Chapter Nine Reese
Nine
Reese
The helicopter bucked slightly as they lifted off from the regional airport, and Reese had to resist the urge to reach for the controls.
Flying was second nature to him—had been since he’d gotten his license fifteen years ago—but his own bird was currently getting a service after a memorable encounter with a surprise storm cell over the Rockies last month.
It was due back at a hangar near Solace Springs in the next day or two once the work was finished—and that wasn’t soon enough.
“Relax, Spencer,” Samantha Wahedi called over the engine noise, shooting him a grin from the pilot’s seat. “I’ve only crashed twice, and both times I walked away.”
“That’s not exactly the pep talk I was after, but sure,” Reese shot back, but he was smiling.
He’d known Sam for years now, ever since they’d both been young and stupid enough to think flying relief supplies into disaster zones was a reasonable way to make a living.
Sam had saved his ass more times than he cared to count, and vice versa.
These days, Sam ran a charter service out of Seattle, but she still flew like she was dodging surface-to-air missiles.
“Besides,” Sam continued, adjusting their heading toward the lake, “you’re the one who asked for a ride into what’s looking like a decent storm. I’m the responsible one here.”
Reese glanced at the family photo tucked into Sam’s sun visor: Sam with her distinctive cloud of short curly black hair, arm around her wife, two kids grinning at the camera.
George was eight now, if he remembered right, and little Maisie had just started kindergarten.
Sam had shown Reese approximately a thousand pictures of their first days of school.
“How’s Ellen?” Reese asked. “Kids settling into the new school okay?”
“Ellen’s good. Kids are…well, they’re kids. George is convinced he wants to be a pilot like his mom, which gives Ellen nightmares. Maisie wants to be a mermaid so we’re still working on realistic career expectations there.”
“Smart kid. Better benefits in the mermaid industry.”
Sam laughed then shot Reese a sideways look. “Speaking of kids, you still determined to stay unattached and child-free for now? I keep thinking you’ll meet someone who’ll make you want to stick around for more than a season.”
Reese laughed. “Nah, not ready for that circus. Might never be, to be honest.”
“I guess it’s difficult after what happened with…” Her voice trailed off as she clocked the look on his face and she shrugged. “Well, it’s like what they always say, you’re the Golden Wolf, Reese. Born to roam.”
Reese smiled at that. Sam had been calling him that since their relief pilot days when Reese would disappear for hours at a time. Then the press had picked the nickname up and ran with it. “That’s me. Golden Wolf with a Canadian passport and a commitment problem.”
The helicopter lurched sideways then as a gust of wind caught them. Reese grabbed for the handholds while Sam fought to keep them level, the aircraft swaying like a toy in the increasingly turbulent air.
“Well, shit,” Sam muttered, checking her instruments. “This is moving in faster than the weather service predicted. Not looking great, bud. You wanna turn back?”
“We’re not far. Drop me off, but don’t hang around on my account. I can hunker down at the inn if things get tough. No point in you getting caught in this mess.”
“You sure? I don’t like the idea of leaving you stranded if this thing really opens up.”
Reese eyed the family photo again. “I’m sure. Get back to your family.”
Sam nodded, then banked the helicopter toward Maple Island. “There she is.”
Reese leaned forward to get his first real look at his destination from above.
It was a mile or so across at its widest point, but it was perfect.
A teardrop of land rising from the dark water like something from a fairy tale, covered in an old-growth forest that existed only in places humans had forgotten to ruin.
The maples that gave the island its name dominated the southern slopes, their canopy a riot of gold and scarlet that seemed to glow even under the darkening sky.
The inn resided in a natural clearing about halfway up the hill, positioned to take advantage of a small inlet that curved into the island’s eastern shore like a sheltering arm.
From above, Reese could see the wisdom in its placement: protected from the worst of the lake’s storms but with clear views across the water in four directions.
The building itself was larger than he’d anticipated, a rambling structure of weathered stone and dark timber.
The main house was three stories with a wraparound porch.
