Chapter 2
Kim
I'd expected rough mountain living—basic shelter, maybe a wood stove and some camping furniture.
What I stepped into was craftsmanship that belonged in architectural magazines.
Every surface showed the work of hands that understood wood the way I understood historical documents.
Hand-hewn beams soared overhead, fitted together with joints so perfectly they seemed to grow naturally from each other.
The floors were wide-plank pine, polished to a golden glow that caught the lamplight.
"This is incredible," I breathed, turning slowly to take in the great room that dominated the cabin's interior. A massive stone fireplace anchored one wall, surrounded by built-in bookshelves filled with what looked like an actual library.
"My brothers helped a lot," Neil said, gesturing for me to sit at a dining table that appeared to be carved from a single piece of maple. "You hungry? I’ve got dinner in the crockpot."
Dinner.
"I don't want to impose," I started, but then my stomach growled. Luckily, he was already moving toward what I assumed was the kitchen area.
"You're not imposing. You're a guest." He said it like the decision had been made without any input needed from me. "The bathroom's down that hall if you want to clean up. There's hot water."
I jumped at the chance to freshen up. The bathroom continued the theme of stunning craftsmanship. The vanity appeared to be hand-carved walnut, fitted with a copper sink that caught the light like art. Even the mirror frame showed the attention to detail that marked everything Neil touched.
When I caught sight of myself in that mirror, I winced.
Dirt streaked my cheek, and my hiking clothes looked like I'd been wrestling with the forest. I did what I could to repair the damage, but washing my face and finger-combing my hair only went so far.
When I came out, I followed my nose to find Neil in a large kitchen stirring something that smelled amazing.
"Better?" he asked without turning around.
"Much." I approached him cautiously, still feeling like an intruder in his space. "Can I help with anything?"
He glanced over his shoulder, and I caught him taking in my appearance and liking what he saw. Well, the feeling was mutual.
“Just sit," he said. "Dinner's almost ready."
I ran my fingers along the edge of the table, marveling at the seamless finish.
"How did you learn to work wood like this?" I asked when he brought over two plates of chili and corn bread.
"Trial and error. Internet videos. Years and years of making mistakes until I stopped screwing up more than I succeeded." He settled into the chair across from me, and I was struck again by how he dominated the space simply by existing. "What about you? How did you learn to do what you do?”
"I went to Yale. Six years of research and writing and defending every argument to professors who thought I was too young to have valid insights." I tasted the chili and barely suppressed the need to gobble it all down. "This is so good. Where did you learn to cook?"
"Same place I learned everything else. YouTube and persistence."
"You're full of surprises," I said.
"Mountain living requires a lot of different skills." He broke off a piece of bread. "You can't just order takeout when you live this far from town."
"How far are we from civilization?"
"Burlington's about three hours by road. My closest neighbor is my brother Kevin and his wife, maybe five miles through the woods." He studied my face as he spoke, probably reading my growing awareness of just how isolated I was. "Are you nervous about staying here alone with me?"
I appreciated that he addressed the elephant in the room directly.
"A little," I admitted. "I don't make a habit of following strange men to remote cabins."
"Smart policy." His mouth curved in what might have been a smile. "But you don't have a lot of options right now."
"No, I don't." I met his eyes across the table. "Thank you. For helping me. For dinner. For not leaving me to die in the woods."
"I wasn't going to leave you out there." Something in his tone suggested the idea hadn't even been a consideration. "These mountains can be dangerous for people who don't know them."
After dinner, he insisted on cleaning up while I explored the main room more thoroughly. The bookshelves drew me like a magnet—partly because books always did, but mostly because I was curious about what a mountain man chose to read.
The collection surprised me. Technical manuals on woodworking and forestry, as expected, but also literature, history, even some poetry. I pulled out a worn copy of Thoreau's "Walden" and flipped through pages that had clearly been read multiple times.
"Appropriate reading material for living out in nature," I said as Neil finished in the kitchen.
"Seemed like required reading when I moved up here." He joined me by the bookshelves, his presence immediately making the space feel smaller. "Though Thoreau was a better writer than he was a woodsman."
"Most scholars are." I slid the book back into place, acutely aware of Neil standing close enough that I could smell his cedar and pine aftershave, or maybe that was just him. It was comforting. "We're much better at thinking about experiences than actually having them."
"Then why did you come looking for those journals in person instead of sending someone else?"
"Partly because I needed to prove I could do this myself and partly to show everyone who thinks I'm just Dr. Pemberton's research assistant that I can handle the extra responsibility."
He studied my face with an intensity that made my cheeks warm. "You proved something today."
"That I can get hopelessly lost in the woods?"
"That you don't give up when things get hard." His voice carried a note of approval that sent tingles down my spine. "Most people would have been crying for rescue hours earlier."
"I was crying when you found me."
"You were scared, not giving up. There's a difference."
