Oh shit.
Not Mr. Parsons. Nope. That guy was fifty-something, short, balding, gray hair, brown eyes, and a little round around the middle.
This guy was tall, lanky, about my age, with blond hair and piercing-blue eyes. He scowled. “Who the hell are you?”
I removed my gloves, dropped them on the bench by the door, and started to remove my outerwear. The cabin was much hotter than I’d left it, and I didn’t want to overheat. “Uh, well…” I brushed the snow off my coat, unzipped it, removed it, then hung it on a peg on the wall—clearly put there for this exact purpose. I eyed the leather jacket. Then noted the running shoes by the door. “Please tell me you didn’t wear sneakers and a flimsy leather jacket up here.”
He jutted his chin. “What if I did? What’s it to you?”
“Well, if your SUV gets stuck in a snowbank as you drive away from here, you might just freeze to death.”
He scowled. “I’m not leaving. You’re the one who’s trespassing. I should call the cops.”
I rolled my eyes. “I know very few trespassers who have keys.” I dug them out of my pocket and hung them on a smaller peg. I never went out without them—even if I was the only one around and the odds of someone locking the door were almost nonexistent.
“You seem surprised to see me. Did you not see my truck in the driveway?”
He frowned. “Uh…no.” He continued to frown.
Given the way this guy was looking at me, I hadn’t been wrong to hedge my bets. “Who are you?”
Again with the chin jut. “Kellen Parsons.”
I racked my brain. “I assume you’re related to Mike Parsons.”
“His son.”
“And he neglected to mention he’d lent me his cabin for the months of November and December?”
He bit his lower lip. “He might not know where I am.”
I blinked. “You drove six hours north of Vancouver without proper outerwear and no one knew where you were going? Do you need to check in with someone?”
“Lori knows where I am.”
“Uh…who’s Lori?”
“My dad’s vice-president.”
“Okay.” I plopped down onto the bench so I could untie the laces on my winter boots.Jesus…he’s just got those flimsy running shoes? He’s got seriously questionable judgement.“Have you called Lori?”
“I sent her a text.”
I’d give Mr. Parsons props—he’d managed to convince one of the biggest telecommunications businesses in Canada to install a wireless tower nearby. The thing also ensured that a large part of the main road into town had cell service. That had apparently saved a couple of lives. People stuck on the side of the road who might’ve had to wait hours—if not days—for help. Almost no one came out this way. “Did she respond?”
“Yep. So if things go sideways, she can always tell my dad.”
“Your dad won’t worry?” I pulled my boots off, eyed the near stranger, and decided to leave my jeans on for now. I rose.
“Worry is relative. Will he notice I’m gone? Probably not.”
The bleakness of his tone had me paying attention. “Okay, well, that sucks.”
“Do you have family who would miss you? If something bad happened to you?”
“Nothing bad is going to happen to me—I’m prepared. But yes, if I didn’t check in every two weeks, both my PhD supervisor and my father would worry. Well, and my stepfather.”
He blinked. “Your dad’s gay?”
