Cal walked her down the stone steps. “I’ll show you my side of the fence. The part he doesn’t use for the brochures.”
They took the Escalade, but Cal veered left, cutting away from the main house. The landscaping here was stunning—boulders the size of cars tucked into the hillsides, moving water creeks that looked like they’d flowed there for a thousand years.
“It’s beautiful, Cal,” Izzy said, leaning against the window. “The way the water moves through the stone—it’s flawless.”
“Nature with a little help,” Cal said.
They passed his ranch further into the estate. It was a stunner—smaller than the main house but more honest. Stone and cedar. The pastures were pristine, the fences painted a sharp, clean white. Thoroughbreds grazed in the distance, dark shapes against the vibrant green.
But as the road curved deeper toward the back of the mountain, the scenery shifted. The “curated” wilderness gave way to something raw.
The road narrowed. Then, a gate.
Heavy steel. Chain-linked and topped with a sign that didn’t suggest—it ordered.
RESTRICTED ACCESS. NO TRESPASSING.
Mountain faces rose on both sides, creating a natural, hidden valley.
Izzy stilled. Her hand went instinctively to her bag, where the sketches were tucked away. She recognized the jagged silhouette of the ridge immediately. This was it. The backdrop from the paintings.
“What’s down there?” she asked, her voice light, testing the water.
“Dead end,” Cal said, not slowing. “Old logging road. Supposedly unstable.”
Izzy studied his profile. He was lying. Or he was told a lie so often he’d started to believe it.
Izzy glanced back at the gate.
"Your dad builds a lot of fences."
Cal's jaw tightened slightly.
"People always say that like it's a bad thing."
"Isn't it?"
He shook his head.
"Everything you saw today? The horses. The land. The jobs. The ranches. My dad built that. Folks around here love what he's done for the county until they decide he's got too much of it."
"You make him sound like a saint."
Cal looked back toward the ridge.
"No. Just a man who worked harder than anybody else."
“Oh, come on, Cal,” she said, a playful edge in her voice. She leaned toward him, enough to catch his eye. “Don’t you have a little don’t follow the rules in you? I certainly do.”
Cal slowed the Escalade. He gave her a side look—slow, heat behind it. “Honey, that’s a side I’d like to see.”
He killed the engine. The quiet of the woods rushed in.
He got out and walked to the gate. As he unlatched the heavy chain, Izzy’s attention swept the tree line.
She saw them almost immediately. High in the hemlocks: two cameras, solar-powered, lenses angled to catch every inch of the entrance.
Cal swung the gate wide, kicking up a plume of dust as they drove through.
