Page 29 of Her Wild Coast Refuge

LEXIE

This is so farfrom how I expected this day would go. Dawson left music—his passion—to take care of his family, and he’s been stuck in that role ever since.

He’s made such an incredible sacrifice.

That night in Three Rivers, he held nothing back. I don’t think I breathed once during his entire set. When I met him backstage, he was practically vibrating with happiness. He joked about signing my arm when I stood there like a moron.

Where is that lighthearted person now?

Has he hadanyfun since then?

Dawson seemed reluctant to talk about his music. Why couldn’t he still perform or record his songs? What’s holding him back?

By the afternoon,I’ve showered, shopped for groceries, and set up the glacier tour and a guided grizzly bear viewing on Fox River. Seeing grizzly bears snack on spawning salmon from the safety of the tree blind is an experience not to be missed. The glacier tour isn’t as special, but it’s a must for every visitor. I scored them the best pilot too, so he’ll be sure to make it memorable.

I pull up to the vacation rental and let myself in with the code Quinn shared. They have back-to-back meetings and I don’t want to disturb them.

Inside, I take a second to admire the luxurious interior. A giant stone hearth against the left wall faces a cozy yet elegant living room with leather couches and side chairs, a broad coffee table in the center. A tidy bar takes up the far corner, complete with leather stools. A scuffed black guitar case rests between them. I fight the temptation to go hug it.

Pretty paintings of landscapes adorn the walls, and the mahogany floor is polished to an impressive sheen. My sneakers are almost soundless as I walk into the kitchen.

Damn. The living room was nice, but the kitchen is otherworldly. Shiny silver appliances, all new-looking, white marble countertops—slabs, not tile—and a matching island with a vegetable sink. The range looks like something out of Dream Kitchens & Bath, with black dials as big as my fist and burners that look downright nuclear. Speckled glass lanterns hang over the shiny marble. The high, white ceiling contrasts with giant chestnut-brown beams. Huge windows overlook a broad deck to a breathtaking view of the McKenzie River and beyond to the snowy mountains.

Holy freaking hell. If this is the kind of place theyrent, what do their homes in Denver look like?

Somewhere above me, muffled movement and voices let me know Dawson and Quinn are upstairs.

Who are they meeting with? If it’s some kind of real estate transaction, one would think they’d be meeting at a bank, or viewing properties, or whatever. Maybe they’re doing stuff by video call. I hope the internet in this place is sufficient. Cable and Wi-Fi aren’t a guarantee in these parts.

Staying quiet, I unload all the groceries, then get to work on dinner. I bought fresh King salmon from the docks, thankfully without bumping into Hayden. I’ll grill the filet in foil with lemons and dill and serve it with fresh sourdough, bourbon-glazed carrots, plus a wild mixed greens salad with bay shrimp and honey slivered almonds, tossed in a Dijon vinaigrette. I’m also making an apple-blueberry crisp with vanilla ice cream for dessert.

After the crisp is prepped and the table set, including tapered candles, cloth napkins, and the pretty china from the dining room hutch, I assemble an appetizer of veggies, fancy chips, and a lemony herb dip.

Should I wait for them to come down, or take this up?

I hate to bother them, but they’re probably famished. And I might be slightly curious about what they look like when they’re working. Are they dressed in suits, their hair slicked back? Does Dawson wear his cowboy boots?

Before I can chicken out, I lift the plate with a handful of cocktail napkins and hurry up the stairs. The carpet is so thick it’s like walking on a cloud. At the top, I follow the voices down a long hallway.

A loud thump like something heavy has fallen echoes from behind the door at the end. The voices are still muffled, but they’re definitely louder.

Crap. If they’re arguing, I don’t want to get in the middle of it. I’m about to turn on my heel and race back downstairs when the door is thrown open.

“Lexie?” Quinn says, stopping himself just in time before crashing into me.

Footsteps shake the floor, and Dawson appears next to Quinn, looking distraught.

Quinn runs a hand through his hair. “Did you need something?”

I lift the plate a little higher, so they notice it. “I, um, thought you might be hungry.”

Quinn and Dawson share a look I can’t read.

I stand there, confused. There’s enough tension pouring out of the room to charge every molecule in the house. Did something happen?

“Come in,” Quinn says, stepping back.

I enter the spacious office. The two massive windows offer an even more expansive mountain view than the kitchen.

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