Jake had told Aimee that the cabin had been in his family for three generations, a small, two-room structure that sat at the mouth of a tiny meadow near the cliffs of Pike’s Peak. He said his parents had fixed it up a few years ago, putting new floors and windows in, but had stayed true to the original architecture, and the result was something straight out of Little House on the Prairie.
They were only able to drive so far, then had to hike the last quarter of a mile. When they reached the opening in the pines where the cabin stood, Aimee had to stop and stare. So beautiful. A heavy blanket of pristine snow lay on the A-frame roof. Dusty-blue shutters graced the windows, standing out against the natural wood siding of the cabin itself. It was lovely with all the snow. But she knew that in the spring, when the meadow began waking up, it would be absolutely breathtaking.
Jake stood beside her, his pack slung casually over one shoulder. “Like it?”
“It’s incredible.”
“It was my grandfather’s. He built it in the twenties. He was a writer and wanted a quiet place to work. You know, away from the metropolis of Wolfe Creek.”
She grinned.
“He lived here with my grandma until she died. Then it got to be too hard for him to make the trip into town, and he gave it to my dad.”
“Did you spend a lot of time here growing up?”
“Tons. Hiking, fishing…you name it, we did it.”
She found she couldn’t take her eyes off the little front door, or the planter boxes, full of snow, in the windows.
“Come on.” He nudged her. “Let’s get inside and make a fire.”
The cabin was rustic and cozy. Like in Jake’s cottage near Wolfe Creek, there were books everywhere. The windows were big and picturesque. And the view…the view was something straight off a postcard. Pines and spruces laden with snow encircled the meadow. Beyond that were jagged mountains that looked as if they’d been turned upside down and dipped in frosting. The great expanse of sky was dark today, but Aimee imagined that if the sun peeked through, it would look bigger than anything she’d ever seen.
With her hands clasped behind her back, she wandered the cabin as Jake started building a fire. He snapped the kindling over his knee, looking up every now and then to watch her. She’d smile, then turn her attention back to the old books and photographs lining the walls.
“Is this your grandpa?” she asked, pointing to a black-and-white picture. It depicted a man holding up a book, wearing suspenders and a wide grin. Behind him sat the Wolfe Creek public library, a building that she knew was one of the most historic in town.
Jake glanced up. “That’s him.”
“Is that—” She squinted, leaning closer. “—his own book?”
“It is.”
“I can’t read the cover. What does it say?”
“There’s a copy on the desk over there. To your right.”
She turned to the rolltop desk by the window. On it was a large, hardcover book with a torn, black jacket. It sat beside an antique letter opener and a mug full of pens and pencils. It looked as though the person who’d worked there had only gotten up for a cup of coffee.
She picked up the book. Her blood, which had been pumping so warmly just a second ago, chilled. Goosebumps prickled her scalp. The book felt heavy and significant in her hands.
She knew Jake watched her from across the room. “Werewolves,” she said, reading the title aloud. A History of Lore and Legend in Southern Oregon.”
Jake cracked another stick over his knee. The sound was painfully sharp to her sensitive ears.
“I’m guessing you’ve heard about our legend by now,” he said.
More than that. I’m living it.
She turned the book over and looked at the picture on the back. Earl Blackstock and his dog Roo, the caption read. Below Tomahawk Falls, Oregon. Jake’s grandfather knelt in front of a mountain stream with a non-descript black dog panting by his side. In the old man’s face, she could see Jake. The shape of the eyes, the tilt of the chin. Eerie how much they looked alike.
Jake came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Still, she couldn’t seem to put the book down, or stop staring at the photo of its author.
“He was obsessed,” he said, brushing his lips against her neck, making her shiver. “That legend was a big part of my childhood.”
She cocked her head as he trailed kisses along her jaw. “Why?”
“My grandfather was a brilliant man. He needed an explanation for everything. And when there wasn’t one… Well, didn’t matter how long it took or what he had to go through to get it.”
Aimee set the book down, careful to put it right back where it’d been. “He must have been very curious.”
“He was. But that’s not exactly what drove him.”
“What then?”
She felt him smile against her neck, felt his body tense. “You don’t really want to hear this. You’re going to think I come from a long line of whack jobs.”
“It’s all relative. My grandma used to insist that Buddy Holly lived in her garage. So, you know...”
He chuckled.
She put her hands over his and turned so she faced him. “Did he believe in the legend?” She tried to keep her tone light, but it wasn’t easy.
Jake looked away before she could read his expression. He went back to the fireplace and picked up more kindling, this time breaking three or four pieces over his knee at once. Splinters went flying as they snapped in two.
