one
Dane
Why the hell can’t I figure this out?
Shoving my notepad across the desk, followed by a pencil dulled by an hour’s unsuccessful notations, I lean back as far as the desk chair allows. Hands cradling the back of my head, I stare at the ceiling. Deep in my gut, a sense that’s never failed me in business, I know my partner is either skimming money from the lodge or undermining operations. Possibly both.
He's good. Damn good.
It was that talent for business that first caught my attention. Now, thinking back over the past five years, I’m beginning to wonder if our meeting really was accidental. He knew too much about my business portfolio. Was too eager to form a partnership. I don’t like to admit his knowledge and attention stroked my ego and may have contributed to my reckless decisions.
Then he encouraged me to begin intense and expensive remodels to a facility not even a dozen years old. Somehow those projects always needed emergency funding or were completed with substandard materials and, at times, shoddy workmanship.He must know I’m becoming suspicious. The building projects have been set aside while he ‘courts’ clientele from the rich and famous.
Not the type of people I built the lodge for. There’s plenty of over the top private clubs for them. I’ve always envisioned the lodge as a family getaway and he’s been slowly pricing us out of that demographic.
I slam my fist on my desk. I will not lose the White Fir Lodge because I didn’t listen to my internal warnings.
I need to calm down. I tend to miss important facts and information when I’m not focused. I swivel my chair to face the wide windows overlooking the surrounding forest. Snow started shortly after I arrived early this morning and a good amount covers the ground and the thick pine branches. With the cloud cover gone, the full moon’s light brightens the snow, making it easy to see through the darkness.
I glance at my watch. I’ve worked through the afternoon and evening without pause. I need to eat. Relax. Then back to work.
My break took long enough to heat a can of soup, down a beer, and watch a stupid children’s Christmas special. Why a Christmas special I don’t care about? So I can tell everyone that, yes, I was relaxing in anticipation of the holiday, when in actuality I was going over the lodge’s accounts in my brain. Again.
Duty done in the name of relaxation, I return to my office. It’s started snowing again, creating a picture perfect moment surrounded by the window frame. The beauty here never fails to captivate me, it’s what brought me to this part of Oregon in the first place. The property was neglected so I negotiated an excellent price for the land and buildings. My original redesigns and development created a lucrative vacation property.
I wish I could go back and change my decision to form that damned partnership with Carson James. Or been more attentiveto what my new partner planned rather than focusing on some of my other properties. I consider the White Fir Lodge to be the high point, the physical peak of my small, vacation empire. My showpiece.
That’s the key. I wanted a showpiece. A property that fit seamlessly into the landscape while still providing a vacation experience. A location where people wanted to visit year after year. A place with traditions.
Carson brought in new ideas and presented them in a way they aligned with my vision. In reality, he’s been hiding the log construction behind dry wall and metallic panels that create a more futuristic appearance. He’d even wanted to cover the exterior with flat stone and concrete.
That had been the step too far.
That’s when I started really looking at what he’s done. What his plans were. Trying to match the flow of money to the actual work completed.
Scrubbing my hands through my hair, I lean my elbows on the desk and close my eyes. There has got to be something, some little slip up he’s made that will open the door to actual, irrefutable evidence. I don’t have much time before a new, overly expensive project is scheduled to begin. If I can prove what I expect Carson’s been up to, I’ll be able to legally cancel the contracts already set in place.
With a deep breath, I open my laptop and, ignoring the last file I’d been studying, open a new document. Flipping a page on my notepad and grabbing a fresh pencil from the drawer, I settle in for a long night of research.
Not sure how long I’ve been staring at this set of line item expenditures when an odd noise filters through the numbers and captures my attention. Cocking my head, I listen, waiting for a repeat of the sound. Was that inside or outside? An animal? Just the wind?
Ready to chalk the sound up to my tired brain, I glance out the window then surge to my feet. There’s something out there, moving awkwardly toward my cabin.
Fuck. That’s a person. And they’re limping heavily, obviously injured in some way.
In case the person sees me in the brightly lit window, I make some wide motions hoping to indicate I’ll help. Then rush to the door, jam my stockinged feet into my boots and grab my jacket.
The moon isn’t as bright as it was earlier so there’s more shadows making it difficult to see how far the person has come since I first noticed them. For a brief second I entertain the thought this was my mind creating a distraction from my searches. I take a half dozen steps through the deep snow that’s shifting into my unlaced boots. Still nothing.
Wait. There. A white lump that’s not snow. I crouch next to the—it’s a woman. “Hey, you okay?”
I realize the stupidity of my question but there’s no answer or any indication she’s heard. She’s lying on her side, her eyes closed. Her breaths short but steady. I hesitate then touch her shoulder. No reaction. Shit.
I need to get her inside. The struggle to get her limp body into my arms is real, and I slip a couple times. Hoping I haven’t made whatever injury she has worse, I get her back to the cabin. After a moment’s hesitation, I lay her on the futon that makes my office into a rarely used guest room.
She’s dressed in a full length white robe. There’s fur around the edges and from the feel, I assume it’s lined as well. That should have provided some protection from the cold. There’s a hood that’s fallen forward over her face. I push it back and my breath stalls.
Her cheeks are wind-reddened against otherwise pale skin. Her lips have a slightly blue tinge. She looks like… a winter goddess. I stand here staring at her for far too long when Ishould be checking for injuries. At the very least she needs to be warmed. That cloak doesn’t look water resistant so it might be wet on the inside. I reach for the ties holding it together in the front.
