“Did he reach into the water and shove the fish onto your hook?”
I sighed. “No.”
“Exactly. All he did was put you where the fish already were. What happened after that was up to the fish and you.”
I ran my hand over that stupid blue blanket again. “So you’re saying—”
“I’m saying Walt might’ve put two stubborn people in the same damn boat. Doesn’t mean he controlled what you felt. Or how deep it went. Or how much it hurt when it came loose.”
My throat tightened. “Dammit, why does that make so much fucking sense?”
“Because I used a fishing metaphor, and fishing is easier than feelings.”
“That’s true.”
“So, you going to go after her or what?”
“I want to. I don’t know if that’s what she wants.”
It was his turn to sigh now. “Look, Ma loves her gossip; you have no idea if her story is even true. And even if it is, the how doesn’t matter if it’s right. If you have something you’ll regret not saying to her, then say it, before you lose your chance.”
“Kara thinks it’s all a lie. A rebound or a setup.”
“Then she’s scared, can’t blame her, Walt never had anything good to say about her ex. He probably did a number on her.”
“So what do I do then? I don’t know where she is, and even if I did, we have no idea what’s going to happen with the cabin.”
“Kind of seems like there’s something more important thanfour walls at stake here.”
“Fucking hell, Hank, stop making so much sense.”
He laughed. “I’m on patrol. If I see her, I’ll let you know.”
I hung up feeling halfway between restless and exhausted. But Hank was right; it was about more than the cabin. As soon as I found out where she was, we would talk, and I’d be more honest than I’d ever been.
Chapter Seventeen
Kara
Ichecked into the first hotel I came to, finally finding the solitude I had expected to get in the cabin and hating everything about it. The furniture wasn’t covered in Tuck’s hair. There was no goofy fishing memorabilia or tacky plaid furniture.
There was no Grant.
I slept like shit. I tossed and turned, tried getting some work done, tried reading a book. None of it mattered. My mind wouldn’t shut up about Grant—not the cabin, not the letter—Grant. The solitude seeking lumberjack who barged half-naked into my life and changed everything. If we had met under different circumstances, or if he were actually looking for love maybe…it didn’t matter. I couldn’t change reality.
When the sun finally came up on Monday morning, the first thing I did was call my lawyer’s office. I couldn’t wait for him to get back to me. I was already on the verge of losing my mind.
“Kara, I saw your email over the weekend. I was planning to call you,” he said.
My already-strung nerves pulled a little tighter. “Do you have an answer for me? What do we do here?”
He sighed before he started speaking, which couldn’t have been a good sign. “We’ll need to verify the authenticity of the letter. Compare the signature and reach out to the notary involved.”
“Okay,” I said slowly, “but we’d only be doing that if the letter actually carried some weight.”
“Unfortunately, the date on the will and the date on the letter are the same. If this letter turns out to be real, then you both have a legal claim to the property. In that case, I would suggest selling and splitting the—”
“Sell Uncle Walt’s cabin to a stranger?” I cut in. “No. I can’t do that.”
