Page 9 of Unbearable

“Oh, wow. That sounds… fun. I can’t say I am happy you’ll be gone longer, but maybe some time there will be good for you. How is everything with your family?” Her voice was sincere. I could sense her attempt to gauge how I was really doing.

“Good. Well, kind of. My dad turned my old room into a home gym, so I slept on the couch. I am hoping this cabin is in good enough shape so I can stay there.” I loosened my fingers that were clutching the steering wheel.

“Damn, I’m sorry. I’d love to come visit and see you while you are there. Maybe see what that small-town life is all about. I keep thinking I need a break from the city, and getting to keep you company would definitely be a bonus.” She laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yes, please. That would be fun, and I can’t be without you for long anyway.” It came across as a joke, but we both knew it really wasn’t. Noah had been with me through some of my hardest days and had proved herself to be a true friend. The longest we had ever been apart was a week, so spending a whole month away from each other was going to be an adjustment for us both.

“Why don’t I plan to come the last week you are there, and we can fly back together?” she suggested.

“That actually sounds great. I hate flying alone.” Eventhough Seattle to Woodstone Falls was a short flight, I still hated it. It’s within a drivable distance if you need to, but eight hours one way in a car was not my preferred method for traveling.

“Okay, I will look into flights. Go get your cabin. Take a deep breath and maybe text me pictures of the hot cowboys.” She laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. I love you. I will text you tonight. I am going out with my brothers, so wish me luck.”

“Love you too. Have lots of fun! Maybe findyourselfa hot cowboy.”

“That’s not happening. Talk to you later.” I hung up the phone as I pulled up to the cabin.

At first glance, it was clear it definitely needed some upkeep. The front yard was seriously overgrown, and the roof required attention, with half the shingles falling off. However, I didn’t think the exterior cleanup would be too difficult—a few hours of elbow grease would do the trick.

Despite its rustic, weathered appearance, it was beautiful. It was no ordinary cabin—it was a large, two-story structure with big, beautiful windows and a wrap-around deck, offering stunning views of the mountains that surrounded Woodstone Falls. My grandpa built it for my gram when they were engaged, and it became his pride and joy, second only to her.

I had always loved the cabin. It housed countless cherished memories from my childhood—playing with my siblings on weekends, running through the nearby creek, and swinging on the big white porch swing that still stood there.

As a teenager, I would sometimes sneak out on horseback and ride to the cabin after my grandpa moved intothe nursing home. The cabin always grounded me, providing an escape from reality.

As I stepped up onto the porch, my foot sank through the steps to the ground.

To-do number one: fix steps on the front porch.

The metal key was cold in my hand as I twisted it in the lock. I was greeted with an overwhelming musty smell, batting through cobwebs to get inside. I quickly realized it was much, much worse than I had anticipated. Wallpaper was peeling off the wall, most of the furniture was falling apart, and there looked to be some holes in the walls, indicating small animals had made this place home while it sat unoccupied.

Great.Definitely can’t stay here tonight.

The sound of gravel crunching and an engine turning off sent me searching for the nearest weapon. Having asecret admirerwho knew where I lived, worked, and what I did had left me constantly on edge, always looking over my shoulder.

But if someone had followed me to murder me, it might have been the better way to go than trying to sleep here with the damn mice.

I searched for the best hiding spot when I heard an annoyingly familiar voice.

“Sawyer, is that you?” I heard in the distance.

I sighed, half relieved that I wasn’t about to become the subject of a Dateline episode, and half annoyed to be dealing with Trent. Again.

The infuriatingly attractive, annoyingly spontaneous man—not quite a murderer, but debatably just as bad. He walked up to the porch, looking around.

“Nope, not Sawyer.” I stepped out into the entryway.

“Oh, hi. Sorry, I didn’t realize you’d be here this early.”He scratched the back of his neck, his green eyes trained on the ground. He took his hat off and his dark hair was tousled, giving him a slightly rugged look. “Dorian told me you were coming by today and I thought I would check it out to see if there was anything I could clean up before you got here. Saw the truck outside and thought maybe Sawyer was doing the same thing.”

“He let me borrow his truck. I don’t need or want your help.” My tone was stern and short.

“Dotty, please.” He turned around and paced the front porch. The old wooden planks creaked under his weight as he moved. “I am here because I want to help. I honestly was trying to beat you to it, so you didn’t even know I was here.” He finally looked at me, his mouth in a flat line as a blush crept up his checks, contrasting against his tanned skin.

“If I need help”—I didn’t hide the anger in my tone—“my dad and brothers can help, and where they can’t, I can hire out. I got it covered.”

“Sawyer already bribed me to help with tickets to a game. I’m going to help whether you are here or not, but we’d probably make more progress working together.” His green eyes were as vivid as I remembered.

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