The Cabin on Bear Mountain

by Liz Isaacson

  “Because you can’t live in a two-room cabin on the top of a mountain,” he muttered to himself. But the truth was, he could. He didn’t need to work, he just liked the feel of calluses on his hands, the smell of horses, the tired ache in his muscles that testified that he’d put in a good, honest day’s work.

  Sure, there was plenty of work to do around the cabin. He could wash windows, repair the front steps, clear the land in the back and plant a garden. Build a paddock and keep horses. Erect a barn and raise cows and pigs and chickens. If he got all that going, he probably wouldn’t even have to go down the mountain for groceries.

  The thought was as attractive as it was horrifying. He twisted the knob and entered the cabin. He didn’t keep the door locked, though he often thought he should. The interior looked the same as it had the last time he was here, if not a little dustier.

  A sigh leaked from his lips. He flipped on the lights and opened the fridge. Bottles of water stood like soldiers and he took one out. The cupboards housed enough syrup and pancake mix to last a couple of months, and he opened the one above the stove to find a bag of his favorite spicy nacho chips.

  With those in hand, he retreated to the bedroom where he piled the pillows against the headrest he’d bought in Butte after his last National Championship win. He selected a documentary on the science behind training horses—something he’d watched a couple dozen times—and stuck it in the DVD player. With the sound of wind blowing from the TV and his snacks nearby, Landon slipped off his hat and set it on the dresser. He got out a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt, changed his clothes, and settled against the pillows.

  He didn’t even try to think. He just stared at the screen, his attention on the horses, and munched on his chips. Once he was fully relaxed, he’d figure out what God wanted him to do.

  The following morning, Landon felt more like himself. He pulled on a sweatshirt and laced his hiking boots. In the backpack he kept on a hook by the backdoor, he packed granola bars, bottled water, and fruit cups. He wasn’t planning to hike very far, but he knew better than anyone how the trees just beyond the cabin could blend, blur, multiply, move if he didn’t pay attention.

  The pack also carried a flashlight, an emergency blanket, a first aid kit, and pain medication. He never left the cabin without it, and he checked its contents to ensure he could survive if he got stuck outside after dark.

  Because he’d risen so early, the sun hadn’t quite claimed the day yet. Landon’s favorite time to be alive. He loved being awake when seemingly nothing else on the earth was. He felt like he could ask the Lord questions and He’d actually have time to answer.

  He kept his thoughts dormant as he walked along the path he’d marked through the trees. About a half-mile from his cabin sat a fresh water spring, and the bubbling, bright sound of the water always soothed him.

  After reaching the spring, he sat on a boulder and pulled out his packaged breakfast of a peach cup and a semi-stale chocolate chip granola bar. He let his mind wander, and it landed on Megan.

  Oh, how he liked Megan. His fingers twitched at the memory of holding hers. His lips curved, almost able to taste her mint and maple flavor. He took a breath, and he could’ve sworn he smelled jasmine.

  “You’re in deep with her,” he murmured as he lifted the water bottle to his lips. He recognized the feelings—he’d experienced them before. The more time he spent with Megan, the more he trusted himself, the more likely it was he’d fall in love with her.

  He felt nothing but restful. No fear. No panic. Being with Megan was easy, and that wasn’t a bad thing.

  Landon cast his eyes toward the top of the trees. “Why do I feel unsettled then?”

  The answer didn’t come in a voice like thunder, or even a whisper. Landon didn’t know as he headed back to the cabin, as he passed the time to lunch, as he put together a puzzle in the afternoon.

  But little by little, Landon discovered that the answer to his question had already been received. Months ago, he’d felt like he needed a change. Needed to leave Montana. Needed a place to own, to train horses, to belong.

  And that hadn’t changed. Megan notwithstanding, that hadn’t changed.

  With a heart laden with gravity, he drove down the mountain on Wednesday night to buy replenishing supplies. As he came back to civilization and gained cell service, his phone chirped and chimed.

