Chapter 2

The cabin, when they finally arrived, was nestled in a secluded grove, surrounded by towering pines and overlooking a crystal-clear lake. It was as if there was something about Max that was just out of reach. The cabin itself looked as if someone had taken an amazing picture or painted the perfect scene and set it down here in the wilderness right before her eyes.

"It's beautiful," she whispered as Max stopped the truck.

Looking out the windshield as if he, too, were seeing it for the first time, he said, "You're right."

"You sound as if you didn't know that," she teased.

"It's not that. I think sometimes I just get used to living here and kind of forget it. Then when someone says something, it's like they lifted a veil, and I can see it anew." He shook his head, almost seeming embarrassed. "Did that sound as soppy to you as it did to me?"

"It sounded like an artist talking about the beauty with which he's surrounded himself that inspires his art."

"I can see now why you're the writer," Max chuckled, getting out of the truck and taking her bag.

Alexa stepped out of the truck and took a deep breath, savoring the fresh, invigorating air. Until she was away from the cities and resorts, she often forgot what air was really supposed to smell like.

She followed Max up the stairs and across the wide porch to the inside of his cabin. There was a rustic charm to the place which immediately put her at ease. The walls were adorned with antlers of various animals. There were also intricately carved shelves holding smaller sculptures and mountaineering equipment stained and painted in gorgeous colors with beautiful carvings and wood burnings.

Alexa wanted more time to examine the things he had chosen to display in his own home—what he kept versus what he chose to sell. She wondered if they would offer a glimpse behind the curtain he seemed determined to keep drawn.

The cabin was simple yet comfortable, with a stone fireplace, wooden furniture, and large windows that let in plenty of natural light. She felt a sense of peace here, a welcome contrast to the chaotic pace of her usual life.

"Make yourself at home," Max said, showing her to a cozy guest room and placing her bag on a chest at the end of the bed. "I"ll be outside if you need anything."

"Thanks," Alexa replied, thinking perhaps her original host breaking his leg might not turn out to be a bad thing.

She set her purse down on the bed and opened her bag, putting her clothes away. A long time ago she had found that settling herself in whatever room she was staying went a long way to making her feel at home so she could start to get a sense of the place. After unpacking, Alexa took a few moments to familiarize herself with the cabin and where things were. She headed outside to find Max. He wasn't immediately visible, but the sound of an axe chopping wood led her to the side of the cabin.

Alexa rounded the corner and watched him for a moment, admiring the easy grace with which he worked. Despite his rugged exterior, there was an air of quiet harmony with his surroundings that she found intriguing. She stood watching as he chopped the wood in perfect rhythm—swing the axe, bring it down and split the log, stack the split wood, grab a new piece to be split. He made it look easy, but then if the muscles rippling under the flannel shirt were any indication, it probably was. For him, at least.

"Can I help?" she asked, stepping forward.

Max looked up, a faint smile touching his lips. "There's no need for you to get your hands dirty."

"I like getting my hands dirty."

"In that case, there"s another axe by the shed."

Alexa retrieved the axe and joined him, finding the damn thing far heavier than she thought it would be. While she relished the idea of the physical exertion after her long flight and the trip from the airport, she wasn't sure if she was about to make a fool of herself. The first swing was a disaster—it didn't go as easily aloft as he made it look and then it caught her off balance and she had to stumble back to keep from falling on her ass.

Max, however, was the perfect gentleman. If he found it amusing, he was keeping it to himself. She wasn't as coordinated as Max and it usually took more than one swing, but she was making progress, had yet to cut off her own leg, and felt like she was offsetting some of the inconvenience and interruption to his routine that had been thrust upon him by agreeing to let her stay out here with him.

"I could stay in the city if you like…"

"If this is too rustic for you…"

"No. Not at all. I much prefer small private places to stay as opposed to hotels. And your place seems to be right in the heart of the wilderness."

Max nodded. "It is. I like it that way."

They continued to work in companionable silence for a while, the rhythmic sound of chopping and the scent of freshly split wood filling the air. It was a simple, satisfying task, and Alexa found herself enjoying the camaraderie they shared. She couldn't help sneaking glances over at Max. He was every romantic hero from every romance novel set in Alaska rolled into one.

They managed to split all the dried wood just as the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the landscape.

Max shook his head. "Some kind of host I turned out to be. I've got you out here working and didn't even think to see if you needed a break."

"No worries. I enjoyed it."

