Chapter 13
Hannah
Twenty minutes later, the lodge comes into view through the trees. The place is enormous. Even after seeing it yesterday, it’s a startling sight.
It’s seen better days, yes, but it has good bones—the heavy timber frame, the soaring roofline. The broad porch wrapping around the front.
It wouldn’t take much to make the place beautiful. A fresh stain on the wood. New lighting. Planters overflowing with flowers instead of weeds. The porch could be incredible with some decent furniture and—
I stop myself.
I’m already mentally redesigning the place.
Like I might be here long enough for any of that to matter.
Torin pulls up outside and kills the engine.
He gets to the boxes before I do.
“I can carry one.”
“I know.”
He picks up two anyway.
I settle for my backpack.
The lodge is blissfully cool when we step inside. My eyes are still adjusting after the glare outside when a chair scrapes across the wooden floor.
Orson gets to his feet. He looks from me to the boxes in Torin’s arms. His face changes. “Tell me those aren’t hers.”
“They’re hers.”
Orson stares at him. “You saw the news?”
“Yeah.”
“Then what the fuck are you doing?”
Torin puts the boxes on the counter. “Making sure Hannah has somewhere safe to stay.”
Orson looks at me again, and I wish suddenly that I could disappear.
“Her father is a sheriff, Tor.”
“I know.”
“He’s got her face on every fucking news station. He’s got cops looking for her.”
“I know.”
“And you thought bringing her here was a good idea?”
“Better than leaving her alone in that cabin.”
Orson gives a short, disbelieving laugh. “Those were the only two options?”
“For me? Yeah.”
His voice has changed.
Orson hears it too. He stares at his brother for a second, jaw working, then turns away and drags a hand over the back of his neck.
“I don’t want to cause trouble,” I say.
Both of them look at me.
“I mean it. I can go somewhere else.”
“No,” Torin says. Then he turns to Orson. “I’m not leaving her on her own.”
“Jesus Christ, I didn’t say you should.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“That maybe we should think for five fucking minutes before you move a missing woman into our house.”
Heat burns through my face.
Orson’s expression shifts. “I’m not blaming you.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.” He exhales and looks toward the window. “Your dad’s the problem. And Torin apparently losing whatever common sense he had left.”
“Fuck off.”
“Excellent argument.”
Despite everything, a laugh escapes me.
Orson looks at me, his attention catching on the fading bruise along my jaw. He lets out a long breath. “Fuck. Which room?”
Torin doesn’t answer immediately.
Orson looks back, eyebrow raised. “Well?”
“I can sleep anywhere,” I say quickly. “The sofa’s fine.”
Both brothers look at me.
“No,” they say together.
Orson’s gaze returns to Torin. “Well?”
“The room next to mine.”
Orson gives a single nod. “Makes sense.”
He turns and disappears down the hallway.
I watch him go. Then I look at Torin.
“It’s the quickest room to get to,” he says.
It takes me a second to understand.
“If you need me.”
My chest tightens.
He says it like there was never any question that he’d come.
A small smile touches his mouth. “Come on.”
He takes my backpack. “Let’s get you settled in.”
I follow him down the hallway. His door is the first on the left. Mine is the second.
Torin pushes my door open and carries my backpack inside.
Afternoon sunlight spills through the open window, and a breeze moves the curtains. The room is simple—a double bed, a closet, a chest of drawers and a battered armchair in one corner—but after Bennett’s cabin, it feels enormous.
Torin sets my backpack beside the closet.
“Alexandria stayed in here.”
I look around. “She did?”
“For about a week. Then she moved in with Gunnar.”
There’s a smile in his voice when he says it.
I walk over to the window. Pine trees crowd the slope below, with the mountains rising beyond them.
“Not a bad view.”
“Gets better in winter.”
I glance back at him. “You really do think everything gets better in winter.”
“Most things.”
I smile.
Torin nods toward the hallway. “Bathroom’s across from you. Towels are in the cupboard. Anything else, you know where I am.”
“I do.”
He looks at me for another second, then leaves me to settle in.
I close the door behind him and lean against it.
The stillness hits me.
I’ve been moving since I saw Dad’s face on my phone. Packing. Leaving. Coming here. I haven’t had a second to absorb any of it.
Now I do.
My stomach clenches. I have no idea what happens next.
I push away from the door and reach for my backpack.
There isn’t much to unpack.
