Chapter 5
5
MARCUS
M y phone chimes with an alert. Pulling up the message from the rental management company, I shake my head.
Arrow Rentals Management
Received a call from your renter. One of the windows is broken. How would you like us to proceed?
I sigh and close my eyes. These are the times I wish I didn’t bother with renting my grandparents’ old cabin. It’s not like I need the extra income or anything. The old place is paid for, but the rental income covers the property taxes and for the most part, I rarely have to deal with issues. I keep the cabin well-maintained in between renters, and block out days, weeks, and sometimes months when I don’t have time to deal with the extra responsibility. But I try to keep the cabin open from Memorial Day weekend through Labor Day weekend. It’s the busiest tourist season, and if we ever have a cancellation, it’s usually filled right away.
Which is what happened with Ryan.
I had just received notification the previous renter cancelled their reservation, and it seemed just minutes later, I was emailed a new agreement for a new renter. Because my cabin is promoted for long-term rentals with a seven-day minimum commitment, I don’t get any weekend stays. You know, the party boys who want to get away for a couple nights, drink beer until they’re fall-down drunk, and tear up anything in their path. Logan had a problem with renters like that and eventually removed his cabin from the rental agency. Now, he and Hallie keep it for their own use, and let our friends use it too.
My mind flashes back to the text I received. What could have happened to the window? Was Ryan hurt? Did she cut herself somehow?
I fire off a quick reply as I head for the door.
Me
I’ll go check it out.
Arrow Rentals Management
Thank you. Let us know if you need anything.
My agreement with Arrow is they try to contact me first. If it’s something I can fix and have time, I take care of it. If not, they’ll dispatch the appropriate repair person to take care of the problem.
I bypass the tow truck and head for my garage. Jumping onto my Honda Rancher four-wheeler, I rev it up and take off toward my rental. The dirt roads are dry and leave a trail of dust in my wake as I head toward the path that leads me to the cabin.
When I get close to the clearing, I back off the speed and slowly creep into the yard. Parking the machine beside Ryan’s rental SUV, I hop off and make my way toward the old, screen door and knock. The main door is open, the warm breeze blowing through the cabin. It takes only a moment before she appears.
“Oh. Hi.” She seems surprised to see me.
“Hey, the agency told me there’s a broken window?” I ask, glancing around.
“Yes, well, the one in the bedroom,” she informs me, walking over and releasing the lock on the door.
I pull it open and step inside, the scent of fresh air and flowers filling the space. Taking a quick stock of her surroundings, making sure everything is all right, I follow behind her to the master bedroom. As soon as we step inside, I swear her scent is overpowering and the air seems to be sucked out of the room. It’s like some Ryan-induced vacuum, and my eyes immediately move to the bed.
Bad idea.
Now all I can picture is her wrapped up in my grandma’s quilt, her long, naked limbs sliding against the sheets, her long, blond hair fanning out against the pillow.
“Marcus?”
I startle, ripped from my own head like I’m doused in cold water. Removing my ball cap, I lift it up, run my fingers through my hair and replace the hat on my head. “Yeah. Sorry. Which window is broken?” I ask, turning my attention to the glass panes.
“This one,” she says, walking over and grabbing the ledge. “It won’t move.” She pulls up, but the window doesn’t budge.
All I can do is stare at it. “They said a window was broken.”
She huffs. “It is broken. It won’t open.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “It’s not broken,” I mutter, walking over to the window and giving it a tug. It’s tight and doesn’t move easily, but I get the window up, nonetheless. “There.”
Her eyes narrow and she crosses her arms over her chest. It’s the first time I realize she changed out of the blue dress she was wearing earlier. Now, her toned, tanned legs are on full display, since she’s donning a pair of denim cutoffs and a fitted pink tank top. “You barely got that up. You had to turn all Hulk on it. How do you expect me to get it open?” she asks, tapping her bare foot on the hardwood floor as she waits for my reply.
“Hulk?” I ask, the corner of my mouth threatening to curl up.
“Well, your shirt is stretched across your arms,” she says, her cheeks turning a delightful shade of pink. It’s as if she didn’t mean to confess the fact she was looking.
“So?”
She waves her hand and clears her throat. “How am I supposed to get it closed? Are you going to run back over here and close it for me later?”
My eyebrows draw together in confusion. “Then just leave it closed.”
“I shouldn’t have to,” she proclaims. “All windows should work accordingly, and this one doesn’t. It’s clearly broken.”
I glance at the window and then back to her. “Listen, Princess, it’s not broken. It’s just tight. It probably doesn’t get opened very much.”
“It should be fixed,” she states.
“It’s not broken,” I insist.
She throws her hands up in the air and stomps out of the room, leaving me standing here, staring and wondering what the hell just happened. I lift my hat and run my hand through my hair once more before replacing it.