"Well, why don't I grab us a couple of beers, and we can light a fire down by the lake and watch the sun set. I can throw some potatoes in the oven, and we can grill some steaks in a bit."

"That sounds delicious, but don't go to any trouble on my account."

"I have to eat and I'm kind of a meat and potatoes kind of guy."

Alexa had no trouble believing that. Max took her axe and placed it beside his before reaching into a barrel of ice and grabbed a couple of bottles of what appeared to be some kind of home brew and led her down to a clearing by the lake. There was a permanent fire ring set up with seating arranged in a half-moon shape overlooking the fire and then the lake beyond. It wasn't so much that they were chairs as they were fallen trees fashioned into a comfortable place to sit. Taking a seat beside her, Max handed her a beer, and they watched the colors of the sky shift and change.

"Tell me about your work," Max said, breaking the silence. "What drew you to journalism?"

Alexa took a sip of the beer, savoring its taste while she considered her answer. "I"ve always loved writing and exploring new places. Journalism seemed like the perfect way to combine those two passions. Plus, I enjoy telling stories—real stories about real people. There"s so much beauty and resilience in the world, and I want to share that with others."

Max nodded thoughtfully. "It"s a noble pursuit. There are so many untold stories out there, waiting for someone to give them a voice."

"What about you?" Alexa asked. "Your carvings—the sculptures and then the tools." She nodded toward the cabin where he'd set the two axes. "The handles on those are gorgeous and yet mine was comfortable to hold. The designs are intricate—why do you take that time and care to make something as utilitarian as an axe so beautiful? They"re so evocative. It's as if you imbue a little bit of yourself into each piece. What drives you to create?"

Max"s expression softened before growing distant, his eyes darkening with a shadow of something she couldn"t quite identify. "I think there's beauty in the ordinary. The tools that we work with each day don't have to be plain. They can do their job and still bring us pleasure in the way they look and feel. It's funny to me that my more artistic pieces—like the sculptures—are not as satisfying as, say, the handle to something utilitarian. Or an ice axe or a canoe paddle are far more interesting. Figuring out what the wood wants to reveal… well, it"s a way of processing things. Of making sense of the world and my place in it. Sometimes, it"s the only way I can express what I"m feeling."

Alexa sensed that there was more to his answer than he'd been ready to reveal, but she didn"t press him. Instead, she simply nodded, understanding that some things were best left unsaid for now. She understood what he meant about the wood revealing its design or purpose. She often felt that way about interviews.

As the night settled around them, they made their way back to the cabin. The smell of roasting potatoes assailed her nostrils, as did the scent of a number of herbs—parsley, garlic, oregano, cilantro—and olive oil.

"That smells amazing."

Max grinned. "Well, it isn't fancy, but I like a little kick to my food. Have a seat at the island. I don't have a table and chairs for dining. Normally, I either eat here at the island or over at my desk if I've got bookwork to do. What can I get you to drink?" he asked, opening his fridge.

Spying the bottled water, she answered, "Water would be great." When he went to grab a drinking glass, she shook her head. "Straight out of the bottle is fine."

Max put the steaks on the grill portion of the stove and then walked over to the massive fireplace to start a fire. Once the steaks were cooked, he dished them up, added potatoes to the plate and handed one to her while he grabbed forks and steak knives. Alexa took a bite and moaned—the food was divine.

"Amazing," she said, smiling at him.

"Thanks. It's not fancy, but it fills a hole."

"It does a lot more than that."

After dinner, they each sat on one end of the chesterfield sofa, facing each other and enjoying the fire's warm glow, sharing simple stories of their pasts and getting to know each other. Alexa found herself drawn to Max's quiet sexual magnetism—it seemed to bubble just under the surface. She was attracted to his strength, both physical and character, and to the depth of his emotions. She sensed that he epitomized the old saying, ‘still waters run deep,' sensing so much more than was readily apparent on the surface. It was if the weight of his past lingered just beyond her reach.

She knew there were secrets he wasn"t ready to share, but she also felt that whatever he chose to reveal would be worth the wait. There was something about Max Renner that called to a deep, dark place within her—some primal feeling of connection she'd never felt before. She knew she'd found the story she wanted to write. There was something about him that made her want to uncover his mysteries.

And as she looked into the flickering flames, she couldn"t shake the feeling that her journey on Kodiak Island was only just beginning. Where that journey might lead and whether it would be good or bad had yet to be determined.