Chapter Two
A s soon as the door shut behind Gabriel, Lucy sank to the floor and let her head fall back against the wall. Her righteous anger drained away, leaving nothing but the fear that had taken up residence since Mark moved out.
Hilde came over and nuzzled her.
“He’s right,” she whispered to the dog. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Maybe I should have gone home.”
She still could. She could drive right back down the mountain and head east. Her parents would cry and hug her. Her mom would cook incredible meals, and her brothers would drop by and gently tease her. All of them would do everything they could to help her.
But she didn’t want to go home. She’d waited so long to get out of Florida. All her old friends—most of whom had faded away after she got sick—had moved out of their hometown to go to school or take jobs. They’d traveled, driving across the country with friends and going to Europe for the summer. She’d followed them on Instagram and Twitter, wishing she could head off into the world, too. Which was why when Mark asked her to move to California with him six months after they met, she said yes.
Going back now would be an admission of defeat, and who knew how long it would take for her to leave again?
Heaving herself to her feet, she wandered around the cabin, examining the bedrooms. It was too much house for her, really. It was made for a family, for games in front of the fire and drinking hot cocoa together after a day of skiing. She’d imagined a small, snug cabin, not a home that made her more aware of how alone she was. She knew nothing about this place, this town, or these mountains. And the only human being within miles was judgmental and obnoxious.
The bedroom at the back of the house had a sleigh bed and pretty green curtains in the window, so she took that one for herself. For the next couple of hours, she focused on unpacking and finding the exact right spot for her things. She had to rest and catch her breath constantly, which made it slow going, but she wasn’t exactly pressed for time. The entire fall and winter stretched out before her.
In the kitchen, a cappuccino machine sat next to a high-end coffeemaker. The cabinets above the counter held dishes and serving ware, those below pans and cookware of every conceivable type, including a waffle maker and crepe pan. Everything was first-rate and shiny, meant for a house full of people.
She’d never made waffles, but she could learn. Someone in the history of waffles must have made them from scratch for themselves.
She hadn’t brought anything from her former kitchen except some dry goods and the last few things in her fridge. She took these from a cooler and stashed them in the fridge alongside condiments and a box of baking soda left by Len’s family. She’d have to go grocery shopping tomorrow.
With the most pressing items put away, she pulled out her laptop and notebooks and set them on one side of the long kitchen table—which appeared to be made from a single enormous tree. From there, she had a view through the windows. Perfect for writing, or for staring while she was thinking. She spent a lot of time staring into space, nearly as much as she did actually writing.
But she was too full of restless energy to work, so she poked around the house a bit more, opening every cabinet and closet to see what was inside. She had just discovered the laundry room on the other side of the house when a noise made her jump.
Thud.
Another thud, then a pause. Thud. Pause. Over and over, like something mechanical.
It was coming from outside, somewhere behind the cabin. Back in the bedroom she’d chosen for herself, she knelt on the bed and peered through the windows.
Gabriel was outside his cabin. As she watched, he set a log on a tree stump, then swung an ax overhead and straight down, splitting the wood neatly in two. The pieces fell to the ground, and he picked them up and tossed them on a nearby pile before setting another log on the stump.
The man had muscles on muscles, and with his height he looked every inch a man of the mountain. Despite her dislike of him, she couldn’t stop looking. He’d taken off his flannel and was wearing a short-sleeved shirt that clung to his biceps and chest. Even from where she sat, she could see his muscles bunch and release as he swung the ax.
Good lord. They didn’t make them like that where she came from. Too bad he was so far away. It would have been a great pic for Cara.
Pushing away from the window, she headed back into the kitchen and sat at her computer. She had a book to finish, and if she couldn’t do it up here in the middle of nowhere, she had no business calling herself a writer.
When she looked up again, the sun had gone down and her own reflection looked back at her from the window. Hilde whined at the door and Lucy let her out, standing on the front step as the dog sniffed her way across the lawn. The house sat in a clearing of about half an acre, but beyond that, the forest took over.
Normally Hilde was quick, but several minutes later she was still snuffing along the patches of grass and pine needles, a black and tawny blur in the darkening yard.
“Hilde,” she called, impatient. It was chilly now that the sun was down. “Do your business.”
But Hilde wasn’t done. One moment she was at the tree line, the next she was in the shadows of the trees, and then she was gone.
“Hilde,” she called, heart racing. She ran down the steps and into the woods. She could hear the dog moving, hear her breath huffing out. “Hilde, come,” she snapped.
Finally the dog emerged, nose speckled with dirt, and looked at her with great sorrow, as if disappointed by her lack of trust.
Back inside, she quickly drew the curtains on all the windows. It didn’t matter that there wasn’t anyone around to peer in. Lord knew Gabriel wasn’t curious enough to so much as glance her way.
That done, her mind turned to the woodstove, which sat in the middle of the wall connecting the kitchen and living room. In literary terms, Gabriel was her nemesis, but the hulking black object in the room was giving him a run for his money.
