That was good to hear. I’d had very little outside feedback on this place. “You’re the first ones in, so everything’s brand new. Cabin Three is yours for the next couple of days.”
The father stretched a little, looking exhausted as he came around the car’s hood. “The map was good that you guys sent.” I made a mental note to let Sage know that she’d done a good job there. “It’s a way out, isn’t it?”
“It is a little way out,” I agreed. Then, feeling oddly defensive, I added. “But there’s plenty to do. Make sure you let me know if you’d like to go for a hike and need a trail map.”
“No, we’re not hikers.” The wife looked fondly over at her husband. “We just thought it’d be good to get away from the city for a while. This looked perfect. Plenty of room for the kids, and the little town is so cute.”
Nodding, I ran through check-in while we chatted, keeping it light on how the fire pit worked, where the emergency kit was, and what to do if they saw wildlife bigger than they were comfortable with. The kids movedtoward Fish immediately, and he loved all the attention like he didn’t get it regularly—the ham.
By the time I walked them to their A-frame and made sure they had what they needed, the stars were brilliant and visible, each one like they’d been poked through black velvet and lit from behind. The interior lights flicked on behind the glass walls, illuminating clean lines and warm wood, and the faint reflection of trees layered over everything.
The sound of the kids in Cabin Three echoed over the clearing as they clamored for a campfire. I told them I would light one at the group area when they were ready, or they could light the one that I’d stacked. Standing there a little longer than necessary to enjoy the fruits of my labor, I soaked it in. This was the culmination of the last two years of planning and building.
Turning back toward the center of the property, I was already thinking about the last few things I wanted to check before calling it a night, and that was when my attention snagged.
Hattie’s A-frame sat dead center in the little horseshoe of cabins, so she was hard to ignore, which was the reason I gave myself for having her always on my mind when I was here. She sat in one of the chairs, legs tucked beneath her, a beer in one hand.
Slowing, I pretended to adjust the chairs around the fire pit even though no one was using them yet. There wassomething about seeing her up on the porch that made me happy in a strange way that I wasn’t quite ready to address yet.
Wade’s voice echoed in my mind, uninvited but persistent from our conversation earlier about Hattie and her podcasting. He hadn’t been wrong about anything he’d told me. Maybe I was just being completely irrational, and if I had questions, I should ask her.
Hattie looked up from her computer when I reached the edge of her porch. The area wasn’t small enough that she was surprised by my presence. She had to be aware of everything that had been going on from my arrival at the fire pit. “Looks like you’ve officially opened.” She smiled. “Congratulations.”
“First family checked in,” I said.
She glanced toward the other A-frame, the faint shapes of movement visible through the glass. “The kids seem really excited.” She gave a soft smile. “I saw you were getting the fire pit set up. How does that work? Do you light that for them or are you going to let them do it?”
“Well, it depends on the person. If we have more than one renter, then I’ll just cut and stack firewood. All the supplies are down there, so people can start a fire in the evening if they want, as long as they put it out when they leave.” I’d left laminated rules down by the pit about how to start a fire and put it out, but I knew I’d need to monitor them. “If I’m here, I don’t mind starting thecampfires. It’s something I’m good at, and a lot of people don’t know how.”
She was watching me now in that way she had the first time we met, with heat mingling in her attention. All that golden hair was down, spilling over her shoulders in waves, and fuck me if I couldn’t see that she didn’t have a bra on. But she acted like it was no big deal that I could see her dusky nipples through the thin cotton of her T-shirt.
I gestured to the empty chair beside her. “Mind if I sit?”
“Go ahead.” She tipped her beer back, her throat working on the swallow, and I had to bite back the groan, imagining a totally different situation.
I took the seat, aware of the space between us, but Fish didn’t care less and flounced up before flopping down between us with a satisfied sigh.
She laughed, reaching down to give him a little stroke between the ears. “He looks worn out.”
Thankful for something to talk about that didn’t involve why I was such an asshole to her, I nodded. “We went for a trail run earlier, so he’s pretty exhausted. It’s good for him. He’d normally be working on a ranch or something, so it’s important to keep him busy.”
“I’ve never had a pet.” She gently stroked Fish again, looking down at him with an expression I couldn’t interpret.
“Why not? You seem to like animals, and you’re good with them.” I had a billion questions about her, so this seemed like a good time to start.
She shrugged. “My parents weren’t pet people. They were busy with work.”
“That’s too bad. Animals are my favorite.” I cleared my throat slightly. "So, about your podcast.” She straightened up a little. “I’ve been… stuck,” I admitted. “Maybe I was quick to judge you.” The look on her face should have made me reconsider, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to go further with a full apology. “I didn’t give you a chance to explain or ask questions. That wasn’t fair. There are plenty of people who turn crime scenes into stories without caring about the consequences. I lumped you into that before I truly understood how you work. That wasn’t fair.
Her eyes narrowed on me, but maybe I was kidding myself to think that her face softened a little. “Thank you for saying that. I won’t apologize for my job. Just to be clear.”
“I’m not saying I’m suddenly comfortable,” I added. “But I’m trying to understand instead of assuming.”
Earlier, I revisited her website and listened to a few minutes of one of her podcasts. She was good and thorough. I wasn’t familiar with the case she had been covering, but she was respectful and seemed knowledgeable about her topic. I enjoyed listening to her voice, whichprobably helped draw a bigger fan base. She was born to narrate or do radio work. Her voice was sultry and sexy, but maybe that was just me after seeing her in the flesh. More importantly, she approached the topic with respect for each victim. Hattie cared.
She nodded. “Understood. I’m not some ambulance chaser out there for ratings,” she said. “I’m chasing all those unanswered questions on cases that weren’t ever fully followed up on. For women who disappeared, and people don’t care enough about. That’s what I’m chasing.” Her jaw firmed up a little as if she expected me to get after her all over again, but I wasn’t going to.
“Yeah, I get that,” I said, surprising myself with how certain I sounded. “There are a lot of cases that don’t get the attention they need to or end up going unsolved.”
