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Tell no one of your journey except John and Susan, as they will be privy to this information due to their access to my last will and testament.
Do not open the package for any reason whatsoever. This will void your rights.
If this package doesn’t get into my brother’s hands, you forfeit your inheritance. Guard it with your life.
I glared at the offensive white paper and dropped it into my lap as if it had burned me. I couldn’t wrap my brain around this letter and its simplicity. These couldn’t possibly be the last words Mother wanted me to hear from her. I flipped open my brown satchel and pulled the yellow envelope out, but only a little. The temptation to open it bit at my collar like cheap polyester, and I had to use my fingers to tug at the tight fabric around my neck. It was cold today, even in California, and despite the sunshine through thick clouds, rain fell from the oversized Redwood trees that shadowed every surface as if providing a cover from the storm. Using my fingers, I ran my hands over my slick raven locks, trying to force the loose strands back into my ponytail but failing miserably. I drove for miles. Mother’s letter said the cabin was seventeen miles from the main highway, which was true, but with the heavy forest and thick branches, my progress was slow. After one last desperate look at the package, I picked my satchel up by the handle, effectively hiding its contents under the thick leather flap, and slid out of the car. I pulled the leather strap over my head and across my body as I stared at the cabin before me.
It was built with Redwood, had the appearance of a strong foundation, and looked structurally sound. It was beautiful for a small house in the middle of nowhere California. I walked up the gravel drive to the steps that led to the front door and admired the structure. I couldn’t say why, but something about this place called out to me.
The dark color of the wood and the carefully sculpted rails surrounding the porch that wrapped entirely around the front of the house and on each side of the structure beckoned me—daring me to come closer. Suddenly, a strong sense of peace overcame me. It was strange. But no matter how bizarre this whole situation was, I found my feet taking me closer.
I tugged the two sides of my red pea coat together and buttoned it in the middle after ensuring the satchel was safely secured underneath. I would hide the package until I found Jack and confirmed his identity. But I wouldn’t hand it over until then. No matter what happens.
I slowly climbed the steps, my palm running across the soft surface of the wood railing. I pounded on the front door and peeked into the small window engraved with tiny flowers into the glass. I couldn’t see anything, only the outline of a set of stairs and a small living room. There were two leather chairs with a coffee table between them. They sat before the largest fireplace I’d ever seen, and that was saying something. Mother’s office had a massive fireplace with a carefully crafted mantle anyone would be jealous of. But this fireplace was even more beautiful and grander than Mother’s, at least what I could see of it.
When no one answered the door, I returned down the steps and raised my eyes to the upper level, hoping to glimpse something or someone…
“Can I help you?” A strong masculine voice said from behind me. The raw timber of it made the hairs on my arms rise and my heart race. I jumped slightly at the shock of it and turned to find a man standing between the trees, an ax in one hand, a wooden log in the other.
I couldn’t move or speak. I could only stare. He was a large man with broad shoulders and a chiseled jaw covered in a spattering of hair. He wore jeans, combat boots, and a red, blue, green, and yellow striped flannel shirt untucked at the waist. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing muscular corded forearms, bronzed from the sun. The top buttons of his shirt were left undone, bearing the smallest spackling of crisp dark hair. His chestnut hair was long, but not too long, and matched his hazel eyes. Even from this distance, I could see a speckle of gold and green flashing in them.
I could only think of one solitary thing as I gawked at him.
Please, God. Don’t let this be Uncle Jack.
CHAPTER 3
Can I help you?” The man asked again, and I suddenly felt hot with embarrassment.
“Yeah,” I stuttered, barely able to get the words out past the lump in my throat. “I’m looking for Jack Lawrence.”
I stepped closer to him but instinctually halted when he did the same.
“Mm-hmm,” he grunted and nodded. Then he said, “Who’s asking?”
“My name is Dahlia, and I’m his niece.” I squeaked out, the words salty and unfamiliar on my tongue. I was completely aware of the unease threatening to trap me under his perusal.
This guy was huge. He could crush me in ten seconds flat. Ok, if I was being real, two seconds. Although we stood twenty feet apart, I could tell he would easily tower over my five foot nine inches. He must be at least six foot three. Unbelievably, I took another step forward, and so did he.
What the hell are you doing, Dahl? Asking to get murdered? My inner self asked, and I cringed because, apparently, I was.
I kept my eye on the ax in his right hand and wondered if today was the day he’d bury me in a shallow grave, somewhere beyond those trees.
However, my heart didn’t race because of the fear of what he might do to me but with a strange sense of attraction. Can someone have Stockholm syndrome before they get captured? Because I felt it coming on.
“His niece, mhm,” Another step closer.
“Yes,” I swallowed hard, my eyes never leaving his. “Are you Jack?” I asked, and my voice trembled slightly.
His eyes narrowed, and he cocked his head, “Yeah, I’m Jack.”
My lungs deflated, and I felt a pang of disappointment. The air left my lungs in a whoosh, and I internally cringed. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath, and my stupid body was giving me away. If Jack noticed, he didn’t let on. Thank God!
“Well, it’s nice to meet you.” I reached out my hand as I closed the gap between us. He took a few short strides before his large hand slipped into mine. The skin of his palm was rough, like he worked constantly with his hands.
“You as well.” But he didn’t look pleased.
“Are you staying here alone?” I asked and immediately regretted it. I looked around, trying to act as if I didn’t care what his answer was, but I did. I cared too much.
