Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
G olden dawn light spilled through the cabin’s windows, casting a warm glow across Meara’s canvas. She dabbed another touch of ochre to capture the way sunlight danced on Crystal Lake’s surface, and then stepped back to study the effect.
A smile tugged on her lips as she glanced at Artek’s leather jacket hanging by the door—he’d forgotten it during his security check last night. The lingering scent of pine and rain wrapped around her like an embrace, and her heart did that ridiculous flutter it always did when she thought of him.
When had that happened? When had her feelings evolved from attraction into something that made her chest ache with its intensity? She touched her lips, remembering how he’d kissed her good-bye last night, backing her against the door like he couldn’t bear to leave.
Every touch, every look lately carried such weight, such promise. It should terrify her, this free fall into deeper emotions, but Artek had done nothing but prove himself worthy of her trust.
Her brush hovered mid-stroke as the lights flickered once, twice, then died completely. The sudden silence hit her ears— no hum of electricity, no gentle whir of the heating system. Only the morning birds continued their song outside, oblivious to the disruption.
“Frenchy?” She set down her palette, stomach knotting. After the barn fire and other sabotage attempts, any irregularity sparked instant dread.
Her phone provided enough light to navigate toward the kitchen. Her thumb hesitated over Artek’s name in her contacts. Six weeks ago, she would have handled this herself, determined to maintain her independence. Now she craved his steady presence, his quiet strength. The realization should have troubled her, but instead it felt... right.
Frenchy’s voice carried from the back of the house. “If you’ve blown another fuse with that industrial-strength coffeemaker, we’re going to have words about your caffeine addiction!”
“That happened once,” Meara protested, though the familiar banter helped ease her tension. “This is different. The whole cabin’s dark.”
Frenchy appeared in the doorway, his usual impeccable style somewhat rumpled from organizing supplies in the storage room. “Honey, I love you, but your timing is tragic. We have a retreat to prepare for!” He struck a dramatic pose. “Though I suppose we could market it as a rustic experience. ‘Embrace your inner artist by candlelight!’ Very romantic.”
“Let’s check the breakers first before you redesign our entire program.” Meara dialed the local electrician while Frenchy investigated the electrical panel, muttering about missed opportunities for mood lighting.
Twenty minutes later, Jim Peterson’s truck pulled into their driveway. The gruff electrician didn’t waste time with pleasantries, heading straight for the external power lines. His whistle of dismay confirmed Meara’s fears before he even spoke.
“These weren’t accidentally cut,” Jim said, pointing to clean slices through the thick cables. “Someone knew exactly what they were doing. You’ll need the power company out here for repairs—this is beyond my scope.”
Meara’s fingers shook as she pulled out her phone again. This time she didn’t hesitate to call Artek.
He picked up on the first ring. “What’s wrong?” The concern in his voice wrapped around her like a warm blanket.
“Power lines are cut. Deliberately.”
A low growl rumbled through the connection, sending shivers down her spine. “I’ll contact my friend at the power company. Stay inside, away from those cables. Is Frenchy with you?”
“Yes. He’s already declaring it’s time for a ‘cozy cabin aesthetic’ with candles and the fireplace.”
“Keep him close. I’m ten minutes away.”
She ended the call, drawing strength from his decisive tone. Amazing how four simple words—”I’m ten minutes away”—could settle her racing heart better than any security system.
Frenchy emerged from the storage room with an armload of candles and a determined expression. “Silver lining—candlelight is very on-trend for fall retreats. Speaking of trends...” He waggled his eyebrows. “I noticed a certain someone’s jacket by the door. Again.”
Heat crept up Meara’s neck. “He forgot it.”
“Mm-hmm. Like he ‘forgot’ it Tuesday night? And last Friday?” Frenchy arranged candles with scientific precision. “Face it, sweetie. That man is leaving his territory markers all over this cabin.”
“It’s not—I mean, we’re not—” She broke off, remembering how natural it felt seeing Artek’s things mixed with hers, how right it seemed when he spent the night.
“Not what? Completely gone for each other?” Frenchy lit a particularly elaborate candle. “Please. I see how you look at him when you think no one’s watching. Like he’s your own personal romance novel cover model but with better character development.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Now help me arrange these votives in an aesthetically pleasing pattern before your knight in shining flannel arrives.”
They’d barely gotten the generator running when Artek burst through the door, Trey close behind. Her breath caught at the fierce protectiveness in his expression as he scanned the room, relaxing only when he spotted her. In three long strides, he crossed to her side, hands cupping her face.
“Are you okay?” His thumbs stroked her cheekbones, sending warmth cascading through her body.
She leaned into his touch. “We’re fine. Just spooked.”
His eyes darkened as he glanced toward the windows. “Show me the damage.”