Chapter 2 - Ruby
The rain is coming down in sheets as I haul my luggage up the steps, my heels slipping on the wet wood. I look up, and I can’t believe my own eyes.
The man standing on the porch is... enormous.
Not just tall, but a presence that seems to fill all the available space around him.
The porch light casts shadows across a face that could have been carved from stone.
His eyes, though… They're startling. Even in this dim light, they seem to glow with an inner fire, fixed on me with such fierce attention that I feel a strange flutter in my stomach.
"Mr. Blackwood?" I manage, water dripping from my hair into my eyes.
He doesn't respond immediately. Just stares at me with those piercing eyes, his knuckles white where he grips the porch railing. I've met intense clients before, but something about this man's gaze makes me feel like I'm being assessed on a level beyond professional qualifications.
"You must be Ruby Oliver," he finally says, his voice a deep rumble that seems to vibrate through the wooden boards beneath my feet.
I nod, shifting my laptop bag to my other shoulder. "That's me. Emergency bookkeeper, at your service."
"Let me take those." He steps forward and effortlessly lifts my suitcase from my grasp, then reaches for my laptop bag.
"I've got this one," I say, clutching it. "Five years of financial salvation depends on what's in here."
The corner of his mouth twitches. Not quite a smile, but close. "Come inside before you drown."
I follow him through the door, immediately enveloped by warmth from a fire crackling in a stone hearth.
The cabin is beautiful—exposed wooden beams and natural elements that speak of craftsmanship rather than decoration.
It smells of pine and something else, something wild and earthy that I can't quite place.
"I wasn't expecting a castle in the woods," I say, looking around at the spacious interior.
"I built most of it myself," he says, setting my suitcase down. "Expanded what my father left me."
"It's impressive."
He nods once, accepting the compliment without comment. "You're soaked. Bathroom's down the hall if you want to change. Kitchen's there if you need coffee."
"Is it that obvious?"
"You smell like it." He says this so matter-of-factly that I almost laugh.
"Occupational hazard. Numbers and caffeine go hand in hand."
I glance at my watch—8:15 PM. The drive from Atlanta took longer than expected, especially with the storm slowing me down on these mountain roads. But I can still get a few hours of work in tonight.
"I'd like to get started as soon as possible," I say. "Jim mentioned the audit is Monday morning?"
"Nine AM. The IRS doesn't waste time."
"Neither do I." I slip off my ruined heels. "Mind if I change first? Professional as wet business attire is, I work better dry."
He gestures down the hallway. "First door on the right."
The bathroom continues the cabin's aesthetic—natural stone sink, wooden accents, but modern fixtures.
I peel off my drenched blazer and blouse, grateful I packed my emergency kit in my laptop bag.
I quickly towel my hair, apply some dry shampoo, and change into leggings and an oversized sweater.
My work-from-home uniform when I'm pulling all-nighters.
When I emerge, Cole is in the kitchen, his broad back to me as he reaches into a cabinet. The sweater he's wearing stretches across his shoulders, hinting at the muscular frame beneath.
"I made coffee," he says without turning around, like he somehow knew I was standing there. "Show me how you take it."
I step into the kitchen, and at 5'4", I'm used to being shorter than most people, but Cole Blackwood makes me feel downright tiny.
"Black is fine," I say, reaching for the mug he offers. "So," I say, taking a sip of the surprisingly good coffee, "where's the financial disaster zone?"
"This way."
He leads me down the hallway to a room that looks like a paper bomb exploded. Stacks of invoices, receipts stuffed into boxes, folders with papers spilling out. It's a chaotic monument to five years of procrastination.
"Jim usually comes quarterly to sort through everything," Cole explains, rubbing the back of his neck. "He understands my... system."
I survey the room, already mentally categorizing and prioritizing. "Which is?"
"If it's important, it's in here somewhere."
I can't help but smile. "Well, that's a start. Mind if I set up at the desk?"
Cole nods and clears some space, moving stacks with precision despite his large hands. I notice calluses, a few scars—hands that have built things, fixed things. Now I need to fix his paperwork before the IRS tears his business apart.
"I'll need to ask you questions as I go," I say, setting up my laptop. "About expenses, income sources, deductions."
"I'll be around." He shifts his weight, looking uncomfortable in the small room. "Need anything else right now?"
"Just space and time." I open my financial software. "And maybe more coffee in a few hours."
He nods and turns to leave, then hesitates at the doorway. "Thank you. For coming on such short notice."
The sincerity in his voice surprises me. This gruff mountain of a man doesn't seem the type to express gratitude easily.
"Just doing my job, Mr. Blackwood."
"Cole," he corrects. "Mr. Blackwood was my father."
"Cole, then."
Another crack of thunder shakes the cabin, and the lights flicker ominously. Cole looks up at the ceiling.
"Power goes out sometimes during storms," he says. "Generator kicks in automatically."
"Good to know." I turn to my laptop, already pulling up spreadsheets. "I'll try to be efficient with the electricity."
