by Devon McKay
Blake insisted upon grabbing her luggage, so she grasped a handle made from animal antlers and pushed the door open. The small cabin expanded into one large room. A tiny kitchenette off to the left side, a full-sized bed on the right, and a woodstove that split the sections down the middle. She centered her gaze on the headboard of the bed, a crudely adorned slate of rough cut lumber. Was this some kind of a joke?
“I hope you packed real clothes in these suitcases,” Blake said as he stumbled into the room. Struggling with her luggage, he placed all three of her heavily packed cases on the rustic planked floor. “You sure brought a lot of bags. Did you happen to pack a pair of boots?” He eyed her three inch heels.
An image of the dress boots she packed flashed before her eyes. She loved the elegant knee length boots, but doubted the expensive leather and high heels were the kind of footwear Blake was referring to.
Obviously reading the answer on her face, he shook his head. “You are a typical tourist. A city girl. How long did you say you were staying?”
Sam was too dispirited to argue with his remarks or to even reply. Heaving her shoulders, she tried to appear as nonchalant as she could, hoping to put a cease to anymore questions. Mentally, she counted down the days. Eighty-nine.
Blake moved to the woodstove and placed a few small logs into the pit. He struck a match then closed the door. After a minute, smoke rolled behind the glass, and Sam could see a spark had caught, igniting the darkness with a bright orange flame.
He turned to her, staring in awkward silence as if he had something more to say, but couldn’t decide on the right words. Blake shifted his weight from one foot to the other before breaking the silence by excusing himself. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Should give you plenty of time to get settled. Make sure you throw a log or two in the fire before you go to bed and you ought to be fine.”
“Hey…wait a minute.” She panicked, her words cracking with uncertainty. The thought of him leaving her alone in this primitive space was frightening. “Where is the bathroom? And a place to shower?”
Blake hesitated at the door, before a grin devoured his face. “Get your camera ready. You are going to want to capture this on film for your brochure. Hell, right now, I wish I had a camera.”
The silly grin made her sorry she’d asked, but she followed him outside.
“Showers are in the building over there,” he said, pointing off to the right. “And that’s the bathroom.”
Squinting, she peered into the woods until her gaze landed on a partially hidden wooden structure the size of a small closet. It had blended so well into the forested background she had missed seeing it before. She shot Blake a bewildered stare and then headed toward the building. Tossing an uncertain glance back in his direction, she opened the door. Accosted by a rank scent, Sam slammed the door shut and whirled around to see Blake holding his side, trying unsuccessfully to curb his laughter.
“You’re kidding, right?” Appalled, she held her breath and braved another quick glance inside. The small space hosted a primitive board with a hole cut out in the center. Shocked, Sam couldn’t believe her eyes. She had never seen anything so…so uncivilized before. “People actually go in there?”
“Yep.” He nodded, feigning control. “It’s an outhouse. Most of the cabins out here don’t have indoor plumbing. So, there you go. It’s all yours,” he barely stated, before relinquishing his control and falling into a full fit of laughter.
“It’s disgusting,” she growled, which only made him laugh harder.
Blake shrugged, containing himself for a moment. “You wanted to see the real Alaska.”
Speechless, she glared at him, adding more fuel to the fire.
He chuckled again. “I’m sure it will be perfect for your tourist ad.”
“That is funny,” she stated in a sarcastic tone. But suddenly, a thought altered her mood, and she had an idea of how to make the shanty work for her. “You know what? Not a bad idea.”
Sam began taking pictures, silently delighted by his immediate sobered reception of her actions. Did he seriously think she was some kind of prima donna who couldn’t roll with the punches? Even if the joke had been at her expense.
Sam opened the door. To keep from breathing in the stench, she pulled up the collar of her shirt and covered her nose. Quickly, she took a few shots of the inside. This would be a great addition to her portfolio, envisioning the photos in black and white or an antique sepia tint.
