I just have a gut feeling I need to keep my mouth shut about it for now. At least until I know more.
The drive up in the white-out conditions takes two and a half hours. The roads are full of snow and assholes who can’t drive in it. I pull into a long winding driveway, aggravated and angry, until I catch a glimpse of a scene from a goddamn wintery landscaped painting.
What the fuck?
Tall evergreen trees powdered with snow surround a small, picturesque log cabin. A stack of wood is piled up against one of its sides and a wreath of green and red garland hangs from the front door. A soft golden glow streams out from an enormous front window frosted in the corners like some small holiday decoration. What the fuck did my father do here? Why did he have this and why did he leave it to me? Why couldn’t he have just left this to my mother or Chloe?
I climb out of the warmth of the car to the blanketed silence of the snow.
My gut twists. How could one man have so many secrets? Disinheriting an entire family and having a secret house in the mountains? Was this just a place he would feel he could get away to?
I trod through the drifts and stand on the front porch of the cabin, the bottoms of my pant legs heavy with snow. A movement just behind the windowpane catches my attention. Is there someone inside?
Did he have this place staffed? Is that who could be inside?
I rub the sleeve of my coat over the foggy window making a circle to peek through. On a light gray couch sits a woman with long, champagne-colored hair. It spills in wild curls and waves over her shoulders as she hangs her face in her hands.
Her shoulders tremble lightly.
It looks like she might be crying.
When she lifts her head, something moves deep inside my chest. She looks so familiar. I know this woman. She leans forward, putting her hands over her face and wipes away the wetness that glistens on her cheeks. It looks like her world is falling apart. My heart races in my chest. Why does this woman look so familiar?
When her eyes flash forward, the color blue is so striking I jump away from the window and press myself against the cold wood surface of the house.
Those blue eyes.
My heart aches sharply.
I remember those eyes. My entire teenage life was spent dreaming about those eyes and how they looked at me.
It’s fucking Claire Radcliffe.
Anger and rage explode through my veins. What the fuck is Claire Radcliffe doing in my father’s secret cabin?
