It was when Steve was explaining where the backup generator and the gardening tools were in the shed out back that I got to really get a good look at him as he gestured toward the yard. The man was gigantic, what - 6”4, 6”5? His shoulders were so broad that I could see the flex and pull of muscle under his plaid shirt. And those legs! Long, long legs and thick thighs. God, I loved thick thighs on a man….
“…if a pipe breaks or your power goes out, call me. If it’s something stupid like your toilet backing up because you’re dumping tampons in there, I don’t wanna know.” He was looking down at me again, and I flushed.
“Well, thanks, Steve,” I tried to sneer, but his forbidding expression flattened my tone a bit. “I know how to use a plunger. Anything else tricky and mountain-related?”
God, he was beautiful. His straight, dark brows furrowed as he stared at me, then there was his perfect freaking bone structure and gorgeous skin - what the hell, was this guy an ex-model? - it was all kind of distracting me. I lifted my chin and one brow and stared right back.
Then he smiled, a real one, and leaned down, breathing in slightly. Not sniffing me exactly - that would have been creepy - and said, “No. You know how to reach me. Goodnight.”
His abrupt departure made me blink. “Okay, uh, goodnight, then.” Turning and locking the front door, I took in a deep breath. The cabin smelled of rosemary and pine sap from the firewood stacked next to the hearth in the living room. It did feel safe here. Away from the city. From my old life, from my stalker. From the man who wanted to kill me.
Chapter 2: A Visit to the Ha-Ha Hotel
In which Aura takes a run. Who knew that fresh air and exercise could create such wild dreams?
It took me the rest of the night to unpack everything and get settled, and the sun was starting to appear over the pines and into my windows when I pulled out the last item, the most important item, my laptop.
I carefully put it on the table I’d dragged into the main room and positioned in front of the windows.
I stood back and looked at everything. Rearranged the laptop. Sat down at the table. And put my head in my hands. “What am I going to do?” I whispered, “What if I can’t do this anymore?” My reflection didn’t have anything to offer me, so I sighed and went to bed.
My sleep was disturbed and fretful, the way it had been since the letters had started a year before. I woke up at every creak and squeak in the cabin, including once when I heard what sounded like footsteps ascending the stairs. That made me tumble out of bed and scrabble for the handgun I’d stashed in a holster in the bed frame. By the time I had it in my shaky grip, I felt like an idiot.
“Great,” I sighed, running a hand through my hair, “perfect. If that had been a break-in he would have been in here and stabbing me by the time I fell off the bed. Impressive reaction time, girl. Really.” Pulling out the clip and making sure there wasn’t a round chambered, I replaced the weapon and stood up. It had to be late afternoon, based on how the light slanted through the trees.
"Might as well get moving," I said, in a voice so sullen that I annoyed myself. After an aggressively intense cup of coffee, I was alert and ready to run. I had started running on the advice of a therapist I'd seen twice who was very adamant about the benefits of exercise. While running had definitely been a good idea, her optimistic chirpiness got on my nerves to the point that I decided to keep running but fire her.
The sun was making its leisurely way toward the horizon when my sneakered feet hit the groomed dirt trail leading back to the main road. Until I knew the area better, it seemed like a good idea to stay on a route I recognized.
“Okay,” I admitted, panting, “this could be pretty good here. I could like this."
The air was cool for July as the evening light threw the ferns and trees into a sharper focus. I heard the occasional rustle from the underbrush and smiled. “Bunnies? I’ll bet they’re bunnies. Do they have rabbits this high up?” To be honest, having lived in sea-level Seattle for so long, the high altitude was forcing me to drag in more air, trying to get more oxygen. I ended up only running a mile or so before I had to slow to a walk, hands on hips as I breathed deeply. Turning around, I started heading back to the cabin, it was getting too dark for me to feel confident that I knew where I was going.
“Wait.”
I stopped, turning around. “This is the right path, I just turned and came back the same way.” I turned around again. “Right?” I hated that uncertain tone. That weakness. I’d always been proudly independent before the letters started. My parents gave me that, at least, by ignoring me by the time I was old enough to feed myself.
“Well, dammit…” I tried to regulate my breathing, to pace myself. “No panic attack, Aura!” Lecturing myself sometimes worked. “Suck it up! You’re fine!”
“What are you doing here?”
I let out a full-throated scream and whirled around to see…. Of course. Of course, it would be that hot-looking dolt of a handyman.
“I’m … well … goddammit I’m lost, Handyman Steve!” I snapped, hand on my chest and feeling like a complete idiot. He was standing there, blocking the path with his arms folded - those biceps, they were big enough for their own zip code, I thought - over his broad chest. He was wearing those perfectly-fitting jeans and another plaid shirt. His expression was not welcoming. He was standing by his battered truck, parked in front of a cabin about the size of mine, but even more beautifully designed. He even had flowers blooming in the front yard and some fragrant-smelling wood smoke coming from his chimney.
“How did you get three miles from your cabin, cross-country, and not be clear about the way back? These cabins may be fancy, but this is still the wilderness. You can get hurt.”
I stepped back, shaking my head. “Three miles cross-country? No, I just … I was on the road, and-”
Steve looked at me briefly and then at the night sky. “It’s too dark to walk back now.” He gave an irritable sigh and I watched, transfixed as that gigantic chest moved up and down. “Get in the truck. I’ll drive you.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” I said, “just point me in the direction of the cabin and-”
“It’s night-time and you’re going to get lost,” he said, crisply. “Get in the truck.”
So, I did.
The ride back to my place was silent, I was trying to memorize the way and wrestle with my confusion at the same time. How could I have possibly gone as far as three miles? And I never left the road. But one side glance at his impassive face told me Steve wouldn’t give a rat’s rectum about my certainty that I wasn’t lost. The mist was rising slightly, hovering over the ferns and lower bushes and everything looked a little eerie, unearthly. Pulling up to my cabin, he rested a muscled forearm on his steering wheel. “You have GPS on your phone?” he asked, still not looking at me.