She shouldn’t have pretended she knew how to work this monstrosity. It wasn’t like her to lie, but his attitude had put her on the defensive.
Now she was going to pay for it.
She stood looking at the black iron, hoping the secret of its inner workings would reveal itself. When that didn’t work, she grabbed the handle on top and opened the little door.
It was like looking into the bowels of hell.
Heat and smoke surged up, and the glowing embers burned brighter in the charred wood.
She let the door fall shut with a clang that sent the dog running out of the room.
She was such a fool. Gabriel was probably a perfectly reasonable person. Anyone could have a bad day, after all, and he’d been nice to her when she almost fainted. Surely Len wouldn’t have hired him if he were really awful? She’d make him some brownies or invite him over for coffee. She’d win him over, and then it would all be fine.
None of which helped her now. She picked up a log from a wooden crate along one side of the woodstove and took a deep breath. She could do this. Holding her breath, she opened the top hatch again and inserted the log. Sparks flew up as it landed, scaring her so badly she let the door fall shut with another echoing clang.
She couldn’t do this. She’d use electric heat and pay whatever she needed to pay.
A great plan, except for the fact that she was surviving on quarterly royalty payments from her first book and part-time freelance editing. It was enough to get by on while living for free, but there was nothing left to spare.
She was sweating now, and her breathing had turned shallow again. She had no idea how much wood she was supposed to add, but she didn’t have the stomach for much more of this. Taking a deep breath, she added one more log. At least this time she was prepared for the heat and sparks, and she let the door down gently.
“I did it!”
Her elation lasted only until she remembered she was going to have to do the same thing every day for months.
She wouldn’t think about it. She was having trouble thinking straight, anyway.
Maybe it was the drive, or the stress and anxiety of the day. Maybe it was simply not getting enough oxygen, but she could barely keep herself upright.
She brushed her teeth in the bathroom closest to her bedroom and changed into pajamas before falling into bed.
But as exhausted as she was, it took her forever to fall asleep. The unfamiliar room—with its strange shadows on the wall and new noises—unsettled her. Over and over she jerked awake, her heart pounding at nothing. Finally, somewhere around eleven, she drifted off, her mind too worn out to be frightened.
She woke in the pitch black to a woman screaming.
Every hair on her body stood on end as she bolted upright, the sound ringing in her ears. She didn’t understand where it came from or whether it was only part of a dream until it came again, screams tearing through the air in rapid succession, quick as the thrust of a knife.
Outside, but not far.
A woman in trouble, in pain. Someone was hurting her.
Hilde growled low in her throat and paced along the floor. Lucy groped for the lamp, nearly tipping it over. Her heart pounded in her ears, and her breath came in shallow pants. Sweat prickled along her scalp and under her arms.
They were in the middle of nowhere. Who could be out there?
She pictured a woman with terrified eyes, leaves caught in long dark hair as someone dragged her by the arm.
Her cell phone wasn’t on the nightstand like it usually was. She always put it there, but last night she’d been so exhausted.
She turned on every light she passed as she ran to the kitchen, though part of her wondered if she should be making it so obvious that someone was living here.
The screams continued, but they weren’t quite right for a person being hurt. They were too regular, rising and falling the same way each time. She crept to the front door and slowly opened it, holding Hilde by the collar so she wouldn’t escape. The sound came again, farther away now.
Female mountain lions in heat sounded like a woman screaming. She’d seen it once on a nature program. She closed the door with a shaky laugh. Hilde whined and looked at her, the ruff on her neck still standing on end. She reached out and tried to smooth the dog’s fur.
“It’s okay, girl.”
The dog seemed unconvinced. And who could blame her? She was from San Francisco, where nothing wilder than a squirrel roamed the night. Neither of them were cut out for this.
She found her cell phone on the kitchen table and dug her charger out of her luggage.
“Come, Hilde,” she called softly, but the dog kept her vigil by the door.
She plugged in her phone and climbed into bed, the covers up to her neck, and waited for her heart to stop racing. Would this place ever seem like home, or at least less threatening?
It was four a.m., which meant it was seven o’clock back home. Early, but not for her mother. Without stopping to think through what she’d say, she picked the phone back up and dialed.
“Lucy!”
Tears blurred her eyes at the sound of her mother’s voice. “Hi, Mom.”
“What’s wrong, honey?”
“Nothing. I thought I’d let you know I got here okay.”
“What are you doing up?”
“Something woke me up, so I figured I’d call you.”
“You’re not sleeping well?”
There it was, the worry she heard whenever she let on that her life wasn’t perfect.
“It’s only my first night. I need to get used to the sounds out here, that’s all. It’s different from city noise.”
“Is it what you expected?”
“Even better. I figured it would be a decent cabin, but it’s more like a vacation home. There are four bedrooms and two bathrooms, and the kitchen has all the best gadgets.”
