Chapter 6 - Ruby
I close the door behind me, my mind still cycling through spreadsheets and tax codes and the curious enigma that is Cole Blackwood. After hours of intensive accounting work, my eyes burn and my shoulders ache, but we've made remarkable progress.
The audit no longer looms like a death sentence, more like an unpleasant doctor's appointment we're adequately prepared for.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I pull the elastic from my hair, massaging my scalp as my brown waves fall loose around my shoulders. Through the wall, I can hear Cole moving around the living room.
I reach for my phone, scrolling through missed texts and emails. A check-in from Jim asking about our progress. A message from my mother with photos of her new rescue cat. Nothing from Marcus—not that I expected anything from my ex after six months of silence, but old habits die hard.
The truth is, I don't miss him anymore. What I miss is the certainty I once felt. The planned future, the predictable rhythm of our relationship. Even when it grew stale, it was familiar. Safe.
Nothing about being here feels safe. Not in a threatening way, but in the way that uncharted territories never are. Cole Blackwood is uncharted territory: complex, mysterious, and stirring feelings in me I don’t want to think about.
I set my phone aside and move to the window, pulling back the curtain to look at the night sky. The moon hangs heavy and bright, nearly full, casting silver light across the clearing. In the distance, the forest stands dark and dense, full of secrets.
Like the bear. Those unusual green eyes haunt me—intelligent, almost familiar. And Cole's reaction when I mentioned it... not surprise, but something closer to alarm. As if I'd stumbled upon something I wasn't supposed to see.
None of it makes sense, yet I can't shake the feeling that all these strange pieces connect somehow. The puzzle is there, if only I could see the pattern.
I change into sleep shorts and a tank top, wash my face, brush my teeth. Normal bedtime rituals that feel anything but normal in this cabin, with this man just walls away. A man who looks at me like he knows me, who cooks for me, who alternates between intense focus and careful distance.
As I slide under the covers, I try to rationalize the strange pull I feel toward him.
It's natural, isn't it? He's objectively attractive.
All rugged masculinity and quiet strength.
He's been kind, hospitable. And there's something about being isolated together, working toward a common goal, that accelerates connection.
That's all this is. A temporary connection born of circumstance.
In two days, the audit will be over, and I'll return to Atlanta, to my ordered life of emergency bookkeeping and quiet evenings alone.
Cole will remain here in his beautiful cabin in the woods, and whatever this strange energy is between us will fade into a curious memory.
The thought should comfort me. Instead, it leaves a hollow feeling.
Outside, I hear the front door open and close softly. Through my window, I catch a glimpse of Cole's tall figure moving onto the porch, pacing like a caged animal. Something about his posture speaks of inner conflict, of restraint.
What demons haunt you, Cole Blackwood?
I turn away from the window, determined to get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day of finalizing documentation and preparing for Monday's audit. I need to be sharp, focused. Not distracted by enigmatic men with forest-green eyes and too many secrets.
As I drift toward sleep, my thoughts blur and tangle.
The bear at the forest's edge. Cole's watchful gaze.
Numbers that add up and those that don't. My dreams, when they come, are filled with running through moonlit woods, chased or chasing, I can't tell which.
And always, those green eyes watching from the darkness, calling me deeper into the forest.
Next Morning
Morning light filters through the curtains when I wake, momentarily disoriented by unfamiliar surroundings. The guest room. Cole's cabin. The audit tomorrow. Reality rushes back, along with awareness of how much work still awaits us.
I check my phone—6:42 AM. A decent night's sleep, considering. No sound comes from the rest of the cabin, but I smell coffee brewing. Cole must be up already.
After a quick shower, I dress in jeans and a soft blue sweater, twist my damp hair into a loose bun, and head toward the kitchen. The coffee pot is full, but Cole is nowhere to be seen. A note sits beside a clean mug: "Went for a run. Help yourself. Back soon."
Cup in hand, I wander to the front door, drawn by the golden morning light. When I step onto the porch, the mountain air hits me—crisp, invigorating, smelling of pine and earth after yesterday's rain. The forest glistens, droplets of moisture catching the sunlight like scattered diamonds.
