It doesn’t take much longer after I hang up with Ada to see the end of the driveway. A faded wooden sign that reads The Bear Essentials Wilderness Lodge leans at a not-so-straight angle to signal that I’m at the right place. I can just make out the lodge nestled in the pristine white of the surrounding snow as I drive up, the log siding stark amid the wintry scenery. A deck wraps around the front to lead down into a set of stairs heading up to it, and on either side of the heavy wooden door there is a series of wide windows that go all the way up to the roof. The sky behind it is now a rich array of pinks and purples as the sun begins to sink below the horizon, giving the entire thing more of that postcard feel—save for the wear and tear.

It’s still…pretty, mostly. But it’s definitely seen some hard years. There are broken rails on the stairs that I notice as I get closer, a few missing shingles on the roof—even the sign above the door is faded and chipped, as if long overdue for a touch-up. I’m already making a mental note of all the people I’m going to have to call back in Denver to contract some work out to.

It’s less picturesque than the one (literally, there was only one) photo that I saw on the very basic website, and I’m gathering now that it was most likely a dated photo. I doubt they’ve updated it at all since building it.

“Kind of a funny name for a lodge,” I mutter to myself as I shift my rental car into park.

I sit in the car for a minute so I can shoot a text to my brothers, following that up with one to my dad to let him know I arrived at the jobsite. I stare down at my phone as I watch the little dots pop up with his impending response, a small smile touching my mouth when he replies, You be careful out there, kiddo.

It feels weird keeping all that’s happened today from him, considering I tell him everything, but with what he’s going through…I don’t want to add to his stress. In fact, it’s imperative that I don’t, considering the state of his heart.

I step out of the car, letting the door shut behind me, to get a better look at the place. There’s an old Bronco parked just outside, the forest-green paint still shiny despite the vehicle being at least thirty years old by my best guess, and it somehow looks like it’s in better shape than the lodge itself. I’ve really got my work cut out for me with this one. I eye the broken railing that seems to have cracks and rotting wood as far as the eye can see; I really have my work cut out with this one.

I’m staring at the railing so intensely that I almost miss the front door opening and someone stepping outside, but I catch a large, dark shape out of the corner of my eye, stark against the light flakes of the gently falling snow—and it’s hard to focus on much else when the person finally comes into view. He’s heading right for me, and I can feel my mouth part at the hulking size of the man walking down the rickety stairs.

Tall is an understatement; this man looks more than a foot taller than I am, and I’m five foot four. But more than that, he is wide. Shoulders that seem to go on for miles in the thick red plaid of his coat, a broad chest that stretches the black-knit thermal shirt beneath—it’s like he stepped right out of Lumberjack Weekly, with his trimmed beard and gray beanie with dark curls poking out of it that are just a shade or two darker than his eyes. I most likely spend a second too long studying the soft-looking mouth that peeks out from his scruff, but honestly, given that this stranger might be one of the most attractive people I have ever seen—and I have seen a lot of people—I think it’s probably excusable. He comes to a stop right in front of me, and my gaze goes up and up and up, to the point that I’m forced to crane my neck at this giant of a man.

“You Esther?”

I blink, the abruptness of his question taking me off guard. “Tess.”

“Jeannie said an Esther was coming.”

“Yeah,” I answer. “I go by Tess.”

He shrugs. “Fair enough.”

“Sorry.” I stick out one gloved hand. “I’m the contractor Jeannie hired for the renovations. Do you work here?”

His eyes flick to my outstretched hand, but he doesn’t take it. “Looks that way.”

Jeez. Talk about frosty.

He’s still frowning at my hand, and I draw it back slowly, my eyes lingering on the way his mouth turns down at the corners. The expression only makes him look more rugged, and I think to myself that he really does give off some sort of lumberjack vibe, albeit a really terse one. I’m pretty sure there’s a Harlequin romance on my shelf at home that he modeled for at some point in his life. All that’s missing is an axe, really.

I can’t help but laugh at that, recalling Ada’s and my conversation about being murdered out here. The guy arches a brow at the giggle that escapes me.

“Something funny?”

I wave my hand in front of my face. “Not unless you think murder is funny.”

“Excuse me?”

“Not, like, actual murder,” I correct, sort of. “I mean, well, okay, I guess kind of actual murder. My friend made this joke when I was on my way that I was going to get murdered out here, and I was thinking you totally give me lumberjack vibes, and that got me thinking about axes, which got me thinking about the murder again, and—”

I notice he’s staring at me as if I’ve lost my mind.

“This is probably one of those things that should have stayed in my head.”

He continues to frown at me for exactly four more seconds, then: “I’m not gonna argue with you there.”

“Right. Um.” I clear my throat. “Is Jeannie around? I would love to introduce myself in person after all the emails we’ve exchanged.”

“Jeannie’s down the mountain. Had something come up at her place.”

“Oh. When will she be back?”

“Tomorrow, I figure.”

“Oh.”

I don’t really know what else to say to that. This is all going very differently than I pictured, but I guess that’s par for the course considering how this entire trip has been.

The bear of a man nods toward my car. “You got luggage?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yes. Sorry. I can—”

He sort of grunts in response but says nothing. It surprises me when he steps toward the car to open the door to the back seat and grab my bag—so much so that I reach out to try to stop him, earning me a puzzled look.

“You don’t have to,” I tell him, a little distracted by how dark his eyes look up close. “I can get my things.”

There’s a scent tickling my nose—one that reminds me of rain and sunshine—and I think to myself that it seems terribly out of place here in the snow. Maybe it’s his cologne? It’s really…nice, actually.

He looks from me to the bag and back again—finally shrugging before he releases it to turn and start to stomp up the steps to the main deck. He taps his boots against the last stair as I’m left to my own devices. I remember myself after only a few seconds, grabbing my bag and hurrying after him. He leaves the front door open when he slips inside, disappearing into the warm glow of the lights beyond.

“Sorry,” I offer again as I step in after him. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Didn’t give it,” he tosses over his shoulder as he shrugs out of his flannel coat.

“Totally something a murderer would say,” I tease with a cluck of my tongue.

He turns to look at me strangely even as I try for what I hope is a friendly smile. “Hunter,” he concedes. “Hunter Barrett.”

Hunter.

I almost laugh at the utter appropriateness of his name. He definitely looks like a Hunter.

I close the door behind me and let my eyes sweep about the room. There’s a giant elk head mounted behind the front desk—its horns decked in dusty old Santa hats despite it being October. An old brass chandelier that has seen better days hangs above us in the wide entryway; the thick cobwebs dangling between the fixtures make me grimace as I stare up into them. The walls are a rich stained wood that feels warm even covered in dust, and I think to myself that with a little TLC, they could shine up nicely.