Satisfied with the new additions, she recapped her camera lens and convinced herself she could use these facilities. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. She could always prop the door open—in all honestly, the outhouse wasn’t much different than the rent-a-cans at the beach.
As Sam turned back to Blake, she noticed the shocked expression on his face. It gave her even more resolve to make the outhouse work. However, she left the small building while still wishing for a shower.
“Welcome to Alaska,” he muttered, a grin no longer contorting his face. He went to his truck, but, reaching the door, he hesitated and spun around to face her. “Go change your clothes. We can go for a short hike. That way you’ll be aware of your surroundings.”
“Are you asking or telling me?” Sam quipped curtly, placing both hands on her hips and standing her ground.
Just who did this abrasive mountain man think he was talking to anyway? Apparently, he was used to giving orders. This presented a problem. She wasn’t used to taking them.
Blake scowled and glared at her with an intense stare before responding in a less demanding tone. “I’m requesting. You aren’t exactly dressed for the Alaskan wilderness.”
“No. I’m dressed for work.” Smoothing down the wrinkled skirt of her traveling outfit, she tucked in her blouse. “I thought you were leaving anyway.”
“I was…I am.” He turned back around and opened his truck door.
Sam contemplated his tempting, though sourly offered, suggestion. A hike would allow the perfect opportunity for more pictures.
“No, wait.” She held up her index finger and headed to the cabin. “Give me a minute.”
Sam rushed into the room and opened the largest of the suitcases, pulled out a pair of jeans, a tank top, a long sleeved shirt, and a pair of tennis shoes. Quickly, she changed her clothes.
On the way out, she grabbed her camera and was ready to take on the wild frontier. “Okay, let’s go,” Sam shouted as she stepped onto the porch. Slipping the camera strap over her head, she closed the door behind her.
Blake graced her with a thorough gaze and then nodded his head gruffly. “Much better. But no boots?”
She shook her head.
“You need sturdy footwear in Alaska,” Blake observed, and then snidely added, “make sure you put that in your brochure.”
“Got it,” Sam replied testily, wishing she’d worn her designer heels just to spite him. However, she knew he was right, and cursed herself for not packing hiking boots, assuming sneakers would be good enough.
“Well, we aren’t going far. I just wanted to show you the trails behind your cabin. And in case you get adventurous, I’d like you to at least be able to find your way home. It’s easy to get lost.”
Sam pursed her lips, holding back a saucy jab about what she’d really like to put in the brochure as she followed Blake to the edge of the forest. Shamed by her thoughts, she silently berated herself for being so catty. What was it about the man that brought out the worst in her?
He paused, pointing to the right. “If you take this trail, you’ll wind up at your nearest neighbor’s house. You might want to stay away…the guy’s kind of grumpy. He likes his privacy.”
Sam nodded and jotted a mental note to avoid that direction. The last thing she needed was to run into another difficult man.
“If you go to your left, the path will come to a head and you have a choice of two different directions. Veer to the right and the trail will lead you up the mountain…the opposite will make a wide circle back to your cab
in. In fact, we’re going to walk it now so you can see.”
Blake didn’t wait for her answer and headed down the narrow, grassy aisle.
“I only have one neighbor?” Sam inquired as she hastily trailed behind her guide.
She forced herself to take note of her surroundings. A challenging task considering she had so many questions, and it was hard to stay focused on the forest. Especially when every tree looked the same.
“Yeah,” Blake stopped abruptly and spun around. “Me.”
She bumped into the solid square of his chest. Losing her balance, she clamped onto his arm. “You are my grumpy neighbor?”
He gripped her elbows with a firm grasp to help station her. “Yep. And I was serious about staying away. I don’t want you nosing around my property and taking pictures. I’ll come to you.”
“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth and pulled free from his hold.
Stomping around him, she continued the trek. It was certain to be a long summer if she was already butting heads with her guide and nearest neighbor.
She swept the area with a keen gaze and noted a thick wall of trees and little else.
