what a beat!” He jigged around the room to the music.

“But Miz Cunningham will...” Kit began.

“Ya gotta lighten up, Kit-boy, if yer gonna be my son. Let Papa Bear learn ya what life’s all about.” Baloo patted the boy condescendingly on the head.

“You won’t be alive long enough to teach me anything when Miz Cunningham finds out you ruined her shipment,” Kit muttered under his breath, adjusting his hat indignantly. “She’ll have a meltdown.”

Letting his spoon clatter in the now-empty coconut shell, Kit morosely watched Baloo and Louie dance. He knew it wouldn’t be long before the ice melted and, consequently, the butter. He also knew his Papa Bear couldn’t care less. When Baloo started partying, obligations flew out the window no matter how pressing they were. The boy sighed and hopped off the barstool to retrieve his homework from the Sea Duck.

Higher for Hire
Five Hours Later

Darkness had drawn its mantle over the tropical city of Cape Suzette when the Sea Ducktaxied up to the dock outside of a small brown building overlooking the harbor. As usual, Baloo was attempting to think up a good excuse for their tardiness.

“What’s our story, Kit? How’s about we’re late, ‘cause we got hit by a deer?”

From his dour countenance, the cub was clearly not impressed. Arms crossed, he retorted, “A flying deer? Not even Wildcat would buy that.”

“Reindeer fly,” Baloo said weakly, turning off the engines.

Kit shook his head.

“No, huh? Swarmed by giant dragonflies?”

“Used it two weeks ago, and she didn’t believe you then.”

Baloo snapped his fingers. “How’s about this one, navigator? We were held up by butter fanatics with super large buckets of popcorn. It took everything we had to fight ‘em off!”

The duo exited the plane and walked slowly towards Higher for Hire.

Kit sighed in exasperation. “Why don’t we just tell Miz Cunningham the truth, Papa Bear? She knows we were at Louie’s.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Baloo asked, frowning.

Bear and cub stepped through the door into the office. Rebecca, a petite brown bearess, was stationed at her desk. Impatiently drumming her fingers on the desktop, she glowered at her flight crew from between two large stacks of papers. Her seven-year-old daughter Molly, a little yellow bearess, sat on the edge of the desk. She was scribbling in a Danger Woman coloring book.

“Baloo! Kit!” the little girl cried happily. She hopped off the desk and ran over to Kit. “Wanna play tail gunner?”

“Not now, Molly,” Kit answered softly. An uneasy sensation was growing in his stomach from the furious expression on his boss’s face.

“Now, Beckers, I can explain,” said Baloo, flashing her his most charming, disarming smile. His mind raced to think of the perfect alibi. “Ya see, Kit an’ me...”

His boss held up a hand to silence him. “Don’t give me another one of your lame excuses, Baloo. I know exactly where you were, and I also know that the butter was liquefied to a pool of mushy goo by the time you finally delivered it two hours late,” she said in the silky smooth, ominously tranquil tone of pure rage.

A uncomfortable silence fell over the foursome, during which Baloo and Kit fidgeted nervously under Rebecca’s glare.

Finally, she said quietly, but firmly, “You’re fired, Baloo.”

“I’m...what!” Baloo cried in disbelief. His boss had threatened to fire him at least once a day, but had never carried through with her threat. And now, when they were engaged, she had the audacity to do it. Within the span of a few moments, his expression changed from astonished to angry. In his fury, he balled up his large fists, seeming to grow in height and girth.

“Mommy, you can’t! Baloo’s gonna be my daddy!” Molly shrieked hysterically, tears pooling in her brown eyes. She latched herself onto one of the pilot’s legs.

Without taking her eyes from Baloo’s red face, Rebecca said tranquilly, “Kit, take Molly outside, please.”

A fearful shiver streaked down Kit’s spine. Not wanting to witness a second Great War, he obediently took the sniffling little girl by the paw and led her outside.

When the door closed behind the cubs, Baloo stomped across the room and punched his fists against the ledger, causing everything on the desk to skip. “Now listen here, Rebecca! This!” POUND! “Ain’t!” POUND! “Fair!” POUND! POUND!

“Sit down, Baloo,” she motioned to a crate beside the desk; “and I’ll tell you what’s not fair.”

