2. Juniper
CHAPTER 2
JUNIPER
The silence hit harder than I expected. No traffic, no neighbors, no sirens wailing down Lakeshore Drive. Just trees and shadows and the hum of my own second-guessing. I looked around the inside of the lodge, wondering where to start. With the afternoon light fading fast, I needed to spend more time getting ready for my first night than snapping pictures outside with my camera. Even after only being at the top of the mountain for a couple of hours, I could understand why my uncle loved this piece of land.
He’d only been gone for a few months, but the lodge felt empty and lifeless. I’d been prepared to do some cleaning but hadn’t been ready for the all-consuming silence. After what I’d been through over the past year, I’d wanted a complete break with my old life. As I looked around the rustic interior, I realized I might have gotten much more than I’d wished for.
That was my style though, jumping into unchartered waters with both feet. My parents had warned me not to move to Colorado, tried to flat out forbid it, but that had only made me want it more. There was no way I could turn back. I might have been a little naive about what to expect, but I had a spine of steel, just like the tall, unyielding skyscrapers where I grew up in Chicago. I wouldn’t give up on my first night.
“What do you think, Appie?” I picked up the cat I’d had since high school. He let out a grumpy meow but didn’t struggle. It might have been selfish to bring him with me, but I didn’t want to do this alone. “Everything’s going to be okay, right?”
He didn’t answer, just looked around in disdain. I set him down in a well-worn leather recliner and pulled up the mountain-themed playlist I’d made on my phone to cut through the silence. Once I made up the bed with my new flannel duvet, I’d feel more settled. I sanitized the small bathroom, grateful for the indoor plumbing, then chased dust from the bookshelves.
By the time I stopped to take a break, the sun had started to dip below the horizon. I took a sip of water from my insulated bottle and shivered. With night falling, the temperature was dropping with it. I looked around for a thermostat so I could adjust the temperature. The only thing I could find that looked capable of producing heat was a giant black stove sitting in the corner.
Approaching it with a mix of caution and curiosity, I realized it might be the only thing standing between me and frostbite. Even though the temperature was already warm enough to walk along Lake Michigan in nothing but a t-shirt and shorts back home, I shivered underneath my sweatshirt and leggings. Figuring out how to build a fire in its belly had just become my top priority.
I looked around for some clue as to how to go about it. A few logs sat in a pile behind the stove. I picked one up and screamed as a small animal darted underneath the stove. The log dropped onto my foot. Hopping around on one leg, I rubbed my toes.
“Did you see that?” Glaring at Appie, I nudged my chin toward the stove. “Do something.”
The fluffy Persian ignored me. His tongue flicked out and he licked his front paw.
I set my injured foot down on the wide, well-worn plank floor, testing it before I tried to balance my weight on both feet.
“We’re in this together. You’re supposed to be in charge of creepy crawling things. And rodents,” I added. “And snakes. And anything else we find that I’m not equipped to handle.”
Appie blinked, totally unimpressed.
“Fine. I’ll take care of it myself.” Glancing around the small space, I located a broom in the corner of the kitchen. Hobbling back to the stove with the broom in hand, I gently poked underneath. Nothing happened.
The poor critter was probably more scared of me than I was of him. At least that’s what my nanny used to say when we’d come across a spider or some other insect during long weekends at my family’s lake home on the shores of Lake Michigan. I didn’t believe her then, and I sure as heck didn’t feel that way now. Not with my heart pounding a thousand beats per minute.
“Come on little guy. It’s time for you to vacate the premises.” I tapped the broom on the floor, hoping the critter would show itself out. Glancing at the door, I shook my head. I couldn’t expect it to leave if I had it trapped inside.
I clutched the broom like a weapon and crossed the room to throw the door open. Standing on the other side, a threat a billion times scarier than a tiny mouse scowled at me.
My mouth went dry, and my eyes widened. The man was tall and broad and staring at me like I’d trespassed onto his mountain and driven over his last nerve in the process. Of course, he was wearing flannel—a shirt unbuttoned halfway to reveal a plain white tee underneath. His sleeves were shoved to his elbows showing off strong, muscled forearms. With a thick salt-and-pepper beard and shaggy shoulder-length hair covered by a gray knit beanie, he looked like he’d just come from wrestling a bear. I forgot about the mouse as his sharp gaze swept over me. It felt like he was evaluating me for weaknesses, and I had no doubt he’d find plenty.
