Chapter 1
PEOPLE.
Ian Hudson could hear people .
Duke barked, and Ian snapped, “Hush, boy.”
Not that he was opposed to people in general, but he’d bought acres of this hillside in order to have peace and quiet. When he wanted to hear other people, he could drive into Everly Falls, grab a meal, get a haircut, buy some groceries. But when he was home and working on his newfound hobby, he didn’t want to be disturbed by chatter or the sound of cars passing by or a lawn mower.
A woman’s laugh bounced against the walls of his woodworking shed. Well, it was a full-blown workshop, with state-of-the-art machinery. Something he’d invested in a year ago when everything in his life had upended. Ironically, he was fine with the sounds he made, whether he was constructing a piece of furniture or repairing something.
Duke pressed his nose against the low window of the workshop, as if he could see through the sawdust film on the glass. He whined, hoping for what would not happen. There was no way Ian was letting the golden retriever out of the workshop, because he’d just bound toward the people and act like he had a set of new best friends.
How close were the people outside? There wasn’t another house or cabin for a couple of miles, unless one counted the old Miller place. It was more of a cottage near the main road—which was the only paved road around. The Miller cottage hadn’t been available for purchase, since the county owned the property that ran parallel to the rural highway. Ian had inquired.
Maybe they were hikers, and they’d pass by in a couple minutes. He should just return to his work. Instead, he pulled off his safety goggles. “Stay here, Duke, and no barking,” he commanded the dog, despite his soulful brown eyes begging to come along.
Ian strode out of the workshop. A quick glance around didn’t show the hikers—but he could still hear their voices. Two women, it sounded like. Then a lower rumble followed. A man was with them, too.
Curious, Ian strode along the path that connected to the narrow dirt road that led to his cabin in one direction, then to the main road in the other direction, right past the old Miller place. Perhaps the hikers had already finished their excursion and had come across the quaint cottage. It needed a lot of work to ever be inhabitable, but any passerby could see the charm of the place.
Ian wasn’t planning on speaking to the hikers or introducing himself. He just wanted to make sure they weren’t going to snoop around. Or heaven forbid, trespass on his own property. Through the trees, he spotted a wide swath of color that had to be a car. Red, to be exact. And another color. White. Belonging to a truck.
The voices were louder now, cheerful, and there was a lot of walking back and forth.
Ian’s gut twisted. No . . . The next few steps brought three people into clearer view—two women and a man. And they were . . . moving stuff into the cottage.
They couldn’t be squatters. Their vehicles and clothing and furniture negated that idea. Then who were these people, and what gave them the right to move into an abandoned cottage? Surely, nothing in that place worked—was the water and sewer even hooked up? Not to mention the electricity.
Ian set his hands on his hips, debating whether to call the county offices, or to confront the trio himself. It was Saturday, so it might be hard to get the county office to answer the phone—unless he called the emergency number. Which was probably reserved for forest fires. And this wasn’t exactly an emergency . . .
With a heavy sigh, Ian cut through the trees, taking the shortcut path to the cottage. He knew his approach wouldn’t be silent—there were too many fallen autumn leaves that crunched under his boots. When he emerged, he found three people staring at him.
“Oh, you scared me,” one of the women said. Her sandy-blonde hair was tied up in a peach-colored scarf, and her shirt was a kaleidoscope of colors he probably couldn’t name.
The other woman stood on the porch, shaded by the roof. She held a box on her hip and didn’t seem all that startled. Her gaze was curious, and she took her time scanning him from head to foot.
He probably had sawdust in his hair, and his work jeans were not much cleaner. He was pretty sure the T-shirt beneath his flannel shirt had wood stain on it—no amount of laundry detergent could ever get it out. Not that he cared about the state of his clothing and hair, but he knew plenty of people in Everly Falls were quick to judge—small town and all.
Maybe he should have moved to a big city—he’d be more anonymous—because by the looks of it, his carefully arranged tranquility and peace had come to an end.
The man stepped forward. Dark hair, dark eyes, around six two, which set him a couple of inches shorter than Ian. “You the neighbor up the road?” the man asked.
His expression was friendly, open, and that annoyed Ian. He wasn’t interested in chitchat or making friends.
“Neighbor?” Ian rasped. “To whom?”
The man swept a hand toward the woman on the porch. She was still standing in the shade of the roof, but he could see that she was blonde, pretty in a high-maintenance way, and petite enough that she’d probably blow away in the next storm coming through the hills.
“Brandy’s moving in today,” the man continued. “We heard there was a resident up here.”
“You mean a recluse,” the woman with the peach scarf said with a laugh. She turned her smiling hazel eyes on Ian. “You look normal enough, though.”
He must not be doing his best glower, so he folded his arms. “And you all are . . . ?”
“I’m Austin Hayes, and this is my fiancé, Everly Kane.”
Ian’s frown deepened. “Everly, as in Everly Falls?”
The peach-scarf woman waved away his question. “Yeah, sure. It’s old news. This is my sister, Brandy. Seems like you’ve got a new neighbor.”
Brandy still hadn’t spoken, but her eyes remained locked on him.
“You’re Ian Hudson, right? The retired financier?” Everly continued. “Don’t see you in town much.”
“Don’t go to town much,” he deadpanned, keeping his arms folded. “I thought this was county property. Are you, uh, employed by the county? Are they renting to you or something?”
Please say yes, and please say that no one is actually moving into the cottage, and I won’t have any neighbors.
“Nope,” Everly said. “My sister is moving in. She went through a recent, uh, life event and other things, and my mom begged her to stay in Everly Falls, and this was a compromise.”
Ian wasn’t sure of all that Everly had said, but she hadn’t answered+ his question.
“You’re not renting? The county wouldn’t sell to me—so why would they sell to you?” Maybe Ian was being rude, but he needed to know.
“Here’s the thing,” Everly said as Austin came to stand by her. The pair linked hands. “My great-grandad built this place, and when the county bought his property from him, the deed stated that his descendants could still live here until the county develops the land.” She spread her arms. “Nothing’s developed, so here we are.”
Ian knew he was frowning, but this was all news to him. How did he not know about the deed? “I thought you said your last name was Kane.”
“Miller is our mother’s side,” Everly clarified.
Ian rubbed the back of his neck. So. The waif of a woman standing on the porch, apparently mute, was moving into this dilapidated cottage. Maybe she was a quiet person? Unlike her chatty sister?
“I’m so glad you’ll have such a close neighbor, Brandy,” Everly said. “We could come up for barbecues and other neighborly activities.” She grinned at Ian, then Austin. “What do you think, guys?”
“Sounds good to me,” Austin said, his mouth quirked.
Both Brandy and Ian remained mute.
“I could use a hand if you’ve got a little time,” Austin added, motioning toward the bed of the truck. Furniture pieces had been strapped in, and they would definitely be awkward for a person to carry single-handedly.
And that was how Ian ended up not only meeting his new neighbor, but also helping her move in.