He made me feel things I didn't want to examine too closely. When was the last time anyone had seen strength in me instead of weakness?
"You’ve had a long day," Neil said, breaking the moment. "You can take my bed. I'll sleep on the couch."
The mention of sleeping arrangements brought the reality of our situation crashing back. I was spending the night in this isolated cabin with a man I barely knew. A man whose presence made me hyperaware of every feeling that was coursing through me.
"I can't take your bed," I protested. "This is your home. I'll take the couch."
"You'll take the bed." His tone brooked no argument. "It's not negotiable."
Something about the way he said it—firm but protective rather than controlling—made my pulse spike. This was a man accustomed to making decisions and having them accepted.
"The couch is comfortable," he continued, gesturing to the leather sofa that dominated the seating area. "And I've slept on worse."
The bed in question was visible through an open doorway—king-sized, covered in what looked like handmade quilts, positioned to take advantage of a wall of windows facing the forest. The idea of sleeping in Neil Parker's bed, surrounded by his scent, made my stomach flutter.
"Thank you," I said.
"I'll get you some clothes to sleep in. Your hiking gear's not going to be comfortable to sleep in."
The idea of wearing his clothes sent another spike of awareness through me. "Will your wife or girlfriend mind?”
“No wife. No girlfriend. You’d be wearing a clean shirt of mine. Unless you want to sleep naked."
The word hung in the air between us, loaded with implications. My cheeks burned as images flashed through my mind—me in his bed, wearing nothing, with him just a room away.
"Your shirt will be fine," I managed.
He disappeared down the hallway and returned with a flannel shirt that looked like it would hang below my knees.
The fabric was soft from countless washings, and when I took it from his hands, our fingers brushed.
The contact sent electricity up my arm and straight to places that had no business responding to a stranger's touch.
"Feel free to take a shower. There’s plenty of hot water," he said gruffly. "Take your time. I'll bank the fire and get things settled out here."
In the bathroom, I stared at myself in the mirror again. My hair was still a disaster, my cheeks flushed from more than just the day's exertion. I looked like a woman on the edge of making a very bad decision.
Or a very good one, depending on your perspective.
The shower was a dream. When I came out wrapped in a towel that was softer than anything I owned, I could hear him moving around in the main room.
Pulling on his flannel shirt, I laughed.
The size difference was just as dramatic as I'd expected.
The sleeves extended well past my hands, but it was warm and soft.
Neil was standing by the fireplace, when I came out. He was banking the coals for the night. He looked up and went completely still. The desire in his eyes was unmistakable. Heat flared between us and my knees quaked a bit.
"Better?" he asked, his voice carrying a rough edge that made my skin tingle.
"Much." I crossed my arms self-consciously. "Thank you. For everything."
"You don't have to keep thanking me." He straightened from the fireplace, and I was reminded again of just how big he was. "I'm not doing you a favor. I'm doing what anyone would do."
"Not anyone. Most people wouldn't have bothered to help a stranger."
"Most people aren't me."
That was for damn sure.
"I should let you get some sleep," he said, but neither of us moved.
"What time do we need to leave in the morning?"
"Early. If we're going to check on your car and figure out next steps." He paused, studying my face. "Unless you want to forget about the car and I'll drive you back to Burlington."
The offer was tempting. Return to civilization, to safety, to the normal world where I knew the rules. But the thought of leaving without completing my research made my chest ache.
"I need to find those journals," I said. "This might be my only chance to prove they exist."
"Then we'll find them." He said it like the outcome was certain, like my success was something he'd personally guarantee. "See you in the morning.”
As I headed toward the bedroom, his eyes followed my movement. I realized something had shifted between us. The initial wariness had given way to something more complex—attraction, yes, but also a kind of recognition.
Like we'd been waiting to find each other without knowing it.
NEIL
Watching Kim disappear into my bedroom wearing nothing but my flannel shirt was going to haunt my dreams for years.
The sight of her in my clothes, hair loose around her shoulders, bare feet extending from beneath the hem almost undid me. It took every ounce of control I possessed not to follow her through that doorway and make her mine.
Instead, I settled onto the couch, and I tried to remind myself this was probably only temporary. Tomorrow, I'd help her find her journals or her car or whatever she needed to get back to her real life. She'd return to her library, and I'd go back to my solitary existence in the woods.
But I could still see the way she'd looked at my furniture like it was art instead of just functional pieces. The way she'd listened when I'd talked about learning to work wood, like my self-taught skills were something to be admired instead of just practical necessity.
Through the thin walls of the cabin, I could hear her moving around in my bedroom. The soft sounds of her settling into my bed, the rustle of quilts I'd bought for the long cold winters were comforting and maddening both.
She was in my space now. In my bed, wearing my clothes. Everything in me demanded I go to her and claim what was mine. Except she wasn't mine. She was a lost city girl who'd be gone as soon as I could get her back to civilization.