“Um, can I help you?” I shot a quick glance at my purse where it hung over the back of a chair about ten feet away. Growing up in the city, I’d always carried a small arsenal of personal safety gadgets. The emergency whistle on my keychain might not do any good, but even the mountain man in front of me would react to the pepper spray in the front pocket.
“You’re going to freeze without a fire.” He brushed past me and headed straight toward the stove.
“And you are?” Hesitant to follow him, I watched from the doorway as he opened the front panel and started stacking logs inside.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled something out of his pocket and wedged it under the logs. Then reached up over the stove and grabbed a long, skinny match from a box hanging on the wall.
“Careful, there was a mouse in the woodpile. It ran under the stove.” I stayed back, still not sure if he was there to save me or slay me. Between him and the mouse, I stood a much better chance against the rodent.
“Probably more than one.” He knelt down, struck the match, and slid it inside the stove. Whatever he’d set in there caught fire right away.
I was so relieved I wouldn’t freeze to death that I refused to acknowledge the fact that there might be a whole family of mice sharing my space. Convinced he wasn’t there to kill me, I ventured a little closer and held out my hand.
“Hi. I’m Juniper. My Uncle Caleb left me this place.”
He stood, towering over me by at least a foot, and ignored my outstretched hand. “I live up the road. Your cat’s not a mouser.”
I followed his gaze to where Appie sprawled out on the chair. “Not much of a guard cat either,” I said, expecting a laugh or at least a smile.
His expression didn’t change. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Says who?” He wasn’t the first person to think I was in over my head, and I doubted he’d be the last. “If you’re going to say things like that, you at least ought to give me your name.”
“Griff.”
“Okay, then.” Under different circumstances I might have said it was nice to meet him or try to find out if he’d known my uncle very well. But I got the impression Griff wasn’t much of a conversationalist. Just getting him to utter his one syllable name felt like a major accomplishment.
He pulled something out of his jacket pocket and handed it to me. “If the fire goes out, you can use this to get it going again.”
The bundle must have been some sort of fire-starting device. I turned it over in my hands, wondering what went into it and if he’d made it himself.
“Thank you. I didn’t expect…” I stopped myself before I admitted I was in a little over my head. My guess was that Griff could already tell, and I didn’t want to give him any more reason to run me off the mountain. “I didn’t expect Uncle Caleb to have such close neighbors.”
“We’re not that close. I’m about a mile up the road.” He bent down and peered under the stove. When he got up, he held a tiny mouse by the tail. “I’ll put it outside, but it’s probably just going to come in again. You need to get some steel wool and caulk from the general store. Seal up any holes to keep them out of the house.”
“Um, okay.” I stayed back while the mouse waved its tiny feet in the air, trying to right itself.
“And I wouldn’t let your cat outside.”
“Mr. Aperture von Whiskerstein,” I said. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. I thought Appie’s name was cute, but it made me sound like a spoiled snob.
Griff’s brows arched, and he grunted.
“I’m a photographer. Aperture is one of the settings on a camera.” Biting down on my lip, I forced myself to stop speaking.
Griff grunted again and turned to go. “Keep him inside. There are a lot of critters who wouldn’t mind making a quick snack out of him.”
Appie cracked an eyelid. I rushed over and picked him up. His feet had never so much as touched the grass, but I worried that something bigger than a mouse would find its way into the cabin and make off with my only companion. I followed Griff to the door with Appie in my arms. Even with a mouse dangling in mid-air, the cat didn’t express any interest.
“Your uncle was a friend of mine. I’m sorry for your loss.” Griff paused like he thought about saying more. But then he stepped off the porch and gave the mouse a gentle toss into the brush. “Goodnight, Juniper.”
I stood half in, half out of the doorway and watched him disappear into the trees. The tail of his flannel shirt flickered in the cold breeze like a warning flag. I’d either just made my first friend or encountered my first problem. Only time would tell the difference.