Page 21 of Timber Ridge

Reid chuckles. “I’m Reid, Rhys’s twin. The better-looking one,” he teases. “Wish it were under better circumstances, but it’s good to meet you, Timber.”

Her engagement in the conversation tells me she’s going to be alright. She’s strong, even when the world seems to be falling apart around her.

“Let’s get you someplace warm and dry,” I say.

She nods but looks at the cabin. “Where am I going to stay?”

That is the hundred-dollar question. “With me and Hailey. At least for now.”

Timber places her things on the floor behind her seat. Hailey crawls from her back seat into the front and into Timber’s lap. Normally, I’d tell her to go back and buckle in, but I can see that they need each other. Timber cradles my daughter with a tenderness that’s as natural as it is heartwarming. I’m struck by the motherly way she envelops my daughter in her arms and Hailey lays her head on Timber’s chest as if she’s been doing that forever. It stirs something in me—a blend of admiration and a surprising jolt that tightens my chest.

I start the ATV, guiding it onto the path that leads to the ridge. On the way, I point out some landmarks still visible in the dusky distance: Misty Meadows, where my brother Nash lives; Crystal Creek, where Finn has a small lodge and a row of cabins he rents out. This time of year, night comes later, and daylight arrives earlier.

“Today, during class, the kids referred to a lot of places by name as they were navigating the island through our lesson. I learned that Eliza lives in Serenity Cove. Tommy’s parents live at Bear Paw and Lucas says his home is called Long Neck Pass. What’s your place called?”

My place remains unnamed. It reflects the terrain—unyielding and raw in a land where the elements carve out the days. Sentimental names seem unneeded. So, the townsfolk call it Kane’s, but to me, it’s just the ridge—nothing more than a speck in the vast, indifferent wilderness.

“It’s never had a name,” I reply over the engine’s growl. “Just ... home, I guess. Sentimental names seem unnecessary.”

The woods give way to the outline of my house, its size casting long shadows in the night. I cut the engine. We're immersed in an all-consuming silence. Gently, I take a sleeping Hailey from Timber and I nod for Timber to follow me. We climb the stairs, the wood creaking under our weight. As we reach the top, the size of the house seems to swallow us. I push open the door, stepping into the familiar coziness. This place, unnamed and lived-in, is about to become Timber’s refuge, too.

“I’ll be right back.” I walk up the stairs and lay my daughter down in her bed, tucking her beneath the blankets with care. Her peaceful face, relaxed in sleep, eases some of the tension from my shoulders. I linger for a moment, watching her breathe, before turning back to the dim glow of the staircase.

I find Timber in the living room. She’s standing still, a solitary figure bathed in the faint, flickering light from the last of the fireplace’s embers. She’s staring into the coals, lost in thought, the orange light casting shadows that play across her face.

As I step into the room, there’s a sense of rightness seeing her there. It’s as if the room has been waiting for her presence to complete it, for her to fill the space with a warmth that’s been missing.

She turns at the sound of my approach, and in that glance, there’s a mutual understanding. She’s been through an ordeal, but here, in front of the dying fire, she seems to have found a moment of peace.

“I’m sorry for all this,” she says, her voice a blend of exhaustion and regret. “And for pulling Hailey into it, waking her up.”

“Hailey will be fine,” I reassure her. “You made sure she was okay.”

“It was the least I could do.”

At the cabinet, I pull out a bottle of brandy and pour a modest amount into a glass. I hand it to her, and our fingers brush briefly. Her touch is as cold as ice, yet it ignites something that spreads through my entire being.

“Here, this will help with the chill.”

She wraps her hands around the glass, the amber liquid catching the light. There’s gratitude in her eyes before she takes a sip. Coming together under my roof for the night is a strange and unexpected comfort.

As Timber takes another sip, she glances around the room, her gaze lingering on the details of the house. “You have a beautiful place here.”

I nod, looking around. “It serves us well.”

She points to the lights in the kitchen. “Electricity?”

“Solar,” I say. “We take advantage of the summer’s lengthened daylight hours and charge our batteries for winter.”

“Smart,” she says, her gaze sweeping across the room. Timber sets down the emptied brandy glass with a gentle clink against the mantelpiece. I find myself watching her intently. She’s dressed in Winnie the Pooh flannel pajamas and boots, an ensemble that makes her appear younger than I initially estimated, perhaps a few years my junior.

“Let me show you to the bathroom,” I say, breaking the quiet. “You’ll want to wash off the smoke.”

She nods, following me down the hall to the large bathroom, where towels are stacked high, and everything is ready for use. “When you’re ready, take your time,” I tell her. Then I lead her to the guest room. “My sister left some clothes here the last time she helped with Hailey. If they fit, you’re welcome to them. Eliza wouldn’t mind.”

For a moment, I hang back in the doorway, just taking her in. She’s there, standing firm, a mix of toughness and tenderness that makes me want to wrap her in a hug. But then I pull back. This moment is significant, like a fork in the road, and I’m not sure which way to go.

Retreating to my room, the quiet takes on a different quality now, knowing she's just down the hallway.

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