Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
KANE
My stomach tightens as I pull up to the chaos unfolding before me. Flames reach for the sky, hungrily consuming the cabin. Hailey stirs, the crackling inferno jolting her awake.
“Daddy.” She points to the cabin. “Fire!”
“I know, Noodle, but stay put.”
With a quick kill of the engine, the oppressive heat and choking smoke engulf us. Hailey covers her face with her blanket. Timber runs toward us. “I’m so sorry. I did the one thing you told me not to do. I burned down the cabin.”
“Take the ATV to the edge of the property. Get yourself and Hailey a safe distance away.” I unhook the firefighting trailer. “We’ll unravel this mess later. For now, I have a fire to put out.” As she drives toward the border of the forest, I unroll the hose and fire up the pump. The water blasts forth, a steady stream directed at the middle of the flames. All I can think about as I douse the roof is how grateful I am that Timber had the foresight to get out of the cabin and call for help. My next thought is this wouldn’t have happened to a local. It also reminds me of how outsiders aren’t suited for this life.
Within minutes, Rhys is there beside me. His twin, Reid, follows minutes later. As part of the volunteer fire department, they have the same setup: a trailer, water pump, and a hose, always ready to go.
“Is anyone else coming?” I ask.
Rhys and Reid unfold their hoses and put water to the flame.
“Eliza told us to call her if we needed backup, and she’d send others,” Rhys says. “But for now, it’s just us.”
I look at my brothers and then at the fire and know that we’ve got this. We work in sync, the kind of teamwork only brothers can achieve.
The fire is stubborn, clinging to the cabin like a malignant growth, but we're relentless with the water, Rhys, Reid, and I dousing the flames with a fierce determination. Slowly, begrudgingly, the fire hisses its surrender as the water sizzles on contact.
As the billows of dissipating smoke start to reveal the charred remains, Rhys's voice cuts through the chaos. “Hey, look at this,” he calls out, gesturing toward the roof.
Following his gaze, I spot the gaping hole where the cap on the flue should be. “Damn,” I mutter under my breath, realizing the implications of its absence. My memory clicks. There was a clank when I’d shaken the pipe to dislodge what was stuck in the flue. A wave of realization washes over me. I’m the cause of this fire, not Timber.
I turn and spot her at the forest’s edge, holding Hailey. Both of their eyes are wide and haunted.
“You got this?” I ask my brothers.
“Yep, go see to the girls,” Rhys says.
I approach them, my boots squishing on the soaked ground.
Hailey scrambles from Timber’s embrace and rushes toward me. I smell like smoke, but she doesn’t care and jumps into my arms. “You okay, Daddy?”
“Right as rain, Noodle.” I glance back at the fire and then turn to face Timber. “I know you’re blaming yourself, but you didn’t start the fire. This isn’t your fault,” I say before she can speak. “The cap on the flue was loose. That clank we heard the first day—it must’ve been the cap falling off. This is on me.”
Her eyes, rimmed with red from smoke and, likely, emotion, search mine, as if seeking the truth of my words.
“I couldn’t let you think you caused this,” I say. “That wouldn’t be fair.”
“Are you certain I didn’t?” Her voice falters, and I’m unsure if it’s emotion or the smoke she’d inhaled earlier.
I nod. “Ninety-nine percent certain.”
Relief gradually relaxes her features, intermingling with exhaustion. I notice a visible shiver run through her, a clear sign of the chill of the night. “Let’s get you two someplace warm.” I put Hailey down and return to my brothers.
“If you two can handle this, I’m going to take my girls home.”
Rhys raises a brow. “Your girls, huh?”
“I meant Hailey and Timber. You know, the girls as in gender.”
Reid laughs so loud I can hear him over the spray of the water. “Sure, that’s what you meant.”
Reid and Rhys continue to douse the last of the smoldering embers, the steady hiss of water on char making a calming backdrop to the mess.
“You should head back,” Rhys says. “Get your girls warm and dry. We’ll stay and make sure this doesn’t flare up again.”
One slip of the tongue and I’ll be catching shit until Timber leaves, but I can’t dwell on that now. The cold is biting.
Hailey’s huddled under her blankets while Timber keeps a watchful eye over her. Reality sinks in. With the cabin gone, where will Timber sleep? Where is home for her now? She needs a roof over her head. Timber slides to the passenger side, and I take a seat behind the wheel. I’ll manage the logistics of it all later. Right now, the priority is getting everyone back safely.
“I’m sorry this happened,” I tell her.
Tears flow freely down her cheeks. “This cabin was important to you and your family’s history. I’m so sad it’s gone.”
I shrug. “It’s just a cabin. It can be replaced, but you can’t.” I’m about to wrap my arms around her and offer comfort when Reid walks over.
Timber does a double take. “I thought the smoke was playing tricks on me for a second there,” she says with a half-laugh. “There’s two of you.”
Reid chuckles. “I’m Reid, Rhys’s twin. The better-looking one,” he teases. “Wish it were under better circumstances, but it’s good to meet you, Timber.”
