And it was fine. Who cared if I wasn’t friendly? This wasn’t summer camp, and we weren’t weaving baskets together.
I stomped back into the shed, refusing to look back at the guesthouse—what had she called it? Little Cabin? Ridiculous … but feeling the judgment rolling off it, nonetheless.
I got back to work and lost myself in prepping the tree stump. I enjoyed the physicality of woodworking and loved how it shut my brain down and helped me get through hours of the days that sometimes felt endless. When I looked up again, two hours had passed. There. Two hours and I’d hardly even thought about her.
I went to the window to make sure she was back at Little Cabin. The desk lamp was not on, and the curtains were still open. No signs of life. I let out a long sigh.
“Ripley,” I said loudly. She jumped up out of her covers to stretch, her tiny butt arching into the air. “Oh, you need to go out? Whatever you do, don’t go down to the guesthouse.”
Her tail started to wag, and she sprinted down toward the guesthouse. I followed right behind, assuring myself Claire had come back and I’d missed her. A whipping wind cut through the trees, and dark clouds to the east raced this way at a noticeable clip.
Without having an excuse ready, I jogged up the steps to knock on the door. My heart beat out of control despite my best efforts to calm it. The house looked even more lifeless and cold this close-up. I stepped back and off the porch. Waiting.
Nothing.
She was smart. She had lived here in Colorado for a while, so she knew how fast the storms moved in.
She wouldn’t appreciate some stranger chasing her down like some nutjob.
“Goddammit. I’m going to regret this.”
I got Ripley in the truck and went to find her.
Chapter 12
Claire
How hadI neverseentrees before?
As I hiked, I took in all the different varieties: the ones with spiking pine needles I remember from elementary school to be coniferous, even though they were wildly more varied. And the leafy ones I never cared to register. The tall, thin ones with an almost white bark with black scratches were definitely aspens. Their leaves sparkled when I looked up through the canopy; their changing yellow leaves danced like sequins as the bright Colorado sun shone through them. The clear blue of the sky contrasted against the sharp yellows and oranges just starting to speckle through the verdant swatches of forest.
How far did Levi travel each day to look for the right wood? The roots of the newest one were so massive they didn’t look like they belonged to anything around here. Did he travel to barter for tree parts? Was it legal to take fallen trees from the forest? A thousand more questions I wish I asked whorled through my brain as my legs pumped up the dirt trail.
Before he caught me leaving, I had my phone open, stealing his Wi-Fi to look him up in terms of the art world. I had searched for him before I came but never associated the man from that posting with the few articles about a local artist. One person was reselling an earlier piece of his, supposedly bought about five years ago. I was shocked at what they were asking for it. No wonder he could take his time and refuse to sell some of the pieces. He could probably ask for a lot more, and some super bougie-rich tourists would pay whatever.
Like that piece of art that he left covered that I couldn’t stop thinking about.
At first glance, it was a woman’s face, turned away, unfinished yet so realistic that I had to stop myself from reaching out to run my finger down her cheek to check the texture. She was carved from a log that still had its bark on the bottom half, and it spread up to cover her mouth. Her visible features were twisted in pain, and a natural split of the wood cracked from where her shoulder met her neck, splitting down through where her heart would be. Silenced. Broken. Desolate.
I had already suspected that Levi was grieving based on his tetchy behavior. Was he mourning a lost love? Was that the reason for the massive mood swings, or had I brought out the worst in him?
I regretted pushing him. It wasn’t something I consciously did to people. I was so curious about everything, and I never seemed to register those subtle social cues of going too far that came so naturally to others. I had noticed his clenched jaw and angry brows when I pushed him about selling that last sculpture. I groaned at the tangible wince it caused when I thought of his frustration.
Kevin always gave me that flat look or sighed loudly, so I knew when to stop.
But then, when Levi shared his work and processes, his warm passion overflowed to me, and I felt like I was lit up for the first time in a while. It was so rare to have a genuine conversation with someone. Then he wrapped his arms around me. The short-circuiting of my brain. The unexpected attraction. The desire that blurred my rational mind.
“Nope,” I said loudly, startling a nearby bird from its perch.
I wouldn’t be thinking about that.
I stopped to take a drink from my water bottle, frowning when I discovered it was almost empty. I panted, wondering just how long I’d been walking, lost in thoughts of strong hands and competent workmanship as I was. A chill blew against my sweat-covered neck as a dark cloud moved over the sun. My watch said I’d walked almost two hours out. But that couldn’t be right. The trail I chose was only a two-mile loop. I should have circled back to the trailhead by now.
I took a deep breath in and out. The worst thing I could do was panic. I must have accidentally cut over to Cozy Creek Longat some point where they intersected. I concentrated on pulling up the mental map in my mind. Cozy Creek Long was a ten-mile loop. Based on my pace and how long I’d been going, I had to be halfway through, at least.
The only way out was through.
I was pretty sure this trail led to an overlook that might have a better range of the cell towers. I tried my phone map, but when I zoomed out to find the dot that was me, I lost all reception, and it wouldn’t load.