  He left it until he passed the horseshoe-shaped falls in Gold Valley. He had several missed calls—only one from Megan, but five from Shelly.

  “Shelly?” He pulled over and checked the number to make sure he’d seen it correctly. “The realtor from Brush Creek.” His heart stalled and he didn’t dare to hope for much more than a misdial. But she wouldn’t do that five times.

  He called into his voicemail, his heart blipping at the sound of his girlfriend’s voice. She was kind, as always, but Landon would’ve had to be deaf not to hear the undercurrent of concern in her voice.

  Shelly’s first message sent Landon’s heart into a frenzy. “Landon, give me a call. The sellers at Brush Creek are interested in renegotiating your offer.”

  By the time she’d left her third message, he was ready to call her back, visions of horse ranches galloping through his head. She’d called twice more but hadn’t left messages. The last call had been yesterday evening.

  “Landon?” she answered.

  “Shelly,” he said, relief pouring through him. “I was up at my cabin. No cell service. Sorry I missed your calls.”

  “Did you get my messages?”

  “Yeah, I listened to them. The family will take my counteroffer?”

  “If it’s still cash.”

  “It’s still cash.”

  “Then let’s make a deal.”

  A thread of disquiet pulled through Landon. He opened his mouth to say something, but he didn’t know what. He’d just spent three days trying to find the answers he needed. And he had.

  “I’d like to come see the place again,” he finally said. “Is that all right?”

  “Sure, of course. We’ll need to meet to do some paperwork anyway.”

  “When works for you?”

  “Anytime that works for you.” She wore a smile in her voice, and Landon wondered if he could get the sellers to come down in price again. It had only been a couple of months since his visit to Brush Creek. They must not have any others interested, or they really wanted to unload the ranch.

  “Landon?”

  “I—” He swallowed. It wasn’t a matter of when he would be ready to return to Utah. When he would be ready to move to Brush Creek.

  But when Megan would be ready to go with him.

  “How about this weekend?” he asked. His memories of Brush Creek were fond, and while he did want to see the place again for some reason, he also knew he’d buy it if he could get it for the right price.

  “This weekend works great. See you Saturday?”

  “Saturday,” he confirmed. He hung up, his emotions on a pulley system. With every thought of Brush Creek, joy tugged a little harder. But with every thought of Megan, despair yanked back.

  Time passed in Megan’s world, but she felt caged off from the rest of the world, almost like she was living her life behind a layer of plastic wrap. She wasn’t sure when she’d become so dependent on seeing Landon, hearing his voice, smelling his cologne. But when he’d called—and she hadn’t answered because Belle had just asked her if she’d moved past Eric—and told her he wouldn’t be back until Thursday, her days had turned long.

  Quiet and long.

  Boring and long.

  Lonely and long.

  She’d tried to fill her time with Belle, but her friend lived out on the ranch now and had responsibilities of her own. So Megan had turned her attention to her father, and then her gospel studies. But there were only so many hours she could talk about faith, and forgiveness, and she found she didn’t enjoy her father’s company as much as she had before she’d started dating Landon.

  Becau
se her dad questioned her mercilessly. From “Do you love him?” to “Will you move out to Horseshoe Home Ranch if you get married?” to “Are you even ready for marriage?” set her teeth on edge.

  She’d been dating Landon for six weeks—as she pointed out to her father—and if Megan knew one thing, it was that if she wanted to scare off a man, she’d start talking about their wedding before they’d even kissed.

  Her father had asked about that too. Megan had never felt so much like a preacher’s daughter than during that conversation. Her face burned just thinking about it, and she’d never missed her mother so much.

  If there was one person besides Belle Megan wanted to confide in, it was her mother. Over the past few days while she’d been alone, she’d taken to driving to the falls and strolling along the boardwalks, a whispered conversation with her mother streaming under her breath.

  She’d leaned against the railings on the bridges, her face north toward Bear Mountain, her thoughts on Landon. She wasn’t sure why he’d escaped town, but Belle had mentioned that Jace had said Landon was in a foul mood on Monday.

