“And take her where, exactly?” I ask. After all, Matt is the one who just mentioned how very little this town has to offer.
“I don’t know. Back to my bedroom? Bed of my truck?”
The thought of that makes my blood boil. “You’re an asshole.”
“I’m kidding. God, you should see your face right now. There are some cool places. The mineral hot springs is one. They don’t have that in the city. Or the farmer’s market. Duke’s Tavern. Lots of places.”
“Hmm.” I make a noncommittal sound.
“Even a picnic, if it wasn’t so cold out.”
“Yeah, did Mother Nature just decide to skip fall this year or what?” It’s so chilly out, we can see our breath.
Matt nods beside me. “Yeah, it looks like it.”
We walk in silence for a few minutes longer. I can’t decide if he’s still thinking about Summer, or just opting to stay quiet because we’re getting closer to the deer stand and he doesn’t want to scare away the animals.
When we reach the spot where Matt’s constructed a blind up in an old oak tree, he goes up first, and then I climb up after him. It’s tight quarters—little more than just some elbow room between us as we huddle inside. The plywood sides don’t offer anything in the way of warmth, and I find myself hoping that we can spot a deer and be out of here soon. A great woodsman, I am not.
Matt surprises me by striking up another conversation, this one about Graham’s newest plans with the beer operation.
Jeez, Chatty Cathy over here.
I give him a stern look. “I know I haven’t been hunting in six years, but aren’t we supposed to keep quiet?”
Matt shrugs. “Hunting is more about the bonding time. And I haven’t seen you in a while.”
Feeling a little guilty, I nod. “I know. But Graham will be pissed if we come back without a deer.”
He huffs out a breath. “True story. But Graham’s pissed off about everything these days.”
Matt’s comments aren’t directed at me. I know he doesn’t mean to make me feel guilty about the fact I’ve stayed away, but I do. I haven’t been here to help, and it’s becoming increasingly obvious that the family has been under a lot of stress. I can’t help but think about the fact that my family seems to need me more than my team does.
Since I left Boston, there’s only been a few halfhearted texting attempts from the guys. Saint reached out the other day, and since I’ve heard from Alex and Reeves.
But while I do miss them, miss being out on the ice, I can’t let myself think about hockey right now. I need to focus on getting a deer to feed my family this winter. Need to focus on being there for Matt. And Graham.
And I definitely can’t let myself think about Summer, so I settle in beside my brother and watch the horizon where the sun is beginning to turn the sky orange as it rises to greet us.
14
* * *
SUMMER
How long does hunting usually take?
This is the question I’ve been asking myself for the past few hours. I’ve been holed up in my cabin since just after breakfast, preparing for my afternoon counseling session with my client. The only issue? My client is MIA. Logan said he would be back by lunch, but it’s quickly approaching two o’clock, and I still haven’t seen or heard from him. Needless to say, I’m all sorts of anxious about it.
Heaving out a sigh, I collapse onto my bed and wriggle my phone out of the front pocket of my jeans. It takes some creative positioning of my phone next to the window, but I manage to scrounge up just enough cell service to send him an “are you home yet?” text.
Ten minutes later, still no word, but there could be a multitude of reasons for that.
There probably isn’t cell service out in the woods, or he may have turned his phone off altogether. Or maybe he left his phone in the cabin so it wasn’t a distraction. All totally practical explanations. But that doesn’t stop me from wondering if he’s actually ignoring me because he’s decided not to work with me anymore, all thanks to our little incident last night. That would be a death sentence for both of our careers.
Ugh. There’s only one cure for this level of overthinking. I need to put on my big-girl pants and head over to his cabin.
Getting out of bed on three. One . . . two . . . two and a half . . .
With one final frustrated groan, I shove up from the mattress and pull on a fresh pair of wool socks. Then come my boots, coat, and the gray wool hat I found shoved in the back of the top dresser drawer. It smells slightly of mothballs, but the sky is extra overcast today, and the cold feels like it could freeze my ears off without it.
When I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I’m startled by how well I could pass for a local in this outfit. A true Lost Haven resident. Lost Havener? Lost Havenite? Whatever you call them, I’m beginning to look like I fit in here, and it’s somehow both comforting and concerning. If I’m not careful, I could get a little too comfortable here. Which is why I need to focus on why I’m in Colorado in the first place—to work with my client.
Tugging the scratchy wool hat down a little further over my ears, I trudge out the door and toward Logan’s cabin. But it doesn’t matter how hard I pound on the door, there’s no response.
To my surprise, though, the doorknob twists easily, so I take a serious risk and let myself in, peering into what would be pure darkness if not for the dim light of the lamp on his nightstand. It casts a warm yellow glow over the deep gray comforter, where Logan is propped up against the pillows, sleeping soundly on top of the covers. It’s as though he had sat down for just a moment and then nodded off.
“Logan?”
He doesn’t stir at the sound of his name, so I try again a little louder. “Logan? Rise and shine.”
He doesn’t budge.
When I reach his bedside, I pause for a moment, admiring the way the lamplight casts shadows along the curve of his jaw. I’ve never seen him so at peace, all cozy and cute in a Burton Snowboards hoodie and gray sweat shorts.
As I watch his wide chest rise and fall with steady, sleepy breaths, warmth radiates from my chest to my fingertips. The Logan Tate I’ve gotten to know the past few days is sexy, without a doubt, but this is a different version of him. A soft, gentle, sleeping giant, he snores softly through his barely parted lips. He’s downright adorable, from his messy bedhead to his long bare feet, dangling off the edge of the bed.
Snap out of it, Summer. I need to act fast before he wakes up and catches me staring.
“Logan.” A firm shake of his shoulder does the trick, and his thick eyelashes twitch before his eyes fully open.
“Jesus,” he grumbles, wiping one hand over his jaw. It’s surprisingly cute. “What time is it?”
“Almost two.”
“Shit.” His face scrunches up as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. “We got back from hunting, and I was absolutely beat.”
“Nothing to apologize for. I’m glad you got some rest. Are you still down for our session?”
“Of course.”
“Then why don’t you get ready and then come find me?”
He nods in agreement, and I head out the door, stepping back out into the chilly afternoon air.