Page 13 of Hearts at War

This time, the key slid in and turned with ease.

“Told ya. He must have forgotten to write a line under the number,” Eric said.

“Well, he is eighty.”

A faint chuckle came from him as he opened the door.

“How many cabins are there?” I asked, now worried about a bunch of rugged, noisy men near my space, for however long I’d need to hang out here.

“About a dozen or so.”

“Are they all occupied?” I stepped into the open studio set up of the cabin.

“I think a few are,” he said, looking around the living space with me, “but I don’t remember which ones are occupied or who’s in them.”

I’m not looking for neighbors anyway.

Upon further perusal, calling this one-room abode a cabin was a stretch. The word cabin brought to mind a cozy, inviting, and perhaps even rustic setting. This was none of those.

Jerry’s apartment that had been so unsecured and abandoned that it was broken into was a dud, despite it being in a building within the downtown Burton offered.

Out here on the ranch, in the middle of nowhere and without any city lights shining, this “cabin” was old and dated. Dirt covered most surfaces of this place, but it did have some furniture.

It wasn’t inviting, but the hominess hardly mattered.

It had a bed.

I slowed my careful, skeptical walk around the whole room, reaching out to turn the faucet handle. Water flowed clearly.

It had water.

The lights were dim but on.

It had power.

It’s not like I should expect much from a place like Burton.

Meeting Eric’s expectant gaze, I shrugged.

“It’s not much,” he said, almost sounding sorry, which made his comment that much less convincing.

“But it’ll do.” I held my hand out for the key, and he passed it over.

After I tested the doorknob and reviewed how the lock worked, I could claim that the one thing that did matter was acceptable.

A working lock and key. Those, above all other details, were important.

“Want help bringing anything in?” he offered without enthusiasm.

“No.” I shook my head and glanced at my watch. “It’s late for you.” Ranching hours started early, and as I noted the late hour, guilt hit me. “Thanks for...” I gestured at the place. It wasn’t his, like he was personally extending me a place to stay, but still. “Thanks for asking Todd and helping me out.”

Being indebted to anyone was something I never relished. I hating feeling like I owed anyone anything, likely a severe counter-reaction from being raised by parents who wanted and expected handouts and loopholes for everything.

“Yeah.” He nodded once and left without saying much else. I followed him outside to grab a couple of bags from the backseat. He stopped halfway to his car and paused. When he glanced back at me, he seemed stuck on whatever he wanted to say.

I wouldn’t push him. I respected that he was a man of few words. If he had something he wanted me to know, he could tell me on his own terms.

“Welcome back, Heather.”