Chapter 5
EVERETT
Three days.
Three days of waking up with Rowan in my bed. Three days of coffee together before dawn, her bare feet tucked under her on my kitchen stool. Three days of watching her work through my father's records with the kind of focus that makes me want to interrupt her just to see her eyes flash.
Three days of falling for a woman who could still destroy everything.
I'm splitting wood behind the cabin when Hank's truck pulls up. He climbs out looking like someone kicked his dog.
"What?" I set down the axe.
"There's a guy at the office. From the county." He spits on the ground. "Her boss, I think. Showed up about twenty minutes ago."
My stomach drops. "Where's Rowan?"
"Inside with him. Ev—" He hesitates. "He didn't look happy."
I'm in my truck before he finishes the sentence.
The drive to the office takes five minutes. I make it in three. When I pull up, there's a black sedan parked next to Rowan's truck. Government plates. I can see two figures through the window, standing close together.
I kill the engine and sit for a moment. Trying to calm the panic clawing up my throat.
She wouldn't. After everything we shared, everything she said about wanting to find out where this goes. She wouldn't turn around and stab me in the back.
But I don't actually know her, do I? Three days isn't a lifetime. Three days is barely a blink. And she's got a career to protect. A supervisor to answer to. A whole life in Portland that has nothing to do with me or my trees or my family's legacy.
I get out of the truck.
The office door opens before I reach it. Rowan steps out, her face pale. Behind her is a man in a suit. Gray hair, sharp eyes, the kind of expression that says he's used to being obeyed.
"Mr. Cole." He extends his hand. "Greg Martinez. I supervise Ms. Cafferty's department."
I shake his hand because that's what you do. "What brings you to Whisper Vale, Mr. Martinez?"
"Concerns about the audit timeline." He glances at Rowan. She won't meet my eyes. "Ms. Cafferty's preliminary report was... unexpectedly positive. Given the nature of your operation, I wanted to verify her findings personally."
"Unexpectedly positive."
"We've had issues with family logging operations in this region. Environmental violations, falsified records. The county has taken a harder line in recent years."
"And you thought I was gonna be another problem."
"I thought Ms. Cafferty might have been compromised.
" His eyes flick between us. Taking in whatever he sees on my face.
On hers. "Her report reads like a love letter to your operation, Mr. Cole.
Either you're running the most exemplary logging operation in Nevada, or my compliance officer has lost her objectivity. "
The silence stretches. Rowan's hands are clenched at her sides.
"The records are accurate," she says quietly. "I documented everything. Photos, measurements, GPS coordinates of every site we visited. You can verify it yourself."
"Oh, I intend to." Martinez pulls a folder from under his arm. "In the meantime, you're off this audit. I'm assigning Peterson to finish the review."
"Greg—"
"This isn't a discussion." His voice hardens. "You've been staying at the subject's residence. Eating his food. Sharing his bed, from what I can gather. Your credibility is shot, Rowan. I should have pulled you the moment you told me there was no hotel availability."
My jaw tightens. "She was doing her job."
"Her job doesn't include sleeping with the people she's investigating."
"She wasn't investigating me. She was auditing my operation. There's a—" I stop myself. Take a breath. "Everything she found is real. I'll show you myself. Every tree, every record, every damn permit my grandfather ever filed."
"That won't be necessary." Martinez tucks the folder back under his arm. "Peterson arrives tomorrow. Ms. Cafferty, I expect you back in Portland by end of day."
He walks to his car without looking back. The engine starts. Gravel crunches under the tires as he pulls away.
Rowan still won't look at me.
"You called him," I say.
"I had to submit my preliminary findings. It's protocol."
"And you told him the operation was clean."
"Because it is."
"So why do you look like you just stabbed me?"
She finally meets my eyes. There are tears there. Unshed but visible. "Because my boss thinks I fucked my way to a favorable report. Because my career is probably over. Because I tried to do the right thing, and it blew up in my face."
"You did do the right thing."
"Did I?" She laughs, but there's no humor in it.
"I compromised my objectivity, Ev. I let myself get involved with the subject of my audit.
Everything I found, every positive thing I documented, is now suspect.
Peterson's gonna come in here looking for problems because that's what Martinez expects him to find. "
"Let him look. He won't find anything."
"You don't know that. You’ve said as much yourself"
"I know my operation."
"Do you know every form your father filed for thirty years? Every permit, every survey, every piece of paper in those boxes?" She shakes her head. "Nobody's that clean, Ev. There's always something. And now Peterson has a mandate to find it."
The words land like blows. Because she's right. I don't know everything my father did. There are boxes in that basement I haven't opened in years. Records I assumed were complete because I trusted him.
"So that's it?" My voice comes out rougher than I intend. "You're just gonna leave?"
"I don't have a choice."
"There's always a choice."
"Easy for you to say." She pulls her keys from her pocket. Her hands are shaking. "You're not the one whose career just imploded. You're not the one who has to explain to her supervisor why she was stupid enough to fall for a man she was supposed to be evaluating."
"Fall for." The words catch in my chest. "You said—"
"I know what I said." She looks at me, and I see the walls going up. The professional mask sliding back into place. "I meant it. That's the problem."
I step toward her. She steps back.
"Don't," she says. "Please. I need to pack my things. I need to go back to Portland and figure out how to salvage what's left of my career. I can't do that if you're looking at me like—"
"Like what?"
"Like I'm breaking your heart."
The admission is impossible to take back.
"You are," I say.
Her face crumples. Just for a second. Then she straightens her spine and walks past me toward her truck.
"Rowan."
She stops but doesn't turn around.
"If Peterson finds something, it won't be because you missed it." I don't know if that's true. I'm saying it anyway. "Whatever happens, this isn't your fault."
"It is, though." Her voice is barely a whisper. "I should have known better. I should have stayed in my truck that first night and driven to the next county. I should have kept my distance, done my job, and left without ever knowing what it felt like to—"
She doesn't finish. Just climbs into her truck and drives away.
I stand in the parking lot until the dust settles. Until the sound of her engine fades to nothing. Until I'm alone with the trees and the silence and the weight of everything I just lost.
My phone buzzes. Mama.
How did the audit go?
I stare at the message for a long time. Then I type back:
She's gone.
Oh honey. What happened?
I don't have an answer. Don't have words for any of it. So I pocket the phone and walk back to my truck.
The cabin's gonna feel empty tonight. Tomorrow, some stranger named Peterson is gonna tear through my records looking for blood. And Rowan Cafferty is driving back to a life that doesn't include me.
I slam my palm against the steering wheel. Once. Twice. Until my hand aches and my eyes burn.
Three days. That's all we had.
It wasn't enough. It was never going to be enough.
And now it's over.