Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Sabrina stepped over the last string line and into the cabin frame, her hand trailing along a raw stud as if she could will the walls thicker just by touching them.
The wood felt rough and warm under her palm, still carrying yesterday's sun, and she let her fingers linger there for a moment before moving deeper inside.
The boards creaked under her boots. Yesterday's footprints and scuffs overlapped in the sawdust like a palimpsest of effort, layers upon layers of work made visible.
Colby's prints, heavier on the heel. Jason's, wide and flat.
Hers, smaller, tracking back and forth between the doorway and the far wall where she'd held that first section of framing while Jason nailed it into place.
The three of them had stamped a whole new shape into this patch of ground, and for one long, ridiculous second, she half expected the space to hum with it. To vibrate with the accumulated energy of all that hope and sweat and purpose.
Instead, everything felt off.
She frowned and turned in a slow circle, her boots scuffing against the plywood subfloor.
The big opening for the window still faced the trees, framing that view of shifting leaves and dappled light she'd fallen in love with.
The doorway still looked toward the path they would carve out later, the gentle slope where guests would walk from their cars to this threshold.
The three walls stood exactly where they had stood when they'd left yesterday evening, braced and solid, their bones visible through the gaps where siding would eventually go.
But something in her chest stayed tight. A warning she couldn't name.
Colby stepped up behind her, his boots announcing him before she turned. "You all right?"
"I don't know," she said honestly. "Something's wrong."
He came inside, ducking under the header the way he always did, even though he had inches to spare, and stopped beside her. Close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off him. "Talk to me."
She scanned the floor again, trying to pinpoint what had triggered the alarm bells. "Did you move the sawhorses?"
He followed her gaze, his eyes tracking the same path hers had taken. "No. Why?"
"They were here," she said, pointing to the left side of the space, closer to the doorway. "Right there, against that stud. The saw sat on this one. Jason set it up that way specifically so he could feed boards through without tripping over the braces or getting tangled in the cord."
Now the horses sat in the middle of the floor, positioned at an angle that made no sense for the work they'd been doing. The circular saw lay on its side near one metal leg, the power cord coiled in a loose loop that made the back of her neck prickle with unease.
Colby's shoulders went still; that particular stillness she'd learned meant he was shifting into a different mode. Assessment. Calculation. The version of him that had spent years running into burning buildings while other people ran out. "You sure about that placement?"
"I'm very sure," she said. "I spent an hour yesterday learning how to use that thing without losing any fingers. I know exactly where it was when we left. I can still feel the vibration in my arms."
He walked over and picked up the saw, handling it with the easy familiarity of someone who'd used a hundred tools just like it. He checked the blade guard, the trigger mechanism, and the length of the cord for any fraying or damage. "Nothing's broken."
"That's not the point," she said, her voice tighter than she wanted it to be. "We locked the trailer when we left. The tools were supposed to be in it, not scattered out here like someone was playing with them."
They had parked the tool trailer on the gravel turnoff at the edge of the property, out of the way of the work site but still within sight of the cabin frame.
Jason had locked it himself, making a little production of the whole thing, tossing her the keys with a theatrical flourish and a five-minute lecture about insurance liability and the importance of securing job sites overnight.
"Stay here," Colby said quietly, setting the saw down on one of the sawhorses.
"No," she said, just as quietly but with an edge that surprised her.
He gave her a look that said they could argue about the chain of command later and stepped back out through the open doorway. She followed close behind, her heartbeat picking up speed as she crossed the rough threshold into the morning light.
The field looked the same at first glance.
The tree line standing sentinel at the edge of the property.
The rise of the land where she'd imagined future cabins tucked among the oaks.
The narrow tire tracks from their own trucks pressed into the grass along with dried mud from yesterday's arrivals and departures.
Then Colby stopped short, his whole body going rigid.
"Oh," she breathed, the sound escaping before she could catch it.
The trailer door hung crooked on its hinges, the lock twisted on its hasp like someone had wrenched it with more force than finesse. It dangled by a single screw, the metal around it scarred and gouged where a pry bar or crowbar had done its work.
Her stomach dropped, a cold plunge that left her feeling hollowed out.
"Colby."
"I see it," he said, his voice flat and controlled in a way that told her exactly how not-calm he actually was.
He walked to the back of the job site trailer with careful, measured steps, avoiding the obvious paths someone else had taken, and set the saw down on a patch of undisturbed grass.
The little ramp they used for loading heavy equipment still sat folded up against the trailer's rear, but the gap around the door's edge told its own story.
Someone had pried at the seam until the latch gave way.
"Don't touch anything," he said over his shoulder.
She froze on the short stretch of dirt between the cabin frame and the violated trailer, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. "Was anything in there worth stealing? Anything someone would actually want?"
"Tools," he said, peering into the dim interior without climbing inside.
"Hand tools, mostly. The generator. A couple of nail guns Jason brought.
Some electrical supplies for when we get to that stage.
" He leaned back, his brow furrowing. "Generator's still here.
Nail guns are in the box right where I left them yesterday. "
"Then why break in?" Her voice came out thin, reedy, nothing like the confident woman she'd been yesterday, holding a circular saw for the first time. "Why go to all that trouble and not take anything?"
He straightened and turned slowly, his eyes sweeping the ground in a systematic pattern. "I have a few theories, and I don't like any of them."
She forced herself to look, too, to really see instead of just staring in shock.
Fresh boot prints marked the dirt around the trailer, deeper than the tracks they'd left yesterday, the edges still sharp and defined in a way that meant the mud had been wetter when they were made.
Someone had walked up to the trailer, paced back and forth a few times as if deliberating, then turned toward the cabin.
Toward her future.
"Those aren't ours," she said, pointing at the clearest set of prints.
"No," he said. "They're not. Different tread pattern. Heavier weight, based on the depth. Someone bigger than you, probably bigger than me."
She tracked the direction of the steps with her eyes, following the path from the access road to the trailer to the cabin and back again. A circuit. A reconnaissance. "You think it was kids? Teenagers looking for something to mess with on a boring night?"
"Kids would've taken something they could sell or brag about," he said.
"The nail guns, maybe. Definitely the generator if they had a way to carry it.
And they would've left a mess. Empty beer cans.
Graffiti. Something to mark territory." He shook his head slowly. "This is too neat. Too deliberate."
Her mouth went dry, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. "So this was about sending a message."
"Feels that way," he said.
She heard the word that went unsaid, hanging in the air between them like smoke. Again. The inn. The fire. The way her entire life had gone sideways in one awful, violent evening that still visited her in nightmares she couldn't shake.
Her hand flew to her throat before she could stop the motion, fingers pressing against her pulse point as if she could slow her racing heart by force of will. "Colby."
He closed the distance between them in three long strides and put his palms on her upper arms, grounding her with the solid warmth of his hands. "I've got you. Breathe."
"This is my land," she whispered, the words scraping out of her like gravel. "No one should be here unless I invite them. No one should be walking around in the dark, touching my things, and leaving footprints on ground that belongs to me."
"I agree," he said, his thumbs making small circles against her shoulders. "And we're going to find out who did this."
The urge to scan the tree line nearly overwhelmed her, that primal instinct to check for predators, to identify the threat before it could strike again. She forced herself not to whirl like prey, but every rustle of leaves and twitter of birdsong sounded amplified, suspicious.
"What if they're still here?" she asked. "Watching?"
"They're not," he said with a certainty that felt like an anchor. "The tracks are dry. They were here before the sun got high enough to bake the moisture out of this mud. Probably early this morning, before dawn. Long gone by the time we arrived."
"How do you know that?" she asked. "How can you tell just by looking at dirt?"