Her only neighbor.
Sulking, Sam silently followed the trail for another fifteen minutes or so before she could make out the shadowed outline of a building. A few more steps and the Hilton came into full view. And it never looked more glorious.
Sighing out loud, she took in the sight and stopped to snap a few pictures. Maybe Stanley was right after all. There was a natural, untouched beauty to the rustic structure.
Blake continued past her and headed straight for his truck. “Get some sleep. I’ll be here early in the morning.” Without another word or even a glance over his shoulder, he jumped in the vehicle and sped off, leaving her to her own devices.
A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. For some reason, the fact he left in a huff elated her mood. Obviously, she got under his skin just as badly as he did hers.
Making her way back into the cabin, Sam glanced around the simple accommodations and placed her camera on the makeshift kitchen counter. She quickly ransacked the cabinets and found them stocked with cans of soup and chili. Grinning, she danced a happy jig. This was quite the score. At least she wouldn’t starve to death.
She shuffled through a few drawers and found three tins of assorted teas and noticed a well-used tea pot sitting on the counter. And there was water—discovered while tripping over several full plastic jugs during her search.
But no sink.
Her sudden uplifted mood began to dip. Of course, it would have been too much to ask for a sink and running water. Not to mention a toilet that flushed. A sudden urge to scream overcame her. She pictured the outhouse and crossed her legs as if the effort would stop the pressure building on her bladder. No, it wasn’t as if a sink really mattered much at this point.
Well, it’s now or never.
She made her way to the door and out on the porch. Staring at the primitive structure in the woods, she exhaled a heavy sigh. I can do this, Sam convinced herself and braved a path to the outhouse. Holding her breath, she used the crude facilities and was back in the cabin within minutes.
Not sure what else to do, she took off her long sleeve shirt and began unpacking. The closet, though compact, was large enough to hold all of her clothes. After hanging everything she could up, she pulled off her jeans and slipped on a snug pair of hot pink shorts to sleep in since the fire made the whole place warm and cozy. Removing the last item from her luggage, a small bag of toiletries, she tossed it to the side before lining the suitcases neatly on the floor of the closet.
Brushing off her hands, she sat on the edge of the bed and toyed with the zipper on the pink and black polka dot makeup bag. Now what? Too tired to shower, Sam sucked in an exasperated breath. Unzipping the bag, she pulled out a small compact and stared at her reflection. Yep. Just as she’d thought. A complete mess. Dark smudges of mascara highlighted tired green eyes, and the rest of her makeup had long worn off. And good lord, her hair—a bird’s nest of tangles in need of a good brushing.
Why did she care? It wasn’t as if she’d planned on rolling around in the tundra with an Alaskan man anyway. Regardless, it was hard not to admit Blake, even with his surly mood this afternoon, had sparked her interest.
Tossing the mirror aside, she scavenged through the rest of the bag. Her fingers closed in on an orange package of foiled condoms. If she hadn’t planned on some kind of steamy love affair, then why had she felt the need to impulsively pack these?
Because I’ll be here for three long months, and want an adventure, damn it. A little excitement. Some romance in a new land. Something to change her pattern. For two years, it had been nothing but work, work, and more work.
A pang of guilt shot through her. She loved her job. In fact, she lived to work. What was she thinking anyway? A summer fling? She’d come here to get a job done. The last thing she needed was to be sidetracked by romance.
Scoffing, she cast the notion aside and relaxed back on the bed. No, what she needed to do was focus. On work. Not indulging in some fly by night fantasy. By this time, she usually had ten ideas on how to sell her ad. She needed something huge to catch a future vacationer’s notice.
A big bang.
Something explosive.
So far, she had nothing.
She rolled over and the springs of the mattress squealed in resistance from the shifting of her weight. A wave of self-pity overcame her, and she fought the promise of unshed tears. Reaching for one of the two pillows at the head of the bed, she sank into its feathery softness.
