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“Did you bring banana bread?” one man asked, removing his protective headphones.
Henri rolled his eyes. “I was wondering why you all were pretending to be happy to see me. Yes. Mama Gagnon made enough for all of you.” He reached into the back seat and pulled out two cloth shopping totes filled with loaves wrapped neatly in aluminum foil.
“But,” he said, holding up the bags as other workers walked over in search of baked goods, “there is a price. This”—he gestured to me—“is Parker. She’s Paz’s girlfriend.”
Several eyebrows shot up at the use of that word, but Henri ignored the reactions.
“She’s doing research for a book she’s writing, and I expect you all to welcome her, answer any and all questions she has, and make sure her stay here is as comfortable as possible.”
The assembled men nodded, some giving me friendly smiles.
After he’d handed off the baked goods, Henri took my bag and lumbered toward the main building. “This ugly-ass building is the dorm. We’ve also got a few small cabins, an office, and a small shop for repairs. Out back are a couple of pole barns and other structures for storing materials and fuel.”
I nodded, taking it all in. This was certainly not what I had expected. Granted, my internet research showed lots of photos of men in old-timey suits cutting trees with long saws and floating logs down rivers. Not exactly twenty-first century methods. I supposed this scenery shouldn’t have come as a surprise.
“This cabin is yours,” he said over his shoulder. “It’s not fancy, but my dad built it for my mom after they got married. She used to come up here and stay with him.”
He unlocked the door and led me into a small home. A wood stove that was already putting off heat stood in one corner, and a large bed took up the other. It was covered with a lovely handmade quilt. A small table and loveseat were on the other side, where one small door led to what I assumed was a bathroom and another to a sizable closet.
“Does this get used?” A framed photo on the wall drew my attention. It was Frank and Loraine on their wedding day. He was wearing a suit, and she was wearing a simple white dress. Her hair was feathered and enormous in the way women wore it during the early ’80s.
“Not really. But we clean it and keep it warm in case my mom wants to visit. She hasn’t since Dad died. But they spent a lot of time here together. I hope that she’ll want to return someday.”
“The man built her a cabin for her occasional visits? Seems extreme.”
Henri laughed. “You didn’t know my dad. Gagnon men? We love with everything we have. And my dad was devoted to my mother. Lived every day of his life working to make her happy. And he wouldn’t have had it any other way.”
I smiled, trying to wrap my head around that kind of devotion. That entire experience was so far removed from my childhood it was hard to comprehend.
“But you should know that, dating a Gagnon and all.” He winked.
A jolt of panic ran through me.
Did he know? That our fake relationship wasn’t actually fake? That I had been waking up next to his brother every morning and was already concerned that I wouldn’t be able to sleep without being wrapped in his strong arms?
Or was he joking about our fake relationship cover story? Shit. My paranoia was at an all-time high.
“I’ve got to head a few miles north to a felling site for a bit. Follow me to the office, and I’ll get you a radio so we can keep in touch. The dormitory building has a large kitchen, and we’ve got coffee brewing twenty-four hours a day. You can work wherever you’d like, and feel free to poke around the office. I’ll leave you my keys.”
* * *
An hour later, I was settled in the kitchen, drinking hot coffee and poring through the most recent batch of personnel files Ellen had helpfully found for me.
I caught myself skimming over details because I was preoccupied with missing Paz. It had only been a few hours, but I wanted him near me. Being out here in the middle of nowhere without him was overwhelming, not to mention I’d gotten used to bouncing ideas off him as I researched, so going through these files alone felt more tedious than it should have.
In addition to being hot, great in bed, and a decent cook, he had become a trusted thought partner. That wasn’t something I had ever wanted before, but now I couldn’t live without it.
My eyes were starting to blur and words were running together on the page when a stocky man with patchy stubble and a backward hat poured himself a cup of coffee, then dropped to the seat across from me.
“Want a piece of my Mama Gagnon banana bread? I’m happy to share.”
“That depends,” I said. “Does it have chocolate chips?”
He reared back in mock offense. “This is America,” he groused, though his friendly eyes sparkled, and his ruddy cheeks gave away his good humor. “Of course it does.”
“Okay, good.”
He held a hand out over the table. “I’m Ace.”