There, that wasn’t even a lie. She was just omitting the fact that she was terrified and living in the middle of nowhere.
“That sounds lovely.”
“It really is. I can’t believe I get to stay here for free.”
“We miss you, honey. Will you be able to come home for Thanksgiving?”
“I should see how the writing goes first,” she said, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “But I’d love that.”
“You keep us posted. But you know you can come back anytime. We’ll pay for the flight if money’s an issue.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Get some rest and I’ll talk to you soon. Give a call tomorrow if you think of it.”
“Give my love to Dad.”
The tears came as soon as she hung up. God, she missed them. She missed the safety of home, and the predictability. Missed her brothers and their families. She imagined pulling her car into her parents’ driveway and her whole family spilling out to greet her. Her nieces and nephews would run around and beg to be picked up. Her brothers would tease her about her car, which had seen better days. Cam would probably open the hood and check that everything was in order.
She drifted off to sleep on thoughts of home, but woke up with a start at every new sound—the eerie hoot of an owl, the wind whistling along the eaves of the house. Thank God for Hildegard, who slept on her doggy bed right on the floor at her side. Never had she appreciated her more than she did now, alone on the mountain at night.
Or not precisely alone. Having Gabriel within calling distance was comforting, even if he wasn’t what she’d been expecting.
When she finally woke for good in the morning, the sun had made its way over the mountain and down into the little clearing. Her eyes were gritty and her mind muzzy from fractured sleep, but she was too restless to stay in bed.
Stumbling into the big living room, she went into a mudroom that led to a side door. There were pegs next to the door and a bench where you could sit to take your shoes off.
Opening the outer door, she let Hilde out and stepped outside herself to breathe the air. She was used to pleasant mornings in San Francisco, but this was something different altogether. The smell—pine trees and earth and warming grass—lit up every sense. Hilde must be ecstatic.
She called the dog in after a few minutes and poured kibble into her bowl, then started the coffee. She dropped a bagel into the toaster, pulled out her laptop, and opened her manuscript draft. By the time she’d finished her second cup, she was back in the world of her heroine, Maggie, a nineteen-year-old woman in early twentieth-century Chicago, struggling to become a doctor.
Maggie followed Mrs. McIntyre down the hallway, nearly running into her when the older woman stopped to open a door. Someone trod heavily in the apartment above, and the smell of boiled cabbage permeated the walls. She tried to clear her face of all expression. Despite the fact that she’d be paying a small fee to cover the cost of her meals, the McIntyres were doing her a kindness. She was lucky to have this place.
Mrs. McIntyre stood aside, motioning for her to enter.
It was a small room, the walls a dim white. A bed, made up in faded yellow sheets, stood against one wall, a flat pillow and two rough wool blankets folded neatly on top. According to her mother, who’d known Mrs. McIntyre as a child, her children were grown and married now, but she had never before taken in boarders.
“It’s a bit chilly being at the back of the house, but if you keep the door open, you’ll get heat from the kitchen.” Mrs. McIntyre twisted her hands together as if anxious for Maggie’s approval. “I had Mr. McIntyre move that little table from the front hall. I thought you might be needing a place to do your studies.”
The table was cherry, lightly scarred but polished. A prized possession, no doubt, and now it was in her room.
“It’s lovely,” she said, running a hand along the smooth grain.
Mrs. McIntyre beamed, her face flushing with pleasure. “Imagine. A doctor in my own house. It’s brave you are, going to school with all those men. I could never.”
She’d been writing for about an hour when she became aware of how cold it was. With growing trepidation she went to the stove, opened the top hatch, and stared down into its cold black belly.
She should have added more wood this morning when she woke up. A stupid, foolish mistake, because now she was going to have to get a fire going. If only she hadn’t been so obstinate and prideful when Gabriel had asked if she knew how to light a fire.
Sitting down at her laptop, she searched “how to start a fire in a woodstove” and found nearly a dozen YouTube instructional videos. None of them were as thorough as she needed, because none of them assumed the viewer was both terrified of doing it and also completely ignorant. Still, after watching a few—all of them recordings of earnest men who seemed really into their woodstoves, God bless them—she got the gist of it.
Carrying her laptop, she knelt on the floor and followed along with her favorite video, which featured a kind grandfatherly type who would never judge anyone for not knowing how to build a fire.
Paper and twigs first, then a lit match touched to the paper. Wait for the twigs to catch and add bigger sticks. She threw in some bark that had fallen from the bin for good measure. Next she added a small log, pleased with herself. She was practically an Eagle Scout.
She shut the door and looked at Hilde. “This isn’t so hard. I don’t know why I was so nervous.”
Then the lid on top puffed open on a blast of smoke and slammed back down. Again and again smoke blasted through the door, as if the pressure was too great for it to stay inside. Within minutes, smoke hung thick in the room, acrid and gray, and more was pouring out.
Then the smoke detector went off.