Three miles. In the wrong direction, apparently, from the way he was looking at me.
"I'm sorry! I didn’t mean to... I was looking for an old logging camp," I said, trying to project competence despite the tear tracks on my cheeks and the obvious fact that I was completely helpless. "Research for the Vermont Historical Society. There are supposed to be some 1850s logging camps in this area."
He blinked at me in surprise, maybe, that the lost city girl wasn't just a tourist looking for Instagram photos. "Research?"
"I'm Dr. Kimberly Fox. I specialize in 19th-century social history, particularly Underground Railroad operations in—" I stopped myself before launching into my full research spiel. Thismountain man probably didn't care about my dissertation on abolitionist networks.
But he was still studying me with those unsettling green eyes.
"Call me Kim," I said.
"Neil Parker." He moved closer, and I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. The size difference was overwhelming. He was built like someone who split logs for fun and could probably pick me up with one hand. "What exactly are you looking for?"
"Logging journals from the 1850s. An estate sale in Boston uncovered a logger's diary that mentioned a documentation cache hidden somewhere on Burke Mountain. The Vermont Historical Society thinks—well, I think it could prove Burke Mountain was a major Underground Railroad route." The words tumbled out faster as his attention focused on me completely. "The logging company employees may have helped escaped slaves relocate."
His eyebrows rose slightly. "Here on my land?"
"Is the Miller settlement on your land?"
"Yeah. The foundation's about two miles that way," he gestured vaguely west. "Been in ruins since before my time. It’s a dangerous area. I’ve seen some old root cellars that could collapse in on you if you’re not careful."
The confirmation that I was on the right track sent excitement through my exhaustion. Thornton's journal had been right. The cache could really exist. Hopefully, the journals were in waxed canvas pouches inside a lead-lined strongbox. Unlikely, but it was possible since logging companies used to use weatherproof storage for important contracts.
"You came looking for these journals all alone?" His voice carried a note that might have been disapproval. Or disbelief that anyone could be so reckless.
"My research partner had a medical emergency. It was come alone or lose the opportunity." I lifted my chin despite the obvious evidence that coming alone had been a terrible decision. "I've been doing archival work for six years."
"In libraries."
"Well, yes, but—"
"This isn't a library, doc." He gestured to the wilderness surrounding us with casual familiarity. "This is mountain country. People die out here when they don't know what they're doing."
The blunt words sent another spike of fear through my chest, but also something else. Awareness. This man was completely in his element, moving through the forest like he'd been born here, while I was obviously a disaster waiting to happen.
"Are you going to help me find my way back to my car?" I asked, hating how small my voice sounded.
"Where did you park?"
I described the rough location where I'd left my rental car, and watched his expression grow increasingly grim.
"That's five miles from here, and it'll be dark in two hours." He studied the sky through the tree canopy, then looked back at me with something that might have been pity. "Your car's not going to start anyway."
"What do you mean?"
"You left a rental sedan on a mountain road that washed out last week. It's probably axle-deep in mud by now." He shouldered his axe with easy strength that made my mouth go dry for reasons that had nothing to do with fear. "Even if we got you back there before dark, you'd be stranded."
The full scope of my situation hit me hard. Lost, getting dark, no cell service, and now no transportation back to civilization.
"I have to get back," I said, panic rising in my voice. "I have a hotel reservation in Burlington."
"You can't do anything tonight except find shelter and wait for morning." His voice was matter-of-fact, like he dealt with lost women on a regular basis. "Question is whether you want to spend the night out here in the woods, or if you trust me enough to come back to my cabin."
Trust him. This massive, intimidating stranger who appeared out of the forest like something from a fairy tale. Who could probably break me in half without breaking a sweat.
But looking at the deepening shadows between the trees, listening to the sounds of the forest coming alive around us, I realized I had exactly one choice.
"Your cabin," I said quietly.
