The shoulder was the trick. The door swung open.
CHAPTER TWO
THE FARTHER ADRIAN DROVE, FOLLOWING turns through Montana’s mountainous terrain, the deeper his dread grew. His family’s cabin was the last place he wanted to be. Bad memories, conversations, experiences he’d suppressed for years, were perking their annoying heads at the sight of every new tree. To anyone else, he was sure the view was spectacular, but to Adrian it was only arguments and disappointments that had caused him to leave in the first place.
Adrian slowed at the next bend. He didn’t need any kind of direction to tell him he was getting closer. Even though it’d been years since he’d been to the cabin, the way there was instinctive. It surprised him after all this time, but the truth was he could probably find it in his sleep.
The road widened momentarily, allowing space for a small white Toyota pulled off to the side. It was abandoned, from the look of things, unless someone was having some car trouble. Adrian slowed, pulling to a stop beside it and glanced around. No owner stood nearby. No hood gaped open or other sign of need. In fact, there wasn’t anyone in sight.
Probably just a sightseer, he decided. Or maybe some hikers. This particular route was popular with off roaders and even mountain bikers, too. It was completely possible they’d hauled their bikes from the truck bed and were out enjoying the scenery.
Shrugging it off, Adrian pulled forward and followed the hidden curve in the trees, so often missed by passersby. The road turned from pavement to dirt, and he settled in for the bumpy jaunt that would lead to his least favorite place in the whole world.
The Hummer he’d rented took to the road better than he expected. An SUV wasn’t typically the kind of car he drove, but he liked its military style, its abundant storage and comfortable seating so much, he was thinking of buying one to add to his collection once he got back to Chicago.
Lofty and solemn, the cabin came into view through a break in the trees. The exposed logs were stacked perfectly, stained golden and glowing in the morning sun. Something hitched in his chest, but he did his best to disregard it. He was here to find his dad’s lockbox, that was it. Then he was heading back down as quickly as the speed limit and mountain switchbacks allowed. Not only was the fundraiser creeping ever closer that evening—a fundraiser his mother insisted he secure a date for—but his flight home was scheduled the next morning. He needed to find that lockbox.
Adrian parked the cobalt blue Hummer, killed the ignition, and stepped out. The morning forest air was crisp, fresh with the hint of pine and the promise of seclusion. At least there was that.
He craned his neck and received a satisfying creak. His leg muscles thanked him for letting them straighten after being bent for the last hour. The cabin greeted him, an unexpected guest, offering its porch and staring without judgment. Adrian stood for several moments, staring back. That was different. He didn’t remember it being quite so welcoming.
Maybe it was because his father was gone now. After all, it wasn’t really the cabin’s fault for the bad memories. It had just been his father’s laser-like way of asking uncomfortable questions, backing him into proverbial corners, while slathering on his paternal disappointment. Dad had never seemed to grasp the real point behind family vacations. Who needed a getaway to enjoy time together? He’d seen them as another opportunity to lambast Adrian about all the ways he’d disappointed him.
This, at least, was no “vacation.” Adrian was here only to search. He hoped that the lockbox was stashed in one of the cupboards or cabinets, and then he would be on his way. Back to the life to which he belonged.
Birds serenaded him high up in the treetops. Wildflowers waved and danced in the cool breeze. Twigs and brush crackled beneath his feet as he made his way to the door. He reached for the handle, and paused.
There was a strand of green ribbon stuck in the jam. How had that gotten there?
His senses went into instant high alert. His brothers and mom were all waiting at the ranch. Who else would be here? Had someone broken in? He knew how perfectly kempt his father had ordered things here, what with even hiring an agency willing to travel this far out for the weekly upkeep. Would he find it trashed inside? Wishing he had some kind of weapon on his person, Adrian pried the door open and braced himself for the worst.
The cabin appeared as it always did. The kitchen with its updated and polished, granite countertops and oak cabinets greeted him. The living area was to the right, with its plaid couches, shelves staged as though in preparation for the family to drop by at any time, and a vacant fireplace stocked with logs on the brick hearth. After a moment of indecision, he opted for leaving the door open.
Dusty footprints trailed from the door, leading to the nearest armchair where a purple duffle bag sat like a lump. Someone was definitely here.
“Hello?” Adrian called out and made his way down the familiar archway separating the living area from the bedrooms at the back. He peered into the room his parents had usually taken, but the large bed appeared made up and untouched.
The room where his brothers had slept was also empty, the bunk beds vacant and seamlessly made. Steeling his chest, Adrian pushed toward the remaining room. The one he’d always claimed.
Like the other beds had been, this queen-size was perfectly made as though its occupant had just stepped out for the day. But unlike the others, this bed—his bed—held a single occupant. A sleeping woman whose golden blonde hair was draping from the mattress’s edge.
Her face was striking. Long lashes dusted her high cheekbones. Her lips were parted slightly, and a single hand rested on her collarbone while the other held what looked like a coat over her. She’d slept in her shoes.
Adrian was dumbfounded. Who in the world was this? If he didn’t know any better he might have thought Jordan had brought her, but she was no teenager and both of his brothers had stayed at the ranch at his own request.
He peered around for some hint, as though the answer would jump out of the curved, exposed logs making up the interior walls and bite him. There had only been the one duffle bag. Only the woman.
Suspicion crept through him. Not many people knew about this cabin. How did she? Did she somehow know about his father’s missing lockbox? He crossed his arms over his chest.
The woman inhaled, releasing an alluring moan before rolling to her side.
Adrian debated between watching her sleep—which was becoming too big of a distraction—and waking her up to find out who she was. He decided to go with the last option and cleared his throat.
“Um, excuse me?” He nearly marched over, but she didn’t need the fright of waking to find a man looming over her. He wasn’t some psycho. He opted for returning to the doorway.
“Miss?” he tried again.
Her arms stretched above her head. The coat serving as a makeshift blanket slipped, and she blearily blinked sleep out of her eyes.
“Hmm?”
Her voice was sweet and sleepy. She sat up, arching her back like a cat to stretch her hands to her feet when realization struck her like a plank over the head. This time her blink wasn’t a hazy one. It was startled.
Her brow furrowed. Her body froze. She took in the plaid curtains blocking the windows, the wooden shelves staged with books, the empty fireplace, and then her gaze slowly climbed from Adrian’s designer shoes and up to his face.