Movement draws my eye to the side yard. Cole stands with his back to me, shirtless despite the morning chill, going through what appears to be a series of stretches.
My breath catches at the sight. The broad expanse of his shoulders, the defined muscles of his back tapering to a narrow waist, the dark tattoo between his shoulder blades that looks like some kind of tribal design.
His movements are fluid, not the typical post-run stretches but something more deliberate, almost meditative. I should look away, give him privacy, but I remain frozen, coffee mug halfway to my lips, watching the play of muscles under tanned skin.
As if sensing my presence, Cole turns suddenly, his green eyes finding mine.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. His chest rises and falls with slightly elevated breathing, sweat glistening on his skin despite the cool air.
The morning light catches in his tousled black hair, highlighting strands of silver at his temples I hadn't noticed before.
"Morning," he finally says, his voice rougher than usual. "Sleep well?"
I nod, trying to appear casual rather than caught staring. "The mountain air helps. You're up early."
"Needed to burn off some energy." He reaches for a towel draped over the porch railing, wiping his face. "We've got a long day ahead."
"That we do," I agree, taking a sip of coffee to hide my discomfort. "But we're making good progress. I think we can finish the essential documentation by this evening."
Cole nods, climbing the porch steps. Up close, I notice scratches on his chest—thin red lines that look fresh. "What happened?" I ask before I can stop myself.
He glances down, as if surprised to see the marks. "Branch. Trail running in these woods can be hazardous."
"You should clean those."
"They'll be fine." He moves past me toward the door, and I inhale his scent—fresh sweat, forest, and that musky masculine essence that's becoming startlingly familiar. "I'll shower and make breakfast. Any requests?"
"Whatever's easy," I say, following him inside. "I should get started on those quarterly reports."
In the kitchen, I rinse my coffee mug while Cole pulls ingredients from the refrigerator. I can’t help but wonder how comfortable this has become in just two days, how natural it feels to move around each other in shared space.
"I was thinking," Cole says, cracking eggs into a bowl, "after the audit tomorrow, you should stay an extra day. See some of Cedar Falls before heading back to Atlanta. There's a waterfall hike that's worth the trip."
The invitation catches me off guard. "I don't know... I usually have to rush to the next crisis."
"Any crisis scheduled for Tuesday?" He glances up, a hint of teasing in his eyes.
"Not yet, but in my line of work, emergencies pop up without warning."
Cole turns to the stove, his back to me again. "Think about it. Mountains will still be here if you can spare the time."
The offer tempts me more than it should. An extra day in this peaceful place, away from the constant demands of my work. An extra day with Cole, exploring whatever this strange connection is between us.
"I'll think about it," I promise, meaning it.
While Cole showers and prepares breakfast, I return to the office, diving back into work. The numbers soothes me, providing structure and certainty that my thoughts about Cole lack. By the time he calls me to eat, I've already made significant progress in the quarterly reports.
We eat at the kitchen island, reviewing the day's priorities. Cole seems more settled this morning, the restless energy of yesterday somewhat diminished. He's fully dressed now in jeans and a henley that stretches across his broad shoulders, hair still damp from his shower.
"I was thinking about those cash withdrawals," I say between bites of perfectly fluffy scrambled eggs. "We need better documentation for the audit."
Cole nods, his expression neutral. "What did you have in mind?"
"Receipts would be ideal, but since those don't exist, we need to create expenditure reports. Detailed descriptions of how the cash was used, dates, purposes. All signed and dated by you."
"That's doable."
"Good. And I'd like to create a more systematic approach for the future. Digital record-keeping, maybe an app for tracking expenses on job sites."
A shadow crosses his face. "I prefer paper records."
"Paper gets lost, Cole. Or chewed by bears." I smile to soften the comment, but his expression remains serious.
"Some things need to stay offline," he says, an edge to his voice I haven't heard before.
I glance at him, curious about this unexpected resistance. "Are you worried about data security? Because there are ways to—"
"It's not that." He sets down his fork. "Some aspects of the business need to remain flexible, less... documented."
"You mean the cash withdrawals." It's not a question.