  Hearsay, she told herself as she walked over to the waffle truck parked at the park closest to her house. She reasoned she could eat a waffle for lunch because she hadn’t actually been awake to eat breakfast.

  She took her dessert waffle, laden with strawberries, raspberries, and whipped cream, to a bench in the shade. The smell of yeast and sugar made her mouth water, and the way her knife had to break the crisp of the waffle told her she was really going to enjoy her lunch.

  And she did, but she wished she wasn’t eating alone, on this perfect summer day. She rubbed her arms as a chill ran across her skin. Though she’d just eaten, her stomach felt like an endless pit, and the urge to get another waffle dove through her.

  Because surely more carbs would erase this nervous twitch tumbling through her.

  Intellectually, she knew carbs wouldn’t help anything. In fact, she knew nothing would rid her of this feeling—except Landon.

  She checked her phone as a breeze picked up the hem of her skirt and tried to take it through the trees. Pressing one hand to her knees, Megan willed a message to appear on her cell. A call to come through.

  The device remained silent. A sigh traveled from the tips of her toes, up through her body, and out of her mouth. She couldn’t face the church today, not with the gaping hole in the balcony. Didn’t want to see her father after the question-fest of yesterday.

  “Can’t sit in the park forever,” she muttered as she gained her feet.

  Landon didn’t call or text that afternoon. Megan kept her phone face-up as she heated a frozen pizza in the oven. When the apartment filled with smoke because she wandered down the hall for too long, her phone clutched in her hand, she threw the burnt pizza in the trash and ran out to grab a salad from the corner market.

  With every step, she came up with a new reason why Landon hadn’t called. Maybe he decided to stay up at his cabin for another day.

  Maybe he’d returned to the ranch and been caught away in a whirlwind of work.

  Maybe he’d been in a terrible accident on the way down the mountain.

  After the last one, she shut her mind off from thinking about Landon. She couldn’t stand the thought of him injured. Or on the ranch without a way to reach her. Or still on the mountain.

  No, better not to muse about why he hadn’t called.

  She ate, she watched a movie, she settled down in bed to study her scriptures. Midnight came and went, and Thursday became Friday without a peep from Landon.

  Megan thought sure she wouldn’t be able to sleep at all that night. But she woke sometime later, her lamp still burning, her Bible still open though lying down on her stomach.

  She blinked against the light, trying to figure out what time it was. She finally located her phone and saw the time: four-fifteen a.m. After padding to the bathroom and back to bed, Megan turned off the lamp and snuggled into her pillows. Her mind ran in circles, with Landon at the center. The more she thought about him, the wider the hole stretched. The more that hole filled with hurt.

  Stop it, she commanded herself. He’d said himself that he wasn’t Eric.

  And he’s not.

  He’s not Eric.

  He’s not Eric.

  She repeated the mantra until sleep claimed her again.

  Chapter 16

  Megan startled at a noise outside her subconscious. Outside her dreams.

  “Phone,” she blurted out. Her phone was ringing. And ringing. Her fingers scrambled for it and knocked it to the floor, where it made the most sickening shattering sound she’d ever heard.

  A moan started deep in her chest as her feet met the floor and the call silenced. Time slowed as she reached for her phone. She paused before touching it and sent up a prayer that it would be whole.

  Several pieces of glass actually fell from the front of the phone when she lifted it. Definitely not whole.

  Or even operational, as the screen sat in darkness. “No,” she said. “No, no, please no.” She pressed the power button and held it down, but nothing happened. She didn’t even know who had called. And she didn’t know what time it was.

  She hurried into the kitchen and checked the microwave. Only seven forty-five in the morning. “Definitely Landon.” No one else would call her this early. Panic seized her lungs, and she gasped at the air. It felt like water, too thick and nowhere near satisfying her need for oxygen.