“I think after my grandma died, he got bored. I think he wanted to pour his life into something, and this just happened to be it.”
She glanced at the book, thick with pages that had been handled hundreds, maybe even thousands of times, and wished that she could sit down and read them all. It felt strange, like she was looking at a story of her own life. And she guessed that was true to some extent.
“That doesn’t really look random,” she said. “It looks like it meant something to him.”
Jake shrugged, bending to stack the kindling in the fireplace. “I don’t know. I stopped thinking about it a long time ago.”
She didn’t buy that. His demeanor, stiff and formal, said otherwise. She knew she should let it go and back off. But it pulled her, however reluctantly, deeper and deeper into uncertain, new territory.
“Do you believe it, Jake?”
He looked up as if she’d just screamed at the top of her lungs. His face was pale where it hadn’t been before.
“Of course not.”
She stared back, unmoving.
“Why?” he asked. “Do you?”
The cabin was so quiet she could hear herself breathing. “I believe in a lot of things other people don’t.”
“Werewolves?” His tone was incredulous, but she knew better.
“Magic.”
“Magic,” he said, shaking his head. He poked at the fire with a stick as the flames slowly took hold and licked at the air with their forked tongues.
Turning back to the desk, she ran her finger along the letter opener. Tiny, elaborate wolves were etched into the side of the blade. The wooden handle was worn from use. It had probably sat on this desk for decades.
“This is beautiful,” she said, changing the subject. The sudden tension in the room made her uncomfortable. Whatever Jake thought of his grandfather’s interest in local folklore, he wasn’t going to talk about it. That much was obvious.
“That was a gift from a Tututni elder,” he said.
So much for changing the subject. Crap.
Aimee picked it up carefully. “It’s heavy.”
“Sterling silver.”
“He must have liked your grandfather a lot.”
“I think he respected him. He consulted with the Tututni on the book, and was careful not to write anything that would upset them.”
Aimee set the letter opener back down, her fingers burning where she’d touched the blade. Definitely silver.
“I’m glad you pointed it out,” he said. “My mom’s been at me to pack up some things and bring them back. She’s putting them together for Daniel.”
“They seem like good grandparents.”
He sighed, seeming to contemplate that. “They are. Sometimes I think he’d be better off if they were raising him right now.”
She crossed the room. “Why in the world would you say that?”
“I don’t know. Ever since we lost Lizzie, I feel like I’ve been in a fog. Grief, I guess. Pain. It does things to you. Makes you a different person.”
She stopped in front of him and reached up to touch his face. He hadn’t shaved in days. His stubble was rough against her palm. “I know I’m an outsider looking in, but I think you’re a great father.”
He smiled, but looked away.
“Hey.” She turned his head back with her fingertips. “I mean it.”
He stared down at her, and the smile faded. “Being a parent is hard,” he said evenly. “When you love your kid more than yourself, it’s really fucking painful when something happens to them. Not to mention scary as hell. I’m not going to lie, Aimee. I can’t stop thinking about your mom and dad. What they’re going through.”
She dropped her hand, going numb inside.
“Don’t you miss them? Even a little?”
“I do. Of course I do.”
“Then what can be so important that it’s keeping you from telling them you’re alive?”
“Jake—”
“You know, I just don’t get it. I’m trying. I’m trying to wrap my mind around this, but every day I get to know you better. And you’re not the kind of person who would abandon your family and friends.”
“I’m not.”
“Then why for Christ’s sake?”
“You said you’d trust me to tell you when the time is right.”
He turned away and walked over to the window, hands in his pockets. “It’s a lot of responsibility,” he said over his shoulder. “Keeping this…secret.”
“I know.”
“It’s hard. But mostly I worry about you.”
A painful lump rose in her throat. She said she’d tell him, but deep down she knew there would never be a good time. It would always be this terrifying. Always.
She opened her mouth and touched her tongue to the back of her teeth, thinking about the words she’d start with. But fear paralyzed her. She wished she could just freeze time, be with Jake in this cabin forever. Because she loved him. She knew that now. And if she told him, when she told him, she was so afraid he wouldn’t love her back. And what about her family? Wasn’t it easier just to keep this burden from them, and not risk losing them gradually instead of all at once by her own doing?
But before she could say anything, he turned back, his face a mask of emotion, cutting short anything that had been teetering on her lips a second before.
“I don’t like the look of those clouds,” he said, walking forward and placing a cool, quick kiss on her forehead. “If we’re planning to snowshoe, we’d better get going.”
And that was that.
She didn’t know whether to be relieved or scared shitless.