Page 5 of Timber Ridge

Eliza glances over from where she’s filling bowls with whatever she’s made. “Grab a seat, will you? I’ve made crab and corn chowder,” she says. “Figured I’d feed you both before you head out. Save you a bit of hassle tonight.”

I nod, appreciating her thoughtfulness. If not for this chowder, we’d be eating grilled cheese sandwiches and a bag of chips tonight.

“How was your appointment?” I ask, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

“Everything is right on track,” she answers. “We had a good check-up in Craig. But, honestly, I’m glad to be back. The noise there was getting to me.” She sets three bowls of chowder on the table and joins us.

I chuckle as I get Hailey settled beside me. With little more than a thousand people, Craig barely qualifies as a town, nonetheless an actual city. “Yeah, the city life,” I tease. “So loud. Coming from Phoenix, the new teacher, Timber, might find our noise level too low for her taste.”

Eliza’s face brightens up at the mention of Timber. “Tell me about her,” she begins, a spark of enthusiasm in her voice that I haven’t seen in a while. “Is she pretty?”

“Didn’t notice,” I lie, giving my sister a shrug that I hope will end the conversation. Eliza raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, but thankfully, she lets it slide.

Inside, though, I must admit I did notice a few things about Timber, just not what Eliza’s fishing for. After the shock of me tossing fish her way on the dock, she found her rhythm, packing the bin with surprising efficiency. And when I set a quick pace to the cabin, she kept up without complaint.

It’s clear she’s not afraid of a little hard work or getting her hands dirty. But I won’t give my sister the satisfaction of knowing that. She has a way of taking an inch of information and stretching it into a mile of matchmaking schemes. I don’t need her playing Cupid, especially with someone like Timber, who’s not planning to stick around. I’ve been there and done that. Nope, some thoughts are better kept under wraps.

“Kane, were you at least nice to her?” Eliza asks with a knowing look, the corners of her mouth twitching up in amusement.

“I’m nice to everyone,” I say, trying to keep my expression neutral as I spoon the chowder into my mouth.

At that, Eliza laughs, the sound filling the room and bouncing off the walls. She shakes her head. “Oh, brother, your reputation precedes you. Around here, you’re known to be as gruff as a bear woken up in winter.”

“Daddy’s a grumpy grizzly bear,” Hailey says.

I grunt in response. I’m aware of the image I project, and sure, maybe it’s warranted, but it gets things done and keeps the overly curious at bay, and that’s the way I like it.

“I was nicer than you,” I say, giving her a bit of a stern look. “I told her about the outhouse and the dry cabin. I thought you would’ve at least mentioned the living conditions.”

Eliza’s cheeks redden, a touch of something that looks like guilt flashing across her features as she takes a spoonful of chowder. “I might have left out some of the ... finer details,” she confesses. “But Kane, she was the only one who applied, and you saw the cabin—I made sure it was well-stocked, and there are even new sheets.” She looks up, her eyes earnest and a little defensive. “And I’ll go over first thing tomorrow to check on her. Make sure she’s settled in and has everything she needs before she starts Monday.”

I nod, recalling the cabin’s interior. Despite its basic setup, Eliza had indeed made it as welcoming as a dry cabin can be. The thought of her going out there, especially in her condition, to ensure Timber’s comfort is like her—always looking out for others, even with a baby of her own nearly here.

“I can check on her,” I say.

Eliza shakes her head. “She’s probably already had enough of you. Besides, I want to meet her and tell her about the kids.”

Hailey’s spoon hovers mid-air, loaded with the last bite of chowder. “Auntie Eliza, when your baby comes, will you be its mommy forever, or will you leave too?” she asks with curiosity.

A tightness grips my chest as Hailey’s question hangs in the air.

Eliza sets down her spoon and offers Hailey a reassuring look. “Yes, my little love, I’ll be here with my baby forever, just like I’ll always be here for you.”

Hailey doesn’t often bring up her mother, but Amanda’s absence weighs heavily on her little mind. Postcards with foreign stamps clutter a drawer, and the phone rings once a month—Amanda’s way of reaching out. It’s not the life I had in mind, and damn sure not what Hailey deserves. Since Amanda’s departure, she’s only been back a few times, and those times were because Amanda was between projects and had no place else to go. Poor Hailey’s got that gap in her life, the kind you can’t plaster over, and I see her trying to make sense of it with every new photo of a place she hasn’t been and a voice that’s more distant than the miles it travels.

Hailey eats the last bite of chowder with a contented sigh. The day will come when she asks more questions, but Eliza’s reassurance is enough for now.

“Dinner’s done, Noodle. Time to pack up your things,” I say, standing up from the table. “We need to get back. I’ve got a box of chicks that would prefer the coop.”

Hailey scrambles from her chair. “Can we go to May’s tomorrow for pancakes?” she asks, her eyes lighting up with the prospect of a treat.

“If you’re quick about it, we’ll swing by for those chocolate chip smiley-face ones you love before we run our errands.” She dashes off with enough energy to power the town’s lighthouse on the darkest of nights.

As I clear the table and wash up, Eliza watches me. “You’d make quite the catch for the right woman,” she says, leaning back in her chair.

I shake my head, focusing on the soapy water. “I’m done with all that. My heart’s got room for two—just you and Hailey.”

When I turn to her, I see sadness in her eyes. It’s been just us kids for a while now, especially since Mom passed away a few months back. The absence of Mom’s laughter is a silence that still echoes in the corners of every room. It’s why Dad is gone, too. He can’t sit in the quiet and not wish for something different. Damned wishes.

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