Page 21 of Perfect Cowboy

He’s grown up.

Changed.

And I wasn’t here to witness any of it or to be part of the experiences that shaped him.

Even though I’m the one who left, it’s not like I had much choice. And what were we supposed to do, start a long-distance relationship when we were both heading off to separate colleges and would be almost twenty hours apart?

It wouldn’t have been possible, not as teenagers.

But it makes me wonder if he’s been in love since me. It makes me wonder just how much I’ve missed about his life and if I’ll ever be able to get through to him.

Based on how he reacted after our explosive kiss, I’m going to guess no.

Looking around the cabin, the interior is familiar to me but also foreign. The time and distance from living in Chicago for so long have put holes in my memory.

But I can still picture Dad walking around the space with a big grin on his face, telling me that he made sure every window had a great view – and he did.

When it’s not snowing so hard you can barely see a foot in front of you, the smoky mountain range cuts an incredible silhouette, and the western exposure gives the gift of stunning pink and purple sunsets.

The lake is only a short walk away, and I have countless memories of losing entire days swimming, fishing, and laughing with the man who loved me first and hardest.

And, dammit, I still miss him so much.

The cabin is basically one large room with a kitchen on one side and living space complete with a wood-burning stove on the opposite side. There’s a single bedroom and bathroom at the back of the house, and I can only imagine what condition they’re in.

Mom died when I was a kid, and my brother and I inherited this place after Dad joined her. He loved it here and I couldn’t bring myself to either come back or sell it. Instead, I just kept paying the bills and taxes until I decided what to do.

To the people who live around here, my dad is Max the crook and worse.

But to me, he was just Dad. A man doing his best to make ends meet and give his children a good life.

He didn’t go about things in the right way, but he wasn’t a bad person. Intentions have to count for something.

But my entire family has already been tried and convicted by the court of public opinion.

It’s human nature to want things to be black or white and to try and squeeze people inside neat, comfortable boxes that can be labeled. But sometimes they don’t fit because the world is a colorful place.

With a heavy heart, I bring my belongings and the coolers inside as quickly as possible to avoid letting in more cold air. I leave the coolers in the kitchen and pile everything else on the far wall beside the bedroom door.

It’s already freezing inside the cabin, and my breath visibly puffs out in smoky clouds from the physical exertion. I flip all the breakers and am relieved when the power comes on, at least for now. Hopefully, my assumption that the generator is still in the shed is correct.

The next priority is getting warm, so I head to the thermostat and quickly realize that it’s a losing battle. No matter what I press, the heat doesn’t turn on so the propane tank must be empty. I guess that’s a bill that I didn’t pay.

Okay.

Plan B is getting the fire going.

Dad always turned the heat on to take the chill out of the air, and then he’d maintain the temperature with the woodstove to save on heating costs.

But it’s fine.

The furnace rarely turns on anyway because the woodstove is so good at pumping out heat. It won’t be a big deal to use it as the only source of warmth.

Now, actually getting a fire started is another story and would be a much easier task to complete without cold, stiff fingers.

The first step is gathering material, so I head back outside to the wood shed and find that it’s still mostly full. Thank goodness. Why on earth didn’t I consider wood when I was packing and buying supplies? It would have been a total disaster if there wasn’t any here.

But there’s no sense in borrowing trouble. I already have quite enough.

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