“Women,” I grumble before returning my attention to the window.
I mess around with it for a few minutes, lifting and lowering it several times until it starts to move easier. They’re old windows, but are still effective, so I have no intention of replacing them anytime soon.
Spinning around, I head out of the bedroom, needing to put some distance between myself and her scent that only seems to have grown stronger since she left the room. I find her standing in the kitchen, sipping from a bottle of sparkling water. “It should be easier to move now,” I tell her.
She stares back at me, and I can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking about. She gives nothing away, just watches me intently. “Are you this crabby and difficult with everyone?”
Propping my hip against the counter, I reply, “Nope, I think it’s just you.”
She huffs. “Great. I’m honored,” she mutters sarcastically.
“Holler if you need anything else,” I say, turning around and heading for the door.
Just before I cross the threshold, I hear, “Marcus?”
I pause, glancing over my shoulder.
“Can I ask you a question?”
I don’t reply with words, but turn back around, giving her my full attention.
She straightens her spine and lifts her chin. “I need to purchase a hat, and I know most of the shops are closed until Tuesday. Does any other place sell them locally, or do I need to go to Hudson?”
“A hat? What kind of hat?”
“One like yours.”
I look up. “A ball cap?” The confusion is evident in my question.
“Yes,” she replies with a nod.
“Uhhh, you can get them just about anywhere. The gas stations sell them or the little general store in the Bluff,” I reply, reaching up and running my hand across the back of my neck. “Why?”
She shrugs. “I just thought a hat would come in handy when I take walks around the lake. You know, protect my face from the sun?”
I lift my head in understanding, but I can’t help feel a little surprised Ryan doesn’t already have a hat. You know, one of those big, fancy ones they wear to the Kentucky Derby or on some exotic beach. “Uhh, yeah.”
“I’ll just swing by some place and grab one. Thank you.”
I nod, my hands shoved into the pockets of my jeans. “Anything else?”
“No, that’s all.”
“Okay,” I reply, returning my attention to the exit as I push out the screen door.
As I step off the porch, I hear the door creak open behind me. “Thank you for your help. With the window and…the hat.”
I climb onto my four-wheeler and face the beauty in front of me. “You’re welcome.” Before she can reply, I turn the key, firing up the machine, and press on the throttle. Any words she speaks are drowned out. I lift with my foot, engaging first gear, and press the throttle lever with my right hand. I take off, turning the machine around and heading for the path that leads back to my own cabin. Grandpa and I cut the path when I built my own place as a more direct way for us to get back and forth without having to drive the lanes.
Reaching my property once more, I park my four-wheeler in the garage and close the door. It’s a great night for a ride, but I don’t feel like dealing with all the tourists on the trails. Stepping inside my cabin, I find myself walking to the room I use as a home office, my boots echoing through my quiet home. I go to the closet and reach for a box. It’s already open, since I get in it more often than any other box in the closet, and I pull out two different items.
When I replace the box in the closet, I spot another one right beside it. Reaching inside, I grab a fist full of can koozies and the items from the other box, and head for the kitchen. I check the fridge, ready to pull a beer out, but know I probably shouldn’t. You never know when a tow call will come in, and the last thing I need to do is drink alcohol. So I close the door empty-handed and move to the cabinet.
As I fill a glass with tap water, I can’t help but chuckle. I can’t believe she was throwing such a fit about drinking tap water. I’ve been drinking it as long as I’ve lived here, probably longer. We never bought bottled water growing up. It was perfectly acceptable to drink straight from the hose on a hot summer day.
Chugging the contents of my glass, I set it aside and look at the items I grabbed from the closet. I shouldn’t do this, but that doesn’t stop me from picking up the two ball caps and two of the can koozies and making my way back to the door.
Instead of jumping on the four-wheeler, I opt to walk.
Maybe a little air will do me some good.
And keep me from showing back up at my rental cabin .
It takes me a few minutes to reach the clearing where the cabin is positioned. Her SUV is still here, but as I reach the porch, I notice the door is closed. I almost reach for the knob to see if it’s locked but stop myself before I can completely invade her privacy. Instead, I go to the back of the house, where the trees give way to the lake.
She had mentioned something about walking around the lake, except that’s not what I find. Ryan’s standing in the clearing, her blond hair blowing in the gentle breeze as she gazes out at the expansive lake before her. There’s something so…beautiful about her, and it doesn’t exactly have to do with her good looks. She looks peaceful, content, and so right standing on the shore of my lake.
Not my lake, but you know what I’m saying…
I don’t know how long I stand here, watching her as she stares out at the water, but eventually, I realize I need to move. Returning to the front porch, I place the hats and koozies in front of the screen door and take off for the path.
