Chapter 2

Chapter Two

S arah

I snap the latch on my suitcase, the metal click echoing in the tiny motel room. My single bag is packed with everything I own. It doesn’t take much to fit the remnants of a life into one piece of luggage—clothes, a few personal items, and a notebook filled with lesson plans.

The scratchy plaid bedspread looks exactly as it did a week ago when I first walked into this room for my last-minute teaching position at Devil’s Peak Elementary: uninspired, functional, temporary. Just like me. My fingers linger on the handle of the suitcase as I look around one last time, breathing in the stale air. This isn’t my home anymore. Hell, maybe it never was.

I glance at the battered copy of Mountain Living Magazine on the desk, the one I picked up in the lobby my first day here. It’s creased open to the ad—the one that changed everything. I hadn’t been looking for it, but it stared back at me like fate: “Practical woman wanted. Strong work ethic. Must love dogs. Room, board, and stability provided. Interested parties text the number below.”

Stability. That word hooked me. Stability was the very thing I’d lost when my ex-boyfriend decided to sleep with my boss and they teamed up to ruin my career. Stability is what I need the most right now. So I’d texted the number in the ad and it took him two days to reply. And when the reply came all it’d said was the address and see you at 7pm Saturday evening . I haven’t heard a single thing since; no getting to know you texts or anything else. Just practical and straightforward, I guess that’s the most I can expect from this arrangement.

Still, as I pick up the magazine and fold it closed, I can’t help but think about yesterday. The bakery. The cookies. The dog. The man.

That man.

My lips curve into a small smile despite myself. Grady, with his deep voice, rough hands, and a sheepdog named Bear who seemed as stubborn as his owner. Something about him felt... solid. Like those wide shoulders could hold up the whole world. And when he looked at me, even for a moment, I felt a spark of something warm and reckless.

I shake my head, the smile slipping. No. Don’t start thinking like that. That was a moment. Nothing more.

This isn’t a fairy tale, Sarah. This is survival.

I zip up my coat and grab my suitcase, wheeling it out of the room. The air outside bites at my cheeks, fresh and cold, scented with pine and snow. The mountains rise up in the distance, jagged and commanding, a promise of something new. A challenge.

The road is quiet as I load my suitcase into the trunk of my old sedan. I take one last look at the Mountainside Motel, a sliver of doubt creeping in. Am I making a mistake?

Then I think about where I came from, what I left behind. The lies. The betrayal. The suffocating humiliation. No, this isn’t a mistake. This is the only way forward.

I climb into the car and pull out the piece of paper with the address, double-checking it against the GPS on my phone. It’s barely a blip on the map, a tiny pin dropped deep in the woods near Devil’s Peak along the Phantom River. I did an internet search of the location last night–the Phantom River is known for whitewater rafting, fly fishing, and not much else. Dorothy, we’re not in Denver anymore, is all I keep thinking.

A lump forms in my throat. What if he’s awful? Or worse... what if he doesn’t want me?

I grip the wheel tighter and drive.

The road along the Phantom River is a winding ribbon of snow-dusted asphalt that seems to disappear into the trees. The farther up Devil’s Peak I drive, the quieter it gets. Even the sound of the tires on the road feels muted, swallowed by the wilderness.

By the time I spot the mailbox with the Stevens name painted on it in bold letters, my palms are damp against the steering wheel. A long dirt driveway stretches ahead, bordered by towering pines. My heart thuds heavily in my chest as I turn onto it, the car bumping over the uneven terrain.

And then I see it.

The cabin is bigger than I expected, a rugged structure overlooking the river made of dark logs with a wide front porch and a chimney puffing faint wisps of smoke. There’s a battered truck parked out front, a woodpile neatly stacked beside the house, and?—

“Bear.”