Lana
Was that the turn off?
Slowing down, I glanced away from the road at my GPS, but it was still doing its best impression of a brick.
How had anyone lived without GPS to guide them? How did they do it now?
Mina had warned me I’d hit a dead zone up here, so she’d drawn me a quick map. Perched on my center console by my elbow, I took a quick peek at it, then looked at the road again. The two trees up ahead sure looked like the squiggly lines she’d labeled “twisted pines.” Their gnarled, corkscrewed trunks stood out amongst the sea of tall, straight bald pines.
Gripping the steering wheel, I flipped on my blinker, then immediately laughed at myself. There was no one around to see it.
Making the turn onto the dirt drive, I navigated my dusty-blue Subaru through the thick trees pressing in on both sides.
“I feel like I’m driving into Narnia or something.” The tunnel of trees stretched out before me, no end in sight as the drive curved. Nothing but a wall of spruce met my gaze. Leaning forward, I peered up, but only peeks of the leaden gray sky shonethrough the fir canopy. What would I find at the end of the drive? A magical world where lions talked?
A pothole jolted me hard enough to make my teeth click together. I winced and eased off the gas, turning my gaze away from the trees, and my thoughts away from the mystical, to watch the road.
This road was better suited for trucks with lift kits and suspensions meant for abuse. I made a mental note to send a bill to Tina for any repairs needed on my car after this. Destroying my personal property was not part of the wedding planning experience. This guy better be here to make this bone-jarring trip worth it and not out on a hunting excursion.
After about a quarter mile, the trees opened into a small clearing.
A quick pang of disappointment went through me when I saw the perfectly ordinary cabin nestled against the forest’s edge. The dark log walls and charcoal metal roof blended in with its surroundings. Off to one side, stood a newer metal barn with a fenced area attached to one side. A handful of chickens pecked at the dirt. Parked between the two, close to the cabin was a large black truck with a silver toolbox in the bed.
It seemed it was my lucky day. Someone was home.
I eyed the truck, envious of the suspension that probably didn’t need an alignment every time it drove down the driveway.
Stopping about ten feet from the truck, I cut my engine.
Warily, I eyed the house as a sour pit settled in my stomach.
This was insane.
Showing up unannounced at the home of a man I’d never met, in the middle of nowhere, to ask him to go track down a missing person in the Alaskan wilderness was not something I ever thought I’d be doing. If Mom knew what I was doing, she’d have a fit. If Luke knew, he’d have a bigger one. So would Dad.
But Tina Halliwell’s fiancé was out there somewhere, and the wedding was in five days. Even with my brother’s connections to the police department thanks to his friendship with Oscar Quartermaine, I doubted they would do much.
No, it was up to me to find this blasted groom and drag him back.
I grabbed my purse and got out.
The tinge of woodsmoke in the air calmed a bit of my nerves. It probably shouldn’t. Pleasant scents didn’t always equal pleasant experiences, but my brain didn’t seem to care.
Pine needles and bits of gravel crunched beneath my heeled boots as I walked toward the front porch. The chickens had paused their pecking to stare at me. One of them, a red hen larger than the rest, let out a loud squawk.
“Relax.” I speared it with a dry look. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”
The creak of the cabin’s front door swinging open drew my attention away from the flock. I looked back just as a giant of a man emerged. In his equally giant hands, he held a Mini-14 Ranch Rifle.
How did I know? I had one just like it, except the wood was a different color.
I stopped halfway to the cabin, halted not just by the rifle, but the sheer enormity of the man. Mina mentioned he was tall, but I guess I hadn’t realized what a “super tall” muscled man looked like up close. That rifle looked like a kid’s toy in his hands. He didn’t need the rifle to scare off intruders. The thunderous look on his beautiful face and his mountainous size would take care of that. Thick, wavy black hair fell just past his shoulders and framed angular cheekbones and a jaw that usually only graced Hollywood heartthrobs. Inky eyebrows slashed over even inkier eyes, and at least a week’s worth of stubble shadowed his jaw.
Handsome as sin was right. Holy cow.
Those near-black eyes swept over me, then my car before that deep scowl he sported settled on my face. “You lost? Or did you just ignore the no trespassing signs coming up the driveway?”
I blinked, refocusing on why I was standing in this gorgeous stranger’s front yard. “I’m not lost, so I guess I’m trespassing, but”—I held up a hand—“I have a good reason. Are you Toren McCrae?”
