Chapter 9
Lana
I settled into the armchair with a view of both the front door and the living room, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders against the growing chill.
The fire had died down to glowing embers, casting long shadows across the room.
Julia slept soundly, her chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of exhaustion.
The storm outside had reached a crescendo, wind shrieking around the eaves like a living thing.
Scout rested his head on my foot, his warmth a comfort in the darkness. Every few minutes, he would lift his head, ears swiveling toward Julia, then settle again when nothing seemed amiss.
“What do you think, buddy?” I whispered, scratching behind his ears. “Is she for real?”
His tail thumped once against the floor, but his eyes remained fixed on our sleeping guest.
I reached for the novel I’d found on Ella’s bookshelf—something to keep me awake during my watch.
The words swam before my eyes, my mind too preoccupied with the day’s discoveries to focus on fictional drama.
Instead, I found myself replaying the moment we’d unearthed the ammunition box, the excitement in Caleb’s eyes as he’d examined the journal, and realizing gold is hidden on Jake’s property.
It seemed impossible, like something from a movie rather than real life. And yet, the evidence was there—coordinates, journal entries, ore samples. Thomas Wolf had hidden his treasure, and now, over a century later, we’d stumbled into the middle of his secret.
A soft noise from the couch drew my attention. Julia had shifted in her sleep, mumbling something incoherent. Her brow furrowed as if she were having an unpleasant dream. Scout tensed beside me, but she settled again, turning her face toward the back of the couch.
The clock on the mantel read 1:17 AM. Caleb had been asleep for nearly three hours. I should check on him and make sure his leg is properly elevated. Rising quietly, I padded down the hallway, Scout following silently at my heels.
Ella’s bedroom door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open carefully, wincing at the faint creak of the hinges. The room was dark except for the dim glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains, illuminating his sleeping form on the bed.
He’d fallen asleep on top of the covers, still fully dressed except for his boots.
One arm was thrown across his eyes, the other resting protectively over his injured thigh.
Even in sleep, his face wasn’t entirely peaceful—a slight furrow remained between his brows, as if he couldn’t completely let his guard down.
I should have left then. Should have closed the door and returned to my post. Instead, I found myself moving into the room, drawn by an impulse I didn’t quite understand. Carefully, I lifted the spare blanket from the foot of the bed and draped it over him, trying not to wake him.
His hand shot out, fingers closing around my wrist with surprising strength. His eyes snapped open, alert and dangerous for a split second before recognition dawned.
“Lana,” he breathed, releasing my wrist immediately. “Sorry.”
“My fault,” I whispered, stepping back. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Just thought you might be cold.”
He pushed himself up on one elbow, wincing slightly. “What time is it? Is it my watch already?”
“No, it’s only a little after one. Everything’s fine. Go back to sleep.”
He studied my face in the moonlight, eyes still heavy with sleep. “You okay?”
The question caught me off guard. Was I okay? I wasn’t sure I knew how to answer that anymore. The last few days had been a blur of adrenaline and uncertainty, punctuated by moments of unexpected connection with this man I barely knew.
“I’m fine,” I said automatically. “Just checking on you.”
“Liar,” he murmured, but there was no accusation in his voice—just a gentle understanding that made my chest ache. “Sit for a minute?”
He shifted over, making space beside him on the bed. Against my better judgment, I sat, perched on the edge of the mattress while Scout settled on the floor beside the bed.
“Can’t stop thinking about that box, can you?” he asked quietly.
I smiled ruefully in the darkness. “Is it that obvious?”
“You have the same look I do when I’m trying to solve a puzzle.” His voice was rough with sleep, lower than usual. “That focused intensity. Like you’re putting pieces together in your head.”
“It just doesn’t make sense,” I admitted. “Why now? If this treasure has been hidden for over a century, why are people suddenly interested? And how did they know to contact you?”
“Good questions.” Caleb shifted, adjusting his position to ease his leg. “I’ve been wondering the same thing. There has to be a trigger—something that happened recently that brought this to light.”
“Maybe something to do with Jake? Has he mentioned any changes to the property? Construction, land surveys?”
Caleb was quiet for a moment, thinking. “He did mention something about the county wanting to put in a new access road along the back of his property. Something about easier emergency vehicle access to the provincial park beyond his land.”
“That could be it,” I said, excitement building. “If they were surveying the area, they might have found something—old markers, maybe, or signs of the original mining operation.”
“And if they did, word would get around.” He nodded slowly. “Small towns love their secrets, but they love gossip more.”
A particularly violent gust of wind rattled the windows, making me jump. Scout’s ears perked up, but he remained calm, sensing no immediate threat.
“Storm’s getting worse,” I murmured. “There’s no way we can go to the mill tomorrow in this, especially with Julia here.”
“True. It’s a good thing she found us when she did, though,” he said, watching my reaction carefully. “You still don’t trust her.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I don’t trust coincidences,” I replied. “And a stranded motorist appearing on our doorstep right after we find evidence of a hidden treasure? That’s one hell of a coincidence.”
“I agree. But for now, we wait and watch.” He reached out, his fingers brushing against mine on the blanket. “We’re a good team, you know.”
The casual touch sent a current of warmth up my arm. “We barely know each other.”
“I know enough,” he said.
I looked away, uncomfortable with the intensity in his gaze. “I should get back. Keep an eye on our guest.”
His fingers retreated, and I immediately missed their warmth. “Wake me at four. I mean it this time.”
“We’ll see,” I said, standing up. Scout rose with me, ready to follow.
“Lana.” Caleb’s voice stopped me at the door. I turned back, finding his eyes still on me, serious in the dim light. “Be careful.”
I nodded and slipped out, closing the door softly behind me.
