Chapter One
Kit
I leave a billow of dust behind me as I slowly navigate the winding dirt road in my Jeep. There’s a brief moment of regret as I steer around another pothole, but this is what I was looking for—solitude and the beauty of nature. It’s just a shame it doesn’t come with a paved road. On the bright side, at least the neighbors are few and far between. After weeks of idly searching online, I’d chosen this place on impulse. Collier’s Creek. The name evoked images of babbling brooks and nature’s tranquility. Just what I need.
I round a bend and follow the directions they emailed—through the gates, past the main house where I’ve been told the caretaker lives, continuing along the gravel road until I come up to three cabins set well apart. Mine’s the last of the three. The cabin sits alone in a sea of dark green trees, its weathered logs moss-covered with age. It looks like something from a travel brochure.Authentic mountain retreat for your rustic getaway.
I park alongside the cabin and kill the engine. The sudden silence is startling. There’s no engine noise to drown out my thoughts, no more music to distract. I climb from the Jeep and take a deep breath, relaxing for the first time in months. A bird calls in the distance. Nothing but trees and birds, and glimpses of bright blue sky.Perfect.
After sucking in another few lungfuls of the fresh country air, I grab my bags and haul them into the cabin that’s been left unlocked and waiting for me.
The cabin has a rustic feel and spartan furnishings, just as the online ad described. There’s a stone fireplace and I can imagine sitting on the couch in front of a roaring fire with my laptop. A desk is by the window overlooking the woods, the ideal place for writing as it’s bathed in the early afternoon sun. I dump my laptop bag there and check out the rest of the space.
The kitchen is basic but looks functional and opens into the living area. On the dining table, I find a welcome note and a set of keys, although in a place like this I’m not sure I’ll even have to lock the door. The bedroom is at the back of the cabin, along with an attached bathroom.
It doesn’t take long to unpack. I haven’t brought a lot with me because I don’t plan on doing much apart from writing. I shove T-shirts, jeans, sweatpants, and warm sweaters into empty drawers, along with underwear. My coat is in the back of the car. I’ll grab it later. I dump the bag with my personal items on the bathroom counter, then wander back to the living room.
With everything unpacked, I boot up the laptop and stare at the blank document. My fingers hover above the keys, but words elude me and I sigh in frustration. But what did I think? That I’d arrive in Collier’s Creek and sit in the cabin I’ve rented for the foreseeable future, and the book would magically write itself.Fuck!
I pinch the bridge of my nose. I’ve come up here for the solitude, to forget the past and to lose myself in my craft. I sigh again, flex my fingers, and begin to type. It’s not the words of the manuscript, it’s a dump of everything that’s gone wrong in my life. They—whomever the hell they are—say that any words are better than no words and I’m hoping this is the case. Perhaps putting my feelings to paper will help me move past whatever it is that’s holding me back from writing my novel.
The sun dips below the tree line, shadows lengthening across the room. I’m surprised so much time has passed, but I focus back on my outpouring of frustration. Iwantto be free of the grief that still haunts me. I want to forget the drama and be able to look forward to the future, but even now there’s a tightness in my chest that won’t loosen. When I next raise my head, I’m in a darkened room, faintly illuminated by the light of my laptop screen. I only stop when my stomach protests that it’s been too long since breakfast. Too bad I don’t have any food.
The shower calls. I quickly wash, throw on a T-shirt and boxers, and crawl into bed. The sheets are cold on my skin, so I curl into a ball and wait for sleep.
Imusthavefallenasleep some time during the night because when I wake, a dull light filters through the curtains. I’m tempted to roll over and pull the covers over my head, but hunger draws me from the comfortable cocoon I’ve made. The floor is cool beneath my bare feet, and the water from the faucet colder still. I brace myself before splashing my face, and washing the grit from my eyes. I don’t dwell on my image in the mirror as I know what I’ll see there—dark circles and hair in need of a cut. There’s a towel on the rail next to the sink. I blindly grab for it and pat my face dry, but not before cold droplets run down my neck.Shit! That’s one way to wake up.
Venturing to the kitchen, I open the fridge. In vain it turns out, because the fridge is bare, not that I expected differently. However, I’m desperate for coffee, so living in hope, and spying the coffee maker on the counter, I check the cupboards next. Success! An unopened can of ground beans. I’d prefer an espresso, but beggars can’t be choosers, so the old drip filter it is. A short while later, I stand on the front porch sipping the hot brew and properly take in my surroundings.
The country air is crisp and fresh, scented with pine. A deer emerges from the trees, stopping to glance around before turning back the way it came. It’s the perfect idyllic scene and a refreshing change to be surrounded by nature, but a familiar ache rises in my chest. The memory of happier times, when Mark and I had gone on adventures like this together. Sharing the wonder of nature, enjoying the simple pleasures in life.Mark should be here with me.We’d planned to grow old together in a place like this; me writing books in the peace and solitude, him enjoying his photography.
How did everything go so wrong?
I sink onto the hard swing seat, grief at my loss of the life I’d envisaged constricting my throat. I’d thought the move to Collier’s Creek would dull the pain, but out here in the quiet wilderness, it only seems sharper. I place the coffee mug at my feet and bury my face in my hands, tears stinging my eyes, wondering if the hurt will ever fade. After a long while, I take a steadying breath and stand. There’s no option but to keep going. I need to do this for myself; I need to rebuild my life, even if that life is alone. With that in mind, I pick up my mug and down the cooled coffee in one gulp, then head inside to shower and ready myself for the day.
ThedriveintoCollier’sCreek winds through gentle mountain foothills. The sun makes an appearance, dappling light and placing shadows on the road. The shadows blend with potholes, making the journey an adventure and making me thankful for my rugged Jeep. When I arrive in the town ten minutes later, it’s everything I’d expected it to be—a bustling small town with quaint buildings and a charming rustic feel. I feel almost optimistic.
Parking in front of the general store, I make my way inside, grabbing a basket and filling it with essentials. At the register, a young woman with bright auburn hair and a friendly smile greets me.
“Morning. How ya doing?”
I know it’s a standard question most likely asked by rote, but I’m taken aback for a moment. It’s been a long time since someone asked how I am.
“Ah… I’m fine. Thanks.”
“That’s great. It’s a gorgeous day, isn’t it?” I’m flustered by the genuine warmth in her tone. I’m used to the anonymity of Seattle where they ring you up with speed and minimal conversation. For a moment, I regret coming into town and wish for the non-existent delivery service. She takes my basket and begins to scan the items. “You’re new in town.”
Is that a question or a statement? I nod. “Just arrived last night.”
“You’re up at the cabins, right?”
I blink in surprise. “How did you know?”
“Word travels fast in a small town like this.” She laughs, eyes sparkling with amusement, then shrugs. “Actually, Shawn Mullins mentioned it. He’s the caretaker at the cabins and said there’d be a new arrival staying for a while. I’m Georgia, by the way.”
She holds out a hand, and I automatically shake it in return. “I’m Kit. Nice to meet you,” I say, manners dictating my response, but in reality, the last thing I want is to be engaged in conversation.
“Hello, Kit. It’s a pleasure.” She focuses back on my groceries for a moment, ringing up a loaf of bread. “I’ve been trying to get Shawn to stock the cabins with a welcome pack of some basics, but it’s been hard for him since his wife died. I don’t think he’s quite got a handle on the stuff she used to do. If you need firewood, then Shawn’s your man; milk and bread, not so much. Still, he’s a good man. He’d give you the shirt off his back if you needed it.”