No doubt she was just overly tired. Usually quite able to adjust to any kind of challenge, this situation was simply taking a toll on her. With a sigh of despair, she closed her eyes and relinquished control, allowing sleep to take over.
Chapter 5
Sam jolted awake. The mattress responded with an ear-piercing squeal from the sudden movement. Not sure where she was, she tried to focus in the evening light. The cabin, she realized with a start as her eyes began to adjust to the darkness. And it was freezing.
Shivering, she reached for the side table and fumbled in the lack of light to find a lamp. Instead, she found a smooth, circular cylinder. A candle? Perfect. Her thoughts caught up to the reality of the situation—no lamp meant no electricity.
Frantic, she searched in the shadows for a lighter. Her fingers clamped on to a small book of matches. After peeling one free, and two fumbling attempts, the tip caught fire. Blinded by the bright light, she lit the candle with a shaky hand and then blew out the match.
Lucky for her, she’d even been able to find the matches. Especially in the dark. Inhaling a deep breath, she choked on a heavy intake of sulfur.
It took a minute to refocus in the flickering light. The cabin appeared different at night. The wavering flame cast odd, long shadows in the wooden structure, making the room appear bigger, and a little eerie. A strong wave of apprehension overcame her, and she attempted to shake it off. With as many storms in Florida leaving her without electricity, this was something she should be used to.
Sam searched the room for another candle, found three more, and two small, battery operated lanterns. She lit the candles. Deciding there was now more than enough light, she placed the lamps to the side.
Trembling with cold, she exhaled and noted the release of air came out like a puff of smoke. Grabbing the long sleeve shirt she wore last night, Sam slipped it over her tank top and glanced at the large eye-sore splitting the room. Grimacing, she noted the lack of bright, orange flames in the glass window. The fire had died out sometime during her sleep. No wonder it was so cold. “Can’t be too difficult, can it?” Sam grumbled, recalling Blake telling her to throw a few logs in. He’d made it seem rather effortless. Brainless in fact.
However, she had never started a fire before, never needing one in Miami’s mild winters. Sam picked up a box of matches and noticed instructions taped on the back sid
e.
Step one: Open the flute.
“Flute?” she questioned, opening the portal of the woodstove. “What the hell is that?” She closed the door and then opened it again. Seemed flute-like enough.
Step two: Fill the woodstove with kindling.
Kindling.
“Another word for wood, right?” she mused out loud while scouring the room until her gaze landed on a neatly stacked pile of timber. Certain this was kindling, she shoved two blocks of wood into the opening.
Satisfied, Sam proceeded to light the wood. Confident the instructions were no longer needed, she tossed the box to the side. After several attempts, and half a box of matches, one of the logs rolled with smoke.
Success. A fire!
Who needed a man around? Even if the man was so drop dead gorgeous she had forgotten her own name. Who needed his kind of drama? She most definitely did not. She was a woman who could build her own fire!
She coughed, only then noticing the cloud of smoke filtering through the room.
Is there supposed to be this much smoke?
Eyes burning, she raced to the entrance of the cabin, swung open the wooden barrier, and was blinded by daylight. Apparently, she hadn’t needed candles after all. Had she known that, she would’ve just opened one of the curtains or the door in the first place. And now she had to deal with the possibility of her temporary home bursting into flames. Great. She had successfully started a fire all right.
A potential cabin fire.
Perhaps she hadn’t opened the flute after all. Sam returned to the woodstove. She picked up the discarded matchbox instructions. They still didn’t explain what the hell it was.
Disgusted, she threw the box down and glanced back at the stove. She slipped her hands into a pair of fire resistant gloves sitting beside the wood pile and ran gloved fingers along the bottom edges of the stove. No switches, no flips…nothing.
Kneeling down, she peered into the smoky glass front. Not being able to see anything, she gripped the metal spring-like handle and wrenched, baring the insides of the cast iron stove. A large puff of smoke poured out. Coughing, she waved her hands, trying to clear the air.
