Page 37 of Wild Highway (Runaway 2)

“Nah. I don’t mind. You go and enjoy your day off.”

“Day off?” She gave me a quizzical look. “What’s that? I’m going to the office to catch up on emails. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I can squeeze in a ride this afternoon. Want to join me?”

“Maybe. Shoot me a text.”

“Okay.” She took another look around the open room and her eyes widened. “Good luck.”

I laughed and walked her outside, leaning on one of the porch’s log posts as she got into her truck parked beside the Cadillac. “Bye.”

She waved. “Bye.”

As her truck disappeared around the curve in the road, I took a long breath of the clean, mountain air, then made my way inside the cabin.

The smell was musty. Dust floated everywhere, catching the glint of sunlight attempting to stream through the filmy windows. Carol had offered to clean the cabin because no one had stayed here in over three years—she’d come out to tidy up and check for mice a few times each year but otherwise the place had been empty—but I’d declined her offer, insisting on doing the work myself.

In a way, cleaning would make it my own.

I whipped off my sweater, folding it and setting it on my suitcase, then I got to work.

The bulk of the cabin was one large room. The living area was no more than a rawhide couch, a matching chair and a coffee table. Opposite it was a two-seat table and a small kitchen. The rear half of the cabin had the single bedroom. It was cramped with a queen-sized bed and a set of dresser drawers. The adjoining bathroom was designed for function with only a standing shower crammed beside the sink and toilet. The square laundry room by the back door doubled as the pantry and storage room.

I tackled the bedroom first, wanting to get my things put away. There was a canvas tarp over the bed to keep it from getting dusty, but I still stripped the quilt and sheets and tossed them into the washing machine. Then I dusted every surface and wiped out the dresser’s drawers before sweeping and mopping.

Sweat beaded on my brow after I was done with the kitchen, having washed all the dishes, then scrubbed the floor on my hands and knees.

Even with the lack of care, it didn’t take me long to make my way through the cabin, because it was just that small.

I opened the door to let in the fresh air and did the same to the windows once they were clean. The smile on my face felt earned. Carefree. I’d worked my ass off since the day I’d run away from home at sixteen, first to simply stay alive, then to make something of myself. Accomplishment gave me satisfaction.

Or at least, it had. The past year in Boston had lacked fulfillment.

What I’d needed was a hard day of cleaning where I could see my work unfold before my eyes.

Three months here? Piece of cake.

I was one laundry room away from a sparkling cabin when I heard a truck approach. My mood tanked when I saw its driver.

“What is he doing here,” I muttered from the cabin’s porch.

Easton parked beside the Cadillac and hopped out, not sparing me a glance as he walked to the back and hefted out a huge cooler. “Where do you want this?”

“Uh, what is it?”

“Food. Mom didn’t want you running to the store, so she spent yesterday in the kitchen.”

Liddy had cooked.

For me.

My own mother hadn’t cooked for me. But his had. My heart squeezed as he walked up the porch stairs carrying the cooler.

Easton scanned me from head to toe, and like always, he frowned.

I glanced down at my jeans and the gray tank top I’d had underneath my sweater. “What?”

“Nothing.” He brushed past me and stomped inside.

“Take off your boots. I just cleaned.” I bit the inside of my cheeks to keep from laughing as he spun around and gaped. “Kidding.”