Her engagement in the conversation tells me she’s going to be alright. She’s strong, even when the world seems to be falling apart around her.
“Let’s get you someplace warm and dry,” I say.
She nods but looks at the cabin. “Where am I going to stay?”
That is the hundred-dollar question. “With me and Hailey. At least for now.”
Timber places her things on the floor behind her seat. Hailey crawls from her back seat into the front and into Timber’s lap. Normally, I’d tell her to go back and buckle in, but I can see that they need each other. Timber cradles my daughter with a tenderness that’s as natural as it is heartwarming. I’m struck by the motherly way she envelops my daughter in her arms and Hailey lays her head on Timber’s chest as if she’s been doing that forever. It stirs something in me—a blend of admiration and a surprising jolt that tightens my chest.
I start the ATV, guiding it onto the path that leads to the ridge. On the way, I point out some landmarks still visible in the dusky distance: Misty Meadows, where my brother Nash lives; Crystal Creek, where Finn has a small lodge and a row of cabins he rents out. This time of year, night comes later, and daylight arrives earlier.
“Today, during class, the kids referred to a lot of places by name as they were navigating the island through our lesson. I learned that Eliza lives in Serenity Cove. Tommy’s parents live at Bear Paw and Lucas says his home is called Long Neck Pass. What’s your place called?”
My place remains unnamed. It reflects the terrain—unyielding and raw in a land where the elements carve out the days. Sentimental names seem unneeded. So, the townsfolk call it Kane’s, but to me, it’s just the ridge—nothing more than a speck in the vast, indifferent wilderness.
“It’s never had a name,” I reply over the engine’s growl. “Just ... home, I guess. Sentimental names seem unnecessary.”
The woods give way to the outline of my house, its size casting long shadows in the night. I cut the engine. We're immersed in an all-consuming silence. Gently, I take a sleeping Hailey from Timber and I nod for Timber to follow me. We climb the stairs, the wood creaking under our weight. As we reach the top, the size of the house seems to swallow us. I push open the door, stepping into the familiar coziness. This place, unnamed and lived-in, is about to become Timber’s refuge, too.
“I’ll be right back.” I walk up the stairs and lay my daughter down in her bed, tucking her beneath the blankets with care. Her peaceful face, relaxed in sleep, eases some of the tension from my shoulders. I linger for a moment, watching her breathe, before turning back to the dim glow of the staircase.
I find Timber in the living room. She’s standing still, a solitary figure bathed in the faint, flickering light from the last of the fireplace’s embers. She’s staring into the coals, lost in thought, the orange light casting shadows that play across her face.
As I step into the room, there’s a sense of rightness seeing her there. It’s as if the room has been waiting for her presence to complete it, for her to fill the space with a warmth that’s been missing.
She turns at the sound of my approach, and in that glance, there’s a mutual understanding. She’s been through an ordeal, but here, in front of the dying fire, she seems to have found a moment of peace.
“I’m sorry for all this,” she says, her voice a blend of exhaustion and regret. “And for pulling Hailey into it, waking her up.”
“Hailey will be fine,” I reassure her. “You made sure she was okay.”
“It was the least I could do.”
At the cabinet, I pull out a bottle of brandy and pour a modest amount into a glass. I hand it to her, and our fingers brush briefly. Her touch is as cold as ice, yet it ignites something that spreads through my entire being.
“Here, this will help with the chill.”
She wraps her hands around the glass, the amber liquid catching the light. There’s gratitude in her eyes before she takes a sip. Coming together under my roof for the night is a strange and unexpected comfort .
As Timber takes another sip, she glances around the room, her gaze lingering on the details of the house. “You have a beautiful place here.”
I nod, looking around. “It serves us well.”
She points to the lights in the kitchen. “Electricity?”
“Solar,” I say. “We take advantage of the summer’s lengthened daylight hours and charge our batteries for winter.”
“Smart,” she says, her gaze sweeping across the room. Timber sets down the emptied brandy glass with a gentle clink against the mantelpiece. I find myself watching her intently. She’s dressed in Winnie the Pooh flannel pajamas and boots, an ensemble that makes her appear younger than I initially estimated, perhaps a few years my junior.
“Let me show you to the bathroom,” I say, breaking the quiet. “You’ll want to wash off the smoke.”
She nods, following me down the hall to the large bathroom, where towels are stacked high, and everything is ready for use. “When you’re ready, take your time,” I tell her. Then I lead her to the guest room. “My sister left some clothes here the last time she helped with Hailey. If they fit, you’re welcome to them. Eliza wouldn’t mind.”
For a moment, I hang back in the doorway, just taking her in. She’s there, standing firm, a mix of toughness and tenderness that makes me want to wrap her in a hug. But then I pull back. This moment is significant, like a fork in the road, and I’m not sure which way to go.
Retreating to my room, the quiet takes on a different quality now, knowing she's just down the hallway.
I hear the shower running in her bathroom and decide to rinse off too in mine. With only a few hours left until dawn, I climb into bed, tugging up the blankets and staring at the ceiling. I send up a quiet prayer for this unexpected turn of events, hoping it brings something good—for both of us.