I hang up my clothes, put my toiletries away and set my laptop on the bedside table.
The folder comes out last.
I run my fingers over the worn cardboard before sliding it into the top drawer of the chest.
From somewhere outside comes a heavy thunk.
Another.
Then another.
I cross to the window and look down.
Orson is beside the woodshed, splitting logs.
Shirt off. Axe raised over his head. Bringing it down hard enough to send two halves of a log tumbling apart.
Thunk.
I bite back a smile. It’s the middle of summer. I doubt they’re running low on firewood.
Apparently, this is how Orson deals with me staying here.
I leave him to murder the firewood and sit down on the edge of the bed.
The mattress is softer than the one at Bennett’s. The sheets smell of washing powder and sunshine.
I lie back.
Just for a minute.
A soft knock wakes me.
I open my eyes and stare at an unfamiliar ceiling.
“Hannah?”
Torin.
I push myself upright. “Yeah?”
“I made some food. You hungry?”
“Always.”
“Come eat, then.”
I hear his footsteps retreat down the hallway.
The sunlight has shifted across the floor. I check the time and blink.
I’ve been asleep for nearly two hours.
I drag myself out of bed, use the bathroom across the hall and splash cold water over my face. My hair is flattened on one side from the pillow. I try to fix it with my fingers, give up, and leave it.
By the time I reach the kitchen, I can smell bacon and fresh coffee.
Orson is standing beside the table.
Three places are set.
He puts a mug beside the empty plate.
I stop.
His eyebrows draw together. “Something wrong?”
“Nope.” I shake my head and sit down. He pours coffee into my mug.
Torin sets a plate in front of me. Eggs, bacon, toast. Enough food for two people.
I look up at him. “Are you expecting me to finish all this?”
“Do what you can.”
He sits beside me with his own plate. I take a bite of bacon and realize how hungry I am.
Across the table, Orson studies me over the rim of his mug.
“So,” he says at last.
I look up.
“Can you cook?”
I laugh. “I can make a decent lasagna.”
He nods. “Useful.”
Torin chuckles. “Don’t mind him. He judges people by whether they’re useful.”
Orson reaches for another piece of toast. “What else am I supposed to judge them by?”
I grin and pick up my coffee. It’s good. Strong, with milk already added.
I take a proper look around the kitchen. It’s enormous, built to feed far more people than the three of us. Stainless-steel worktops run along two walls, and the battered six-burner range looks as though it’s seen better days.
“This really used to be a working lodge?”
“Yeah,” Torin says. “Long time ago.”
“What happened?”
“Went bust. Place sat empty for years.”
“And you found it?”
“Gunnar did,” Orson says. “We were hunting up here.”
“Lucky find.”
Torin smiles. “Yeah. It was.”
I finish the last piece of bacon and start clearing the table.
I reach for Orson’s empty plate before he can.
“Leave it,” Torin says.
“No chance.” Before he can object any further, I carry the plates over to the sink.
Orson barks something incomprehensible.
Torin clicks his tongue. “What did I tell you about talking with your mouth full?”
“Sorry. Said, there’s a dishwasher.”
“Oh?” I yank open a couple of handles until I discover one is a huge industrial dishwasher. “You weren’t joking,” I say.
I slot the plates into the rack while Torin gets up and washes the frying pan in the sink behind me.
Orson drains the last of his coffee and gets to his feet.
“I’ll be outside.”
Torin glances toward the window. “More firewood?”
Orson gives him a look.
“Thought so.”
The screen door closes behind him.
A moment later, the axe starts up again.
“Does he ever relax?”
“That is him relaxing.”
I laugh.
I dry my hands and lean back against the counter.
“I wish I knew how.”
Torin turns from the sink. “How to relax?”
“How to sit around when there’s nothing I can do.” I pick at a loose thread on the dish towel. “Bennett won’t be back for days. My dad’s out there telling everyone I’m some confused little girl who needs rescuing, and all I can do is wait.”
He frowns. “You’re safe here, Hannah.”
“I know.” I let out a breath. “I just hate... doing nothing.”
He watches me for a second. “You need something to keep your brain busy.”
I smile. “Pretty much.”
“Something you can get obsessed with.”
I point a finger at him. “Now you’re getting it.”
He smiles. “Hang on.”
“What?”
“I think I know just the thing.”
He heads for the hallway.
“Torin.”
He looks back.
“What thing?”
His grin widens. “Come and find out.”