“I do.”
We took the back staircase. The steps creaked in familiar places. I could’ve fixed them, but I liked knowing that if anyone came up those stairs, I would hear them.
The upstairs wasn’t big. A bedroom, a bathroom, and a small sitting room off to the side. Separate enough from the operation that I didn’t feel like I lived at work, but close enough for me to be available if I was needed.
I’d been here four years. Long enough that the space felt like mine. There were a few framed photos, a bookshelf I’d built myself, and a rug I’d dragged in from the cabin because the hardwood was cold. I’d planned to replace it and return it, but I’d never taken it back because it reminded me of home.
I stood beside Noah and tried to look at it through his eyes. The bookshelf was crammed full of books, most of which I’d read and should probably donate to the local library sale since I wasn’tmuch of a re-reader. There was a photo of me with all the Three Bears guys here at the training camp that Caden had taken the day before our first group came to stay for a weekend.
Noah walked over to the desk under the window and picked up a framed photograph that had been taken the summer before my mother died.
“Is this your family?”
I moved to stand beside him. “Yes, those are my parents.” I pointed to the middle-aged couple who were standing behind Wyatt and me. “And that’s Wyatt.”
“You two don’t look a lot alike, but you both have a mixture of your parents’ features.”
“He took after our mother more than I did.”
He nodded and placed the picture back down on the desk. Then he turned and looked around the rest of the space.
“Jackson, this place feels like you.”
“It’s practical.” I shrugged.
“That’s not what I said.”
I leaned against the doorframe. “It works.”
“It’s homey like the cabin,” he insisted, not letting me brush it off.
The cabin was different. My family history lived in the walls. This place didn’t have that, but it still felt good. When we’d been remodeling the downstairs, I’d had them leave the upstairs to me. I patched the drywall and replaced the trim myself. I liked working with my hands, and this had given me something to do with them in the evenings while we got the camp ready to open.
“It isn’t mine, but I like it.”
He studied me like he wanted to say something, but we both heard something from downstairs. The scrape of a chair, maybe.
“We should head down,” I said. “Bobby’ll be wondering what we’re doing up here.”
Bobby had done a good job. Better than good.
I walked the property with him while Noah fell in beside us, and I could see the care Bobby had taken. The range targets had been replaced. Shooting lanes cleared and marked. The gear shed was organized, and everything was labeled and counted. He’d aired out the training cabins and laid out fresh bedding. The supply lists were updated, and the tracking course had been remarked. He’d even laid out the week’s schedule on the whiteboard in the farmhouse.
I’d told him to have everything ready for me, but I’d expected to have to spend the better part of the first day finishing things up; that wasn’t going to be necessary at all. He’d handled everything.
“You do this all yourself?” I asked.
“Kat helped me with the background files,” he said. “The rest I just followed your checklist.”
“Not all of this was on the checklist.”
“No, but I’d seen what all you do to get ready, so that’s what I did.”
“Good work, Bobby.”
He straightened slightly. “Thanks.”
“The sheriff’s department that’s coming…tell me about them.”