The temperature is cooler under the canopy of the trees, and it’s a welcome reprieve from being close to Ryan in the bedroom. I don’t know why, but standing there, I started to feel a little flush at her nearness, even though she wasn’t even right next to me. I’ve never had a reaction to a woman like that before, felt her proximity and felt overwhelmed with her presence.
When I reach the clearing for my own cabin, I keep walking. I’ve always been outdoorsy, spending as much time in nature as possible. My grandpa was that way, always taking me fishing or camping whenever possible. That’s why I do what I do for a living. Not only is it all I know, but plowing in the cold and towing in any condition doesn’t bother me.
I start walking my property, checking to make sure the signage indicating it’s private is still firmly in place and visible. I’ve got signs at each corner of the property lines, as well as on the trails. It’s not too often someone from the park comes onto my land, but it happens. Most of the people visiting don’t know where the Bluff Preserves National Park ends and private property begins, even though maps are available throughout the park and most everyone has their property marked with signs.
Moving a few downed limbs, I make some piles of brush to pick up later. I keep moving and end up cleaning a big section of land to the east of my cabin, away from the one Ryan is renting.
Just as I start moving another branch, I hear a noise in the distance. It’s the whimper of an animal, which puts me on high alert. Slowly, I creep toward a grouping of young trees with a large stump in the middle, finally spotting what made the sound. There’s a dog, hiding behind the stump. He peeks out, his eyes filled with fear and wonder as he watches me.
“Hey, buddy,” I say softly, hoping not to scare it. Making eye contact, I drop to a knee about ten feet away from where he’s cowering. “Come on out, little fella. I won’t hurt you.”
It takes a solid minute of me talking to him, but slowly, the dog emerges from his hiding spot and carefully makes his way toward me. Lifting my hand to pet him, he shakes and stops moving. “It’s okay, buddy. You’re safe.”
I keep to my knees and hold out a hand, hoping to coax him to me. He isn’t wearing a collar and is on the skinny side. His fur is matted in places and by the frightened look in his eyes, it appears he’s been scared and on the run for a while.
After several minutes, he finally reaches my side. I made a big gesture of keeping my hands visible as I bring them down on his head. He jumps under my touch, but leans into me, grateful and appreciative of the mercy I’m extending.
“Poor guy. How long have you been on your own?” I ask, letting my eyes roam over his body, checking for visible injuries. I don’t see anything except some cockleburs matted in his fur. I’ll try to get those out, but right now, that’s not a huge priority.
“Wanna come up and get something to drink?” I ask, wondering if I should pick him up, so he doesn’t run off. He’s not a terribly big dog, probably about forty pounds. He appears to be a mutt, most likely a mixture of beagle and something else. Lab, maybe? He has long legs and dark hair, but his face looks like that of the smaller breed dog.
When I stand up, he moves back a little, so I place my hands in my pockets. The gesture must comfort him enough that he slowly moves toward me once more. “All right, buddy, we’re gonna go up to the house and see what we’ve got to eat and drink. I don’t have any dog food, but I might have something that’ll work until we can figure out what’s going on, okay?”
He watches me intently, as if understanding what I said and gauging my sincerity. He walks beside me the entire way through the timber, occasionally stopping to sniff the ground or a stick before trotting alongside me as we return to my cabin.
I walk onto my porch and open my front door. The dog hesitates, glancing from me to inside the house. After a few seconds, he takes a couple hesitant steps. “Good boy. Let’s get you something to drink.”
Making sure he’s behind me, I go to the kitchen and retrieve a bowl, filling it with tap water. I place it on the floor and stand back, waiting. The dog watches me for several seconds before slowly making his way to the bowl and drinking. “Good boy,” I tell him, holding still so I don’t scare him.
When he drinks half the bowl, I carefully move to the fridge. I don’t have a lot of options, but I do have a few chicken breasts leftover from the other night. Pulling out the container, I retrieve one fillet and place it on a plate. I cut up the meat, scraping off the seasoning where I can. When it’s all chopped into bite-sized pieces, I glance down. The dog is sitting right beside my left foot, watching me. He licks his lips, as if understanding what’s to come. Not wanting to make him wait any longer, I place the plate on the floor beside the bowl of water and watch as he goes to town. He chews happily, his eyes bouncing between the food and me.
I’ve always loved dogs, but never felt like I was in a place where I could get one. My work hours are crazy, but I don’t know, something about this guy calls to me. Maybe it’s the fact he was abandoned, like me, and reliant on someone compassionate and loving to care for him.
Of course, maybe he’s not a stray, but someone’s pet. There might be a child out looking for him right now, though by the looks of this guy, he’s been left on his own for a while. I guess I should probably start by talking to a vet and going from there.
I run my hand across his head. “You’re gonna be okay, boy. I promise.”