Mutely, he complied. If looks could kill, Rebecca would have been buried six feet under.

Rebecca swivelled in her chair to face him. Taking one of his large paws in both of hers, she said softly, “Baloo, let’s get one thing straight. If we are going to be married, I have to be able to trust you completely. No more dumb excuses. No more secrets. Everything has to be aboveboard and out in the open.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but Rebecca cut him off with, “Honestly, I don’t mind your going to Louie’s. You have to refuel somewhere, and Louie’s does have the cheapest gas.”

In spite of his black mood, Baloo’s lips twitched at her characteristic comment. Saving money ranked high on her list of priorities.

“I realize that Louie is your friend, and I don’t mind your having a few laughs with him. It’s just...” she rubbed her forehead wearily; “would it have hurt you to have taken five minutes out of your jocularity to call me and tell me you were going to be late?”

“Jockey? There’s no horses at Louie’s.”

Fighting to keep a straight face, Rebecca chuckled inwardly. His malapropisms made him even more lovable. “Not ‘jockey’. Jocularity. It means having fun or partying.”

Baloo hung his head in shame. “Oh...sorry, Rebecca,” he mumbled. He was startled by her quiet approach to this conversation. It made him feel guiltier than if she had, as was her wont, ranted and raved.

Quietly, she continued, “In a few months, you’re going to be the head of the household, and you have to start acting like it, no matter what.”

Baloo again opened his mouth, but she tightened her grip on his hand and forged on earnestly. “Not only that, but you’ll have a wife and two children to help provide for. This business is all we have, Baloo. If it goes under, we’ll lose everything - our home, the Sea Duck...”

“Not my baby!” Baloo cried.

Rebecca nodded, pleased that she had hit a nerve. She hoped that this time she had finally gotten through his thick skull that punctuality and responsibleness were important. She smiled a shy smile up at him.

A year ago, Baloo was the last man on earth that Rebecca thought she would ever be engaged to. True, he had a million bad habits that drove her to distraction, but he had a good heart; and she liked nothing better than to be held, safe and secure, in his strong, yet gentle, arms. Smiling up at him, she loved the way his unruly hair fell over his forehead, the boyish grin on his face, and the tender light in his eyes. It was nice - sitting there, hand in hand, knowing that she was loved in return, just the two of them. Alone.

As one mesmerized, Baloo gazed deep into her eyes - large, velvety brown eyes that he had once compared to two bowls of chocolate pudding. He thought to himself,If bein' engaged makes Becky so calm, cool, an' composed, I shoulda asked her a long time ago, as the soft pair of eyes drew closer, closer, closer...

Then, instantaneously, as if a switch had been flipped, those eyes flashed dangerously. Roughly tweaking his ear, she shouted at the top of her lungs, “I ought to strangle you for the despicable stunt you pulled on the Bo’s Better Bitter Butter account! Thanks to your goofing off, we lost a very, very profitable client! No clients means no money means no plane means no parties at Louie’s! Do you hear me?”

His ears ringing, a dazed Baloo gulped. He nodded quickly.

A sunshiny smile broke over her face, dispelling the storm clouds on her brow. “Now, the next item on the agenda - I need a pilot. Do you know anyone who’s available?”

Baloo, who was becoming accustomed to her abruptly shifting highs and lows, knew that it was best to just play along. He warily jerked a thumb at himself. “How’s ‘bout me?”

Rebecca looked him up and down with a critical eye. “Hm...can you lift heavy objects?”

Baloo flexed his muscles. “Yep.”

“How are your piloting skills?”

“The best in the world,” with false modesty, he added, “by my own estimation.”

Shooting him a coquettish glance through her eyelashes, she asked nonchalantly, “How are you at kissing?”

Taking her in his arms, he gave her the longest, most passionate kiss he had ever given her.

When they finally broke apart, Rebecca, who was swooning a little, whispered breathlessly, “You’re hired.”

Baloo, his cheek resting on hers, laughed softly in her ear. “I think I’m gonna like this job.”

They shared another quick kiss before she shouted towards the door, “You can come in now, kids!”

Kit and Molly tumbled through the entryway where they had been standing with their little ears cemented to the door.

Rebecca stuffed papers in her briefcase. Brightly, she said, “I want

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