He watches me for a moment longer than seems necessary, then leaves, closing the door partway behind him.
Alone with the financial chaos, I take a deep breath and dive in.
This is what I'm good at—creating order from disorder, finding patterns in randomness.
The world might be a confusing place, but numbers always make sense.
They don't lie, they don't cheat, they don't tell you they're working late when they're actually with their assistant.
I push thoughts of my ex away and focus on the task at hand. Five years of records to organize in less than 48 hours. I've handled worse, though not often in the isolated cabin of a man who looks at me like he can see straight through me.
Three hours pass in a blur of sorting, scanning, and inputting data.
I create basic categories first, separating personal and business expenses, organizing by year and quarter.
Cole's "system" is actually more logical than he gives himself credit for.
Receipts from the same vendors tend to be grouped together, and there's a rough chronology to the madness.
A soft knock interrupts my concentration. Cole stands in the doorway with a fresh mug of coffee and a plate of what looks like homemade cookies.
"Thought you might need fuel," he says.
I stretch, suddenly aware of how stiff my shoulders have become. "Thank you. What time is it?"
"Almost midnight."
"Already?" I accept the coffee. "I've barely made a dent."
"How bad is it?" His expression is guarded, but I can see concern in those green eyes.
"Honestly? Your finances are in better shape than your filing system." I gesture to my laptop screen. "You run a profitable business. Consistent income growth year over year, reasonable expenses. The issue is documentation and categorization."
Some of the tension seems to leave his shoulders. "So, we're not completely screwed?"
"Not completely," I confirm, reaching for a cookie. "But we have a lot of work to do before Monday."
The cookie is still warm, chocolate chips melting slightly. I take a bite and can't suppress a small sound of appreciation. "These are amazing."
"Old family recipe."
"Construction and baking. You're full of surprises, Cole Blackwood."
He shifts uncomfortably under the praise. "Need anything else?"
I should keep working, but my eyes are starting to blur. "Actually, I should probably get to my hotel soon. What time does the inn close their front desk?"
Cole's expression changes, a frown deepening the lines around his mouth. "You're staying at the Cedar Falls Inn?"
"That was the plan. Jim said it's the only place in town."
He looks out the window at the storm still raging outside. "Roads will be dangerous. Creek might be over the bridge by now."
I hadn't considered that. "Is there another route?"
"Not unless you have a boat." He runs a hand through his black hair, seeming to debate something internally. "You should stay here tonight."
The suggestion catches me off guard. I've just met this man, and now he's inviting me to spend the night in his isolated cabin?
He must read my expression because he quickly adds, "Bedroom. I'll take the couch. It's not safe to drive back down the mountain tonight."
I glance at my phone and see there's barely any signal. The storm has probably knocked out some cell towers.
"I don't want to impose."
"It's not an imposition if I'm offering." His tone leaves little room for argument. "And we can get an early start tomorrow."
He has a point. Driving unfamiliar mountain roads in this weather, in the dark, would be foolish. And every hour counts before Monday's audit.
"Okay," I concede. "But I'll take the couch. I'm smaller."
"Not happening." His voice drops to that rumbly bass that seems to vibrate through me. "Bedroom's yours. I insist."
There's something almost protective in his stance, like the idea of me being uncomfortable is personally offensive to him. It's strange coming from someone I just met, but also oddly comforting.
"I'll show you where it is," he says, picking up my suitcase again. "You should get some rest."
I follow him across the hall to a cozy bedroom with a queen-sized bed and simple furnishings. Like everything else in the cabin, the furniture appears handcrafted.
"Bathroom's stocked with towels and whatever else you might need," he says, setting my suitcase by the dresser. "Kitchen's open if you get hungry."
"Thank you." I stand awkwardly in the doorway of this stranger's room, suddenly very aware that I'm alone in a remote cabin with a man who could probably bench press my car. A man who keeps looking at me with an intensity that makes my skin tingle.
But instead of making me nervous, something about Cole Blackwood makes me feel... safe. It doesn't make sense. Nothing about this situation should feel comfortable, yet somehow it does.
He backs away, giving me space. "I'll be in the living room if you need anything."
"Goodnight, Cole."
He pauses, his green eyes meeting mine one more time. "Goodnight, Ruby."
After he leaves, I sit on the edge of the bed, listening to the sound of the rain against the windows and his heavy footsteps retreating down the hall.
Tomorrow, I'll tackle the financial mess. Tonight, I need to make sense of this strange feeling that's been building since I first looked into Cole Blackwood's eyes like I've stumbled into something much bigger than a simple accounting emergency.
But that's ridiculous. I'm here to do a job, not to get caught up in whatever intensity this man naturally projects. Two days, then I'm back to Atlanta and my normal life.
I change into pajamas and slide under the covers, inhaling deeply. The sheets smell like cedar and something wild—like the forest after rain. It's oddly comforting, and despite the unfamiliar surroundings, I drift off almost immediately.