The most impressive thing, though, was the tower that twisted up from its eastern side, connected to it by a narrow, enclosed corridor.
The whole complex had the kind of settled, permanent look that came with more than a century of weathering lake storms and summer heat.
What struck him most was how wild the rest of the island remained. The forest pressed close, unmarked by trails or clearings.
“Beautiful spot,” Sam called over the engine noise, circling the island so Reese could get a better look. “I can see why you’d want to buy it. Hell of a place to disappear from the world for a while.”
Also happened to be where something important to his family was buried. Something he felt this desperate urge to find. It had started with a scribble he’d found in his dad’s old journal a few years back. Scrawled like an afterthought in the margin of a water-damaged page:
Buried. Solace. Spencer family.
No explanation. Just those four words, hanging there like a challenge.
Reese had been chasing them ever since. Figured Solace might be a place, maybe just a metaphor.
God knew his old man wasn’t big on clarity.
He’d burned through half the country chasing dead ends: a town outside St. John’s, a church in Red Deer, even a rehab facility in northern Ontario. None of it fit.
But then Erika came across something when searching for properties for him to look at.
A listing for an old inn on a lake called Solace, tucked in some remote corner of Washington State.
His research told him his ancestors on his dad’s side were voyageurs with the Hudson’s Bay Company.
Originally from Norway, they traveled the world in the 1800s, trading furs and searching for gold.
Chances were they may have gone via Washington State before they moved north to settle in British Columbia.
So the second he saw the lake, something clicked. Deep in his chest. Like something inside him sat up, stretched out and said, This is the one.
He’d got Erika to make inquiries about the inn, especially basement surveys: density readings, fault lines, topography.
To anyone else it was just numbers and grids.
But his eyes had gone straight to the red notations beneath the inn showing irregular spaces, voids where solid ground should be.
Sealed chambers beneath the foundations.
The basement extended way beyond the official plans and those voids?
Definitely man-made. Could be old storage.
Could be prohibition tunnels…or it could be something connected to his dad’s ancestors.
Something “buried,” as his dad had written in his journal.
He wasn’t about to walk away from that, even if someone like Grace Sullivan happened to be standing in his way, all fire and defiance, with local roots and a kid who believed in her.
Reese thought of the night before again and how he’d imagined Grace touching herself when he was sexting AutumnDreams87.
He shook his hands and clenched his fists.
Head in the game, Reese.
Reese caught a flicker of movement on the water below them. A small boat was cutting through the increasingly rough swells, heading straight for the island’s dock. Even from this height, he could see it was struggling against the waves, the bow slamming hard into each swell.
“Someone’s got more courage than sense,” Sam observed, following his gaze. “That’s not exactly pleasure boating weather down there.”
Reese watched the boat’s progress with growing interest. Was Grace on there? The craft looked sturdy enough, but the lake was getting angrier by the minute and whoever was steering that boat was clearly fighting for every foot of forward progress.
Damn, that woman was a fighter…and he was so here for it.
Sam was already looking for a landing spot, the helicopter’s rotors whipping the treetops as they descended toward a small clearing near the inn. “You sure about this?” she asked. “Once I’m gone, you’re stuck until this blows over.”
“I’m sure.”
The helicopter touched down with a gentle bump and Reese grabbed his overnight bag from behind the seat. Truth was, he was going to ask if he could stay in the inn overnight, hoping his enthusiasm would show the owners just how much he wanted the place.
“Call me when you need a pickup,” Sam shouted over the engine noise as Reese ducked out. “I’ll try my best to get to you.”
Reese gave her a thumbs-up and jogged clear of the landing zone, watching as his friend lifted off and banked toward the mainland. Within minutes, the helicopter was just a distant speck against the storm clouds.
He stood for a moment, enjoying the sound of the wind in the trees and the waves growing angrier by the minute. Somewhere out there on the water, Grace Sullivan was fighting her way through conditions that were getting worse with each passing moment.
Reese shouldered his bag and started down the hill toward the inn, his boots slipping slightly on the wet leaves.
Whatever happened next, at least it wouldn’t be boring.