Page 4 of Timber Ridge

“Okay, this is it,” I say, rolling my shoulders back. “This will be a fabulous experience or a spectacularly poor decision.”

I toe off my boots and pad over to the solitary bed, pressing down on the lumpy mattress. The springs groan beneath the comforter like they’re telling tales of past guests. I laugh. It’s a sharp sound that’s more nerves than humor, and I peel back the cover to see the sheets. They’re cold but new looking. I sit on the side of the bed and reach inside my pocket for the familiar edges of the postcard that led me here. Pulling it out, I hold it up to the last remnants of light filtering through the window. It was postmarked over three decades ago, but the scene on the front looks the same: the dock, the water, and the pristine mountains in the background.

I turn it over. Almost nothing is legible. No addressee, no name for return, only a faded message.

Please come back. I love you. We can work it out.

I trace the worn corners and realize there’s so much I don’t know.

Chapter Two

KANE

Walking the forest path to Eliza’s, the chicks nestling in the box under my arm chirp quietly, almost lost beneath the whisper of the wind. Serenity Cove is just half a mile away, but the weather isn’t keen on making my trek easy.

I think of Timber, the Phoenix transplant. It’s quite the switch—scorching desert to unpredictable Alaskan skies. I imagine her gazing out the cabin window at the brooding clouds with that city-bred blend of wonder and worry, bundled up against a chill she rarely sees in Arizona.

I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t her. Instead of looking every bit the city girl lost in the wilds, with heels sinking between the gaps in the dock and a flimsy coat that wouldn’t ward off the winds, I came across a woman in jeans, sturdy boots, and a jacket that looked warm enough to laugh in the face of Alaska. It’s impressive, to be honest. It could be she is more prepared for this place than I give her credit for, or my sister has been more thorough in explaining the rugged realities of life here. Eliza always has a way of vividly describing things to make anyone listen, even a city girl like Timber. But the look on her face when I mentioned the outhouse leads me to believe that she doesn’t quite have the entire story. However, she seems to be rolling with the punches pretty well.

Despite her looking the part, it’s better to not judge a person’s staying power by the clothes they wear, the gear they carry, or the original determined set of their shoulders. You can buy the warmest boots and the thickest jacket, but the grit within counts out here. I’ve seen enough people come and go, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, only to find that the relentless wilderness isn’t for them. The women, especially those not born in this land, often find the solitude too lonely and the nights too long. Many come, but few choose to stay. But then again, Timber isn’t here for the long haul. She’s here for a check and the adventure. She’s a temporary fixture, a brief brushstroke in the broader canvas of Port Promise. Yet, a part of me wonders if she’ll defy expectations and see the full stretch of her eight-week tenure.

She’s the answer to a problem I wish I didn’t have. I need someone to keep an eye on Hailey so I can pull in enough salmon to buy my new boat. My livelihood depends on her. She’s unknowingly more a caretaker than an educator, which is a deception of convenience, and I tell myself it’s for the good of everyone. My daughter needs looking after. Without Timber Moore, the fishermen and women with small children, are unable to fish.

Sadly, we need her more than she probably needs us. I just hope she stays, but my experience with outsiders keeping their word hasn’t been great.

A thunderclap sounds sharp and close, and I pick up the pace on the wooden walkway. The forest becomes a streak of green and gray as I hurry, the familiar scent of damp earth filling the air—a scent that, to me, means home.

Serenity Cove’s lights twinkle through the trees in the distance. Knowing my sister, she’ll have a pot of something on the stove. Hailey will be sipping cocoa while watching a DVD of Frozen for the zillionth time. Thoughts of my daughter are all I need to move faster. The storm can do its worst, but it won’t stop me from getting to where I’m headed.

As the path opens up to Serenity Cove, I see Eliza’s house perched like a watchful guardian over the waters.

I step onto her property. Her house, a sturdy structure of logs and stone, seems to embrace the rugged charm of the cove. The windows glow with a welcoming light against the dusk, and a well-worn dock juts into the water, its planks bearing the scars of countless storms. The house and the dock stand firm, like everything here in Alaska—built to face the elements, to endure.

The chicks, previously peeping companions on my trek, have fallen silent in their box, perhaps lulled by the rhythmic patter of rain. I set them gently on the bench beside the door, under the small awning that offers shelter from the storm. As I scrape my boots on the worn mat that says, “Wipe your paws,” I knock on the door before I open it.

The heat of the house wraps around me like a much-needed embrace. I take off my jacket and hang it on the hook next to the door. The scent of something rich and hearty—stew or chowder—fills the air, a clear evidence of Eliza’s culinary skills.

Before I can call out a greeting, a blur of energy vaults over the back of the couch. “Daddy!” Hailey’s voice, the sweetest sound, cuts through the day’s heaviness. She’s all flying hair and wide, bright eyes as she races toward me.

I scoop her up into my arms, her small frame as light as a feather, her grip firm and sure. “Hey there, Noodle,” I say, the nickname slipping out with all the affection I’ve stored up while away. “How was your day?”

“I got to hear the baby’s heartbeat, and I got an ice cream for being good.” Her eyes turn to the TV but come straight back to me.

As I hold her close, I realize that, in my daughter’s eyes, I rate higher than Elsa and Olaf. That alone is enough to lighten the load of any storm I might face, both the one raging outside and the quieter, more persistent one that sometimes stirs in my heart.

I glance down at her and realize that time has slipped by so fast. If it keeps going like this, she’ll be eighteen before I know it, off to college or chasing some dream. And then, like everyone does eventually, she’ll move on to her own life. The thought twists my gut.

As I set Hailey down, Eliza turns from the stove, her pregnant belly pronounced against the kitchen backdrop. “Hailey was a trooper today,” she says. There’s a tiredness around Eliza’s eyes that speaks to the weight she carries. Not just the baby but being alone in all of this. No husband nearby to help and no mother to give her advice.

“Looks like you’re ready to pop. Are you sure you have a few weeks left?” I say, my voice filled with concern.

Eliza laughs, a hand resting on her curved abdomen. “It could be any minute now,” she says, but her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. I imagine she’s thinking about Matt, her husband, out on the oil rig, the timing of his return uncertain.

I glance out the window, hoping Matt can make it off that rig and through the weather’s wrath. He should be here, standing where I am, soaking in the cozy atmosphere, the smells of a home-cooked meal, the laughter of family. He should be here to see his son come into the world.

I wish for that for her as well as our father returning to the island in time to see his first grandson born. I’ve wished for a lot of things over the years, and that’s exactly what they are … wishes. They’re breaths of air that get lost in the wind and never come true.

Hailey tugs at my hand, bringing me back from my thoughts. “Uncle Matt will be home soon,” she says with confidence, and she’s right. My brother-in-law wouldn’t miss this for the world.

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