But as sleep finally pulled at her, with Pine Cottage breathing around her and the mountains standing dark beyond the glass, that thought no longer felt quite as certain as it had when she first arrived.
Chapter Four – Spencer
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,Spencer said to his bear as he steered his truck toward Meryl’s cottage, his tools rattling in the back as the sun rose over the mountains.
It’s the best idea you’ve had in months, maybe ever,his bear countered, restless and eager beneath his skin.You know those boards aren’t safe. And it’s our duty to keep our mate safe. So it’s our duty to go over to her cottage now.
Spencer had spent most of the night staring at his ceiling, unable to shake the image of Meryl stepping on a rotten board and crashing through to the crawl space below. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her hurt and alone in that cottage with no one to help her.
His bear had paced and growled all night until finally driving him toward the door long before dawn. When the sun had finally crept over the horizon, Spencer had gotten out of bed and, after one cup of strong black coffee, loaded his truck with tools, timber, and anything else he might need.
Now here he was, driving to Pine Cottage, unsure of the reception he might receive from his mate. As he rounded the last curve of the lane, the cottage came into view, looking as though it had been neglected for too long. Before the mate bond drew him back to Pine Cottage, it had been years since he’d come this way, and he had no idea it had become so run-down.
But the bones of the house were good. He hadn’t lied when he told Meryl it had been well-built and well cared for until recently.
We’ll soon have it shipshape,his bear said with complete confidence.And when our mate sees how good you are with tools, she’ll want you to stick around.
We’ll see,Spencer said. He wasn’t sure his mate would be so easily won over. If only he were like his brothers, who all seemed to have won over their mates with food, either cooked or grown.
But Spencer’s talents lay more with wood. With seeing what something could be, even when time and weather had done their best to wear it down. He knew what to do with damaged wood. Meryl Aldwick was another matter entirely.
His truck crunched over the gravel as he pulled up beside Meryl’s car. She hadn’t fled in the night, then. That was something, at least.
Spencer killed the engine and sat for a moment, staring out at the mountains and breathing in the cool morning air. The combination always helped calm him.
But we’re not going to win our mate over sitting here in the truck,his bear said.
No, we are not.Spencer opened the door and got out, going around to the back of the truck to grab his toolbox.
Meryl hid behind a notebook. Spencer, apparently, hid behind a toolbox.
The sound of hammering reached him before he was halfway to the house.
There she was, kneeling on the broken porch with a claw hammer in her hand, trying to pry up one of the rotted boards. Her hair was tied back in a messy knot, and she wore jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The notebook lay open beside her, covered in what looked like a rough floor plan, with sections marked in different colors.
She’s been busy,Spencer’s bear rumbled with approval.
“Morning,” he called, keeping his voice even though his pulse quickened at the sight of her.
Meryl startled and looked up, hammer still poised in midair. For a moment, she only stared at him, surprise giving way to something harder to read.
“You’re back,” she said at last, straightening and pushing a loose strand of hair from her face, leaving a smear of dirt on her cheek.
Spencer nodded, climbing the steps carefully and avoiding the one he already knew was weak. “Couldn’t stop thinking about those boards by the front hall. And this porch.” He set his toolbox down and crouched beside her, looking at the board she’d managed to loosen. “The crawl space, too. I kept wondering what was going on underneath.”
That, at least, was true.
Meryl studied him for a second, her expression guarded. Then she glanced back down at the lifted edge of the board. “I figured I should start somewhere. The porch seemed... urgent.”
“It is.” Spencer ran his hand along the exposed wood. It crumbled under his fingers, soft with rot. “You’ve got the right idea, but we need to check the supports underneath before we tear up too much. I don’t want the whole thing giving way while we’re standing on it.”
“We?”
Spencer met her gaze steadily. “If you want the help.”
She hesitated, and he could almost see her weighing it, pride on one side, practicality on the other.
“I haven’t made up my mind about a contractor,” she said finally.
