CHAPTER SEVEN The Cabin at the Edge of the Property
NORA
The snowcat moved through the storm like a stubborn red box refusing to die.
Visibility was less than twenty feet.
Pinehaven’s main building disappeared behind us within seconds.
Ethan drove.
I sat beside him with the relocation list on my lap and emergency blankets stacked behind us.
“You can still go back,” he said.
“No.”
“The road is worse than Jacob expected.”
“You asked if I wanted you with me.”
“Yes.”
“I said yes.”
“I remember.”
“Then stop trying to reopen the vote.”
His mouth tightened.
“Fair.”
The windshield wipers fought snow.
Cabin seven sat near the edge of Pinehaven’s property, beyond a stand of pines and a small frozen pond.
In good weather, guests paid extra for the isolation.
During a storm, isolation became a liability.
“Why was this cabin occupied?” I asked.
“Anniversary package.”
“Why was it not moved before the road closed?”
“Guest refused.”
“Did we document that?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Ethan glanced at me.
“You still think like an insurance adjuster.”
“I think like someone who has met insurance adjusters.”
The snowcat lurched over a drift.
My shoulder knocked against his.
Neither of us commented.
The cabin appeared through the white.
Ethan parked as close to the porch as possible.
Before opening the door, he looked at me.
“Stay behind me until we confirm the path is clear.”
I frowned.
He lifted one hand.
“Request, not order.”
I considered it.
“Fine.”
We stepped outside.
Wind attacked immediately.
Snow entered my collar.
The cabin door opened before we reached it.
A man in his forties stood there holding a child.
“Thank God.”
Inside, the temperature had dropped enough for everyone to wear coats.
The portable fireplace unit had failed completely.
Two children sat beneath blankets.
An older woman rubbed her hands together near a battery lantern.
I went straight into operations mode.
“Everyone is being moved to the main lodge. We have rooms ready.”
The man looked outside.
“In that?”
“Yes.”
His wife said, “Absolutely not.”
Ethan crouched beside one of the children.
“The snowcat is heated. We will make two trips if needed.”
The little boy looked at him.
“Is it safe?”
Ethan did not say yes immediately.
I noticed.
“It is safer than staying here if the temperature keeps falling,” he said.
Good answer.
We loaded the children and older guests first.
I stayed with the remaining adults while Ethan made the first run.
Ten minutes became fifteen.
Then twenty.
The wind strengthened.
The cabin walls creaked.
The woman beside me stared at the door.
“Your husband seems calm.”
“Ex-husband.”
Her eyes widened.
“I am sorry.”
“Do not be.”
“You work together?”
“For now.”
She looked around the freezing cabin.
“That sounds difficult.”
“You have no idea.”
The snowcat returned.
We loaded the remaining guests.
I rode back with Ethan.
Halfway to the lodge, the engine coughed.
Then died.
I stared at the dashboard.
“No.”
Ethan tried the ignition.
Nothing.
“You said this was maintained.”
“It is.”
“That was not what I asked.”
He tried again.
The engine turned but did not catch.
Wind rocked the vehicle.
“How long can we stay warm?”
“With the cabin heat off, not long.”
The guests behind us were already nervous.
Ethan opened the maintenance panel.
“I need five minutes.”
“Take four.”
He gave me a look.
I turned toward the guests.
“We are fine. The machine lost power, but we are still on Pinehaven property and the lodge knows our route.”
A child began crying.
I found emergency hand warmers and distributed them.
Ethan worked.
Old Ethan would have told me not to worry.
New Ethan said nothing until he had something useful.
“Fuel line iced.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Two minutes.”
He was right.
The engine restarted.
Everyone cheered.
I did not.
I watched Ethan’s hands on the controls.
Steady.
Competent.
Familiar.
Dangerous.
When we reached Pinehaven, staff moved the guests inside.
Ethan and I remained in the snowcat after everyone left.
He shut down the engine.
“About earlier.”
“The affair?”
“Yes.”
“I do not want another confession tonight.”
“I was going to apologize.”
“You have apologized before.”
He looked down.
“I let Holly Ridge build a story about you.”
“That is separate.”
“No. It is part of the same thing.”
I waited.
“I told myself silence protected your privacy.”
“It protected your reputation.”
“Yes.”
“You stayed. I left. That was all people needed.”
“I should have corrected them.”
“Yes.”
“I should have said you had reasons.”
“Would you have told them you cheated?”
His expression changed.
“I do not know.”
“That means no.”
“Yes.”
I opened the snowcat door.
“Nora.”
I looked back.
“I am trying to stop defending the version of myself that looks least terrible.”
“That version is very persistent.”
“I understand.”
Despite myself, a laugh escaped.
Small.
Unexpected.
Ethan looked at me.
The air changed.
I hated that it still could.
I climbed down.
At the lodge entrance, Grace waited beneath the awning.
She looked pale.
“Nora, can I speak with you?”
Ethan tensed.
I answered before he could.
“Yes.”
He did not tell me not to.
That mattered too.