Our eyes meet across the island, a silent standoff. I've hit a nerve, touched on something important. Perhaps the center of whatever secret he's keeping. Does he owe money to someone?
"Ruby," he says finally, his voice low and serious, "I need you to trust that I have good reasons. Can you do that? Just for now?"
I should press harder. As an accountant, as a professional, I should insist on transparency. But something in his clearly vulnerable eyes stops me.
"Okay," I concede. "But the IRS won't take 'trust me' for an answer. We still need those expenditure reports."
Relief crosses his features. "I'll write them up today."
After breakfast, we settle into work again, the rhythm of the previous day resuming.
Cole brings me files as needed, answers questions about vendors and projects, occasionally disappearing outside for phone calls or to check his email.
The day passes in a productive blur, broken only by a quick lunch and coffee refills.
By late afternoon, my eyes are burning from staring at spreadsheets, but satisfaction outweighs fatigue.
We've organized nearly all the critical documentation, created a coherent filing system, and prepared responses to likely audit questions.
Barring any major surprises, Blackwood Construction should emerge from tomorrow's audit unscathed.
I stretch, rolling my shoulders to release tension, and look up to find Cole watching me from the doorway.
"You look pleased with yourself," he observes.
"I am. We're in good shape for tomorrow." I close my laptop. "Your business records are finally as solid as your buildings."
"Thanks to you." He steps into the room, hands in his pockets. "I think we've earned a break. Want to see something?"
Curiosity piques through my fatigue. "What kind of something?"
"Sunset from my favorite spot. It's a short walk from here."
The invitation feels significant somehow, like he's offering to share something personal. "I'd like that."
Cole's smile—a rare, full smile that transforms his usually serious face—makes my heart skip. "Grab a jacket. Gets cold quick when the sun drops."
I follow him outside, zipping up the light jacket I brought from Atlanta. Cole leads me along a narrow trail behind the cabin, moving with the confidence of someone who knows these woods intimately. I stay close behind him, mindful of roots and rocks that could trip unwary feet.
"Watch your step here," he says, offering his hand to help me across a small stream. His palm is warm and calloused against mine, the touch sending a flutter through my stomach that I attribute to the uneven footing.
The trail climbs steadily for about ten minutes before opening suddenly onto a rocky outcropping.
The view is otherworldly. Mountains rolling away in waves of blue and purple, the valley below us painted in the golden light of the setting sun.
Cedar Falls is visible in the distance, a small collection of buildings nestled between hills.
"Oh," I breathe, moving to the edge of the rock. "It's beautiful."
Cole stands beside me, his gaze on the horizon. "Worth the climb?"
"Absolutely." I turn in a slow circle, taking in the panoramic vista. "You must come here often."
"When I need perspective." He sits on a flat boulder, patting the space beside him. "When the business gets overwhelming or I need to remember why I stay."
I join him, the warmth radiating from his body in the cooling air. "Do you ever think about leaving? Moving somewhere less isolated?"
He considers this, eyes on the distant mountains. "Sometimes. But this land is in my blood. My family has been here for generations."
"That kind of rootedness must be nice," I say, watching golden light spill across the valley. "I've moved six times in the last ten years."
"Looking for something?"
The question hits closer to home than he could know. "I tell myself it's for career opportunities. But maybe it's just restlessness. Fear of staying still long enough to be disappointed."
Cole turns to me, his green eyes reflecting the sunset. "Because of your ex?"
"Partly," I admit, surprising myself with my candor. "Marcus and I were together for three years. I thought we wanted the same things. Career success, eventually a family, a life built together. Then one day he told me he'd been sleeping with his assistant for months."
Cole's jaw tightens. "Fool."
"The worst part wasn't even the cheating. It was his explanation." I look down at my hands, the memory still painful despite the months between then and now. "He said I'd 'let myself go.' Become boring. Too focused on work and not enough on him."
"He was wrong," Cole says with such conviction that I look up, startled by his intensity. "A man who can't appreciate a woman like you doesn't deserve a second thought."
"A woman like me?" I repeat, genuinely curious.
His eyes hold mine, unblinking. "Intelligent. Determined. Kind." He pauses, something changing in his expression. "Beautiful."