Chapter 1: What the Hell Was THAT?
In which writer Aura Ellory follows her agent's advice and rents an isolated cabin high up in the Northern Oregon Coast Range.
Iwas trying to follow the directions on my phone while keeping the jeep on a road generously dotted with potholes when something huge soared in front of my windshield.
Screeching, I slammed on the brakes, hands shaking on the wheel. “What the hell was that?” There was nothing but darkness beyond my headlights and I was utterly still, waiting for something to rise up in front of my car - maybe a bloodied, dazed deer or an enraged bear, or -
“Good lord, give it a rest.” My voice sounded shaky and it embarrassed me a bit. “Don’t be such a sissy, just open the door and check.”
I opened the door, ready to let out a terrified scream at the slightest movement.
There was nothing. No dents or patches of fur on the bumper, no signs of anything aside from the black marks I’d laid down from stomping on the brakes. Turning in a circle, I felt a tide of claustrophobia, it had been building slowly as I’d driven higher and higher up the mountain. I was a city girl; this nature and fresh air stuff were creeping me out. “I’ll be better when I’m finally settled,” I counseled myself as I started up the jeep again, “I’m sure all this healthy … you know, whatever will be great when I get used to living here.”
I talked to myself a lot. Out loud, a proper conversation though I’d caught people staring at me sometimes when I’d forgotten I was in public. I’d gotten in the habit as a little girl. I was an only child and born to two Extremely Busy Professor parents who didn’t have much time for me. I was a child, how interesting could I be to such brilliant people? The only time they really made a fuss was when they’d show me off to their other Extremely Impressive Professor friends.
“Only another couple of miles, and the repair … dude … uh, handy guy … whoever will be there to give me the key.”
This move to the mountains was my literary agent’s idea, damn him. Why did I listen to him in the first place?
“It’ll be good for you, Aura,” James had sat back, lacing his fingers together, elbows on his desk in that irritating posture my parents had often affected. “No distractions, no worries. No one to bother you. You won’t have to worry about him…” he had paused awkwardly, knowing that just uttering the word “stalker” made my hands shake.
I’d sucked in a breath, nodding. “Yeah, it’ll be good.” Squaring my jaw, I’d nodded firmly. “Good. No worries. I’m looking forward to it.”
The road had led past other turnoffs, other luxury cabins that made up a huge resort for the wealthy, who I’m guessing thought ‘getting back to nature’ meant lasting here in beautiful isolation for a full twelve hours and thirty-five minutes before gassing up the jet again. But my dickhead of an agent apparently booked the one highest up on this part of the Northern Oregon Coast Range. The landscape was strange; craggy, rough protrusions from the ancient volcanic eruptions millions of years ago. The trees soared up into the sky, almost too high to see the tops.
“Finally,” I mumbled, turning onto the private roadway to that led to the cabin James booked for me. As promised, there was a beat-up old Ford truck parked in front of the ridiculously huge structure that I assumed was my “quaint” cabin. The massive peaked roof was generously lined with huge windows and a wide front porch with comfortable outdoor furniture. Lights lining the walkway and the deck made the gargantuan log palace look a bit more welcoming.
“Hello? I’m looking for Steve Rogers?”
It was silent as I approached the cabin. “Like, really silent,” I half-whispered. “Like, aren’t there supposed to be crickets and owls and-”
“You won’t get many of those up here.”
With another embarrassing screech, I whirled to find a man there. A gigantically tall and hugely wide-shouldered man.
This is the guy who should be on the cover of Lumberjack Weekly,I thought. Is there a Lumberjack Weekly magazine? If not, they should kickstart it with a cover of this man, the demand would crash the site in minutes.
He had a nearly-trimmed beard, short blond hair, and blue eyes. Blue eyes so bright that they almost glowed.
“Must be the moonlight,” I mumbled, then blushed red. “Sorry, I um, talk to myself a lot.” I thrust a hand out. “Aura Ellory. You’re Steve?”
Those vivid eyes darted down to my outstretched hand but made no move to take it. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”
“Thanks for meeting me so late,” I ventured, awkwardly hauling my suitcase and backpack out of the back of the jeep. He turned and walked up the stairs onto the porch without offering to help me. I rolled my eyes, such a gentleman, and followed him.
“No problem, I’m a night owl.” The corner of his mouth turned up. He had lovely, full pink lips, I noticed, almost incongruous under that beard.
Steve opened the front door for me, my eyes blinking to absorb the splash of bright light. “So, who owns this dump?”
I was trying to be funny, but his unimpressed expression quailed me a bit. “Some investors. They own half the mountain, all these cabins, I guess,” Steve said indifferently. “Anyway, here’s the main breakers for the electricity….” He showed me around the cabin, and it was gorgeous. I hated “cutesy rustic aesthetic,” but this was straight-up amazing.
The first floor had two massive floor-to-ceiling glass walls with a flow between the main room with a gigantic river rock fireplace with deep, comfortable-looking sofas. I was happy to see there was a long, slim work table that I could use for a desk and a high-quality office chair. That room segued into a long slab of a harvest table that could seat ten in the dining area. I didn’t even know ten people I would feel comfortable inviting to dinner, but it was still cool as hell to look at. The kitchen had those impressive old-school-looking appliances with all the modern upgrades, like a cherry red Big Chill double fridge and six-burner Aga stove.
I already knew I’d be trying out every recipe in mySilver Palate Cookbook,and then deflated as I realized I’d be cooking for one. Eh. Whatever.
The second-floor loft bedroom was a soothing mix of blues and greens, the shades taken from the view outside of the pines and the lake. The bed must have weighed a ton or two, created from logs twisted beautifully into a high headboard and footboard. There were built-in bookcases and a cushioned window seat. I was about to make a lame joke about having to use the outhouse when Steve opened the door to the master bath, where a massive ivory clawfoot tub stood in front of a stunning view of the granite drop-off behind the cabin, along with a glass-enclosed shower with copper fixtures.
Okay,I thought,I’ve got to give James a raise for finding this place.