Back in the living room, Julia hadn’t moved. Her breathing remained deep and even, one arm dangling off the edge of the couch. I resumed my position in the armchair, Scout settling at my feet once more.
The house creaked and groaned around us, buffeted by the relentless storm.
I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders, fighting a growing sense of foreboding.
Something was coming—something beyond the storm, beyond our unexpected guest. I could feel it in the air, in the way Scout’s ears kept twitching toward the windows, in the persistent prickle at the back of my neck.
I reached down to stroke Scout’s fur, drawing comfort from his solid presence. “Just a few more hours till dawn,” I whispered, more to myself than to him. “We can make it till then.”
But as the wind howled and the snow piled higher against the windows, sealing us in this isolated house with our secrets and a stranger, I wasn’t entirely convinced that dawn would bring anything better than the night.
The next thing I knew, gray morning light was filtering through the curtains. I jerked upright, disoriented and alarmed. I’d fallen asleep. Scout was standing at attention, his gaze fixed on the kitchen. My heart hammered at the soft clink of dishes.
Rising silently, I moved toward the kitchen doorway, my sock-feet making no sound on the hardwood floor. Scout stayed close to my side, tense but not growling.
Julia stood at the counter, her back to me, filling the kettle with water from a bottle.
My stomach tightened at the sight of lit candles on the counter and the table, making me wonder where she had found them.
Had she been snooping around, trying to get information, or had she truly just been looking for a source of light?
She turned with the sugar bowl in hand to find me standing there and jumped, spilling it everywhere. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” she said, setting the bowl down on the counter.
I gestured towards the candles. “I see you found some light.”
“Yes! I’m so sorry,” Julia laughs nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I wasn’t snooping, I swear. I just looked in the utility room when I woke up and found these candles. I hope that’s okay?” She gestures to the kettle. “Would you like some coffee? The gas stove still works.”
I nod, pulling out a chair and sitting down. Scout stays pressed against my leg, watchful but not aggressive.
“I feel terrible about imposing on you both,” Julia continues, moving around the kitchen with surprising familiarity.
“I thought making coffee was the least I could do. And when Caleb wakes up, I’d like to make breakfast as a thank you for helping me out last night. I’m actually a pretty good cook.”
She keeps chattering about recipes and how her mother taught her to make the perfect omelet, but I’m only half listening.
There’s something off about the way she navigates the kitchen, like she’s been here before.
When she walks directly to the cupboard where the frying pans are stored, without hesitating or searching, my suspicion deepens.
“How did you know where those were?” I ask, keeping my voice casual.
“Oh, I just—” Julia reaches for a pan, but it catches on another one. The resulting crash is deafening in the quiet house as metal clatters against the floor.
Seconds later, Caleb bursts into the kitchen, gun drawn and ready.
His hair was all messed up from sleep, standing there shirtless and pantless, unlike when I left him last night, fully clothed.
The only thing he is wearing is a pair of form-fitting boxers that leave nothing to the imagination.
The bandage on his thigh stands out starkly against his skin, but what catches my eye is everything else—broad shoulders, defined chest, and the collection of scars that tell stories I suddenly want to hear.
Both Julia and I stare at him. Well, I’m definitely staring. I can’t seem to look away.
“What happened?” he demands, eyes scanning the room while keeping his weapon pointed in Julia’s general direction.
“I’m so sorry,” she stammers, her face flushing crimson. “I was just getting a pan, and they all fell.” She looks genuinely mortified, her eyes darting between Caleb’s gun and his bare chest.
I finally find my voice. “Everything’s fine. Just a kitchen accident.”
He lowers his weapon a couple of inches, his eyes meeting mine, silently questioning if I’m sure we’re safe. I give him a small nod, though I’m still unsettled by Julia knowing exactly where to find the pans.
“Sorry for the dramatic entrance,” he says, his voice still rough with sleep as he drops his arm to his side. “Old habits.”
“No, I’m the one who should apologize,” Julia insists, kneeling to gather the scattered cookware. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
I force myself to stop staring at Caleb’s torso and focus on the situation. “How’s the storm?” I ask, moving to the window.
“Still going strong,” Caleb answers. “We won’t be going anywhere today.”
The implication hangs heavy in the air—we’re trapped here with Julia for at least another day. Caleb and I exchange a look of mutual understanding. We’ll need to be careful about what we say and do until we figure out if she’s really who she claims to be.
“Coffee will be ready shortly,” Julia says, seemingly oblivious to the tension. “And I saw some eggs in the fridge. I make a mean scramble.”
“That would be great,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’ll help.”
“I’ll put some clothes on,” Caleb mutters, looking slightly embarrassed now that the adrenaline has worn off.
As he turns to leave, I catch myself watching the muscles in his back shift. When I look away, I find Julia observing me with a knowing smile.
“Ten years together, huh?” she says quietly when Caleb is out of earshot.
Heat rises to my cheeks. “Yep.”
“Lucky woman,” she comments, turning back to the stove.
I don’t correct her. Better to maintain our cover story, especially now that my instincts are screaming that something isn’t right about Julia Smith. The way she found the pans without searching, the ease with which she’s making herself at home.
I’m still mulling this over when Caleb returns, now fully dressed and moving carefully on his injured leg.
“Power’s still out?” he asks, lowering himself into a chair. “And there’s at least another foot of snow outside.”
Julia pours coffee into mugs and brings them to the table. “Yes, thankfully, we can cook and have heat from the fireplace. I guess you’re stuck with me for a while,” she says with a bright smile. “Might as well make the best of it.”
As I sip the surprisingly good coffee, I can’t help wondering: if Julia isn’t who she claims to be, then who is she? And what does she want from us?