  Megan did the only thing she could think of: She got in the shower and got ready for the day. She headed over to the church, fully expecting to see Landon’s big truck in the parking lot. When she found only a handful of sedans, her spirits fell again. If they got any lower, they’d be underground.

  She put on a strong, happy face and entered the church. Landon was not there. She heard classical music filtering down the hall, coming from her father’s office. She turned toward the chapel instead, making her way inside and taking a seat in one of the back pews. The stained glass window peered down on her, making her feel like her problems were insignificant. Or at the very least, fleeting.

  Megan loved sitting in the chapel, especially when the choir sang. She always felt like the very angels themselves added their voices to the song. The acoustics made the sound fly to the rafters and back.

  At the same time, the chapel was also an excellent place to listen, to get answers. And if there was something Megan needed right now, it was answers.

  She closed her eyes, hoping to quiet her rising anxiety. She didn’t articulate her thoughts though, because they didn’t come together into coherence. All she could come up with was, Help.

  Go get a new phone, came into her mind. Without thinking too hard about what she should do, or when, she sprang to her feet and headed out the door.

  After all, she needed to get a new phone as soon as possible.

  Landon wasn’t one for sitting around on a beautiful summer day. He’d already packed for his trip to Utah and now that he had some spare time on his hands, all he could do was pace in his cabin.

  He hated that Megan hadn’t answered his call that morning. Hated that she hadn’t phoned him back. Hated himself for not calling her yesterday—“On Thursday,”—like he’d said he would.

  But he’d bought replacement supplies on Wednesday night, and talked to Jace, and slept late, which for Landon meant six-thirty instead of five-thirty, and then he’d returned to Bear Mountain and the cabin. By the time he’d returned to Gold Valley, evening had fallen and his exhaustion won out over stopping by Megan’s.

  He changed his mind every time he changed his direction.

  Go to town and find her.

  Leave her alone. You called.

  Maybe just try the church real quick.

  You left a message. She’ll call when she wakes up.

  But it was almost noon, and she hadn’t called. Sure, Megan liked to sleep late, what with her nocturnal studying, but he’d never known her to sleep past mid-day. Of
course, he’d only known her for a short time as it was.

  From his time at the cabin he knew finding a more permanent place of his own was the right thing for him to do. Was he greedy and ungrateful if he wanted Megan too?

  “Ah, but it’s not about what you want anymore, is it?” Landon shook his head. He wanted to be on the path God wanted him on, and he’d told the Lord he’d do whatever he was instructed.

  But what if Megan wasn’t on the same path he was? What then?

  Landon wasn’t sure he had enough faith to leave her behind. He’d asked her to call him back, that he had news about Brush Creek in Utah, that he needed to leave town again soon, but he just had to see her before he went.

  He wanted to see her in person to invite her to come away with him again. Wanted to hear her laugh. Wanted to smell her essential oils. Wanted to taste the sweetness of her lips.

  With his mind made up, he swiped his keys from the front table and headed out the door. Thirty minutes, he coached himself. He could wait thirty more minutes to see Megan.

  He tried the church first, but she wasn’t there. Landon poked his head into the pastor’s office. “Hey, have you seen Megan?”

  He looked up from his desk, the soft sound of classical music framing him. “She hasn’t been in today.”

  Landon tipped his hat and returned to his truck. Her apartment was only ten minutes from the church. He could wait ten more minutes. He flexed his fingers as he waited at a stoplight, his patience near the snapping point.

  He took the stairs to her second-floor apartment two at a time and practically beat down her door.

  She didn’t answer. He pulled his phone from his back pocket and tried calling her again. Frustration surged with his impatience, making everything inside his body tight, tight, tight.

  Defeated, with nowhere else to try, he sat down on the top step in her stairwell to wait for her.

  He could wait. “You can,” he told himself. He’d already told himself to give her the time she needed to get over her ex-boyfriend. He didn’t believe someone could heal after only eight months, but he also realized not every relationship was the same, and that everyone dealt with things in different ways.