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"Ihate to leave you like this…" My father hesitates one last time as he wraps his scarf around his neck.

I do my best to stay strong and show him a cheerful smile. Yes, he's abandoning me, leaving me all but stranded here on Lonely Peak. But it's not as if he has a choice.

Neither of us does.

"I'll be fine," I reassure him. I reach up and fix the collar of his thick wool coat.

"If the power goes out…"

"I know how to start the generator."

"And the extra wood for the fire—"

"Is in the basement. I know. Now go, before you miss your flight."

He brushes the backs of his knuckles across my cheek and tucks a bit of my chestnut hair behind my ear. "I'm allowed to worry about my little girl. All alone up here on the mountain…"

"We agreed it was for the best."

Someone has to stay here, after all. My father has his law firm to get back to, and while neither of us is in dire straights, he can't afford to be let go. Me, on the other hand—I took a leaveof absence from my classroom the instant my grandmother took a turn. My sabbatical extends through the end of the semester, provided my small town school can keep a long-term substitute engaged.

Provided my ex doesn't decide to screw me over.

And that's if I even want to go back at all.

Working with my ex lording power over me is bad enough. It doesn't help that I've been feeling particularly ineffective as a teacher just of late. Art programs like mine keep getting slashed. My dreams of becoming an artist in my own right keep getting met with rejection, and my muse for painting has up and left.

I've been uninspired in just about every area of my life, basically.

Lord knows I don't want to stay up here, seeing to my grandmother's estate. But going home isn't exactly appealing, either.

So I'll stay.

Presuming I can get my father out the door.

Dropping his hand from my face, he frowns again. "If you get into a jam…"

"I'll call."

"But if you can't get through. You know reception can be spotty up here."

"Dad…"

"Just—if things get really bad, remember the Tucker place is right down the road."

How could I forget? My cheeks heat as the image of Cayden Tucker's face floats across my vision. First the beautiful, blue-eyed boy I'd known back in middle school. Then the big, hardened man he became after his stint in the army.

And finally, the version of him I was reintroduced to at my grandmother's funeral last week. Grandma had told me he and his army pals had come back to Lonely Mountain to take overthe old Tucker lumber mill, but I hadn't realized that he had embraced that new life so fully. He'd arrived in a dark suit so fitted he'd nearly busted the seams, his hair long and his beard scruffy, tattoos peeking out from under his collar and sleeves. Truly a mountain man.

A hermit, if the stories Grandma told me are right. He and his friends rarely leave the mountain. Never associate with anybody unless it's necessary.

Though he did still associate with my grandmother. Her hazy eyes had gone warm and soft as she talked about the visits he would pay to check up on her from time to time, resupplying her with extra food they'd "accidentally" bought too much of, or pretending he saw something funny over by the generator, giving him an excuse to refuel it or give the old broken-down machine a quick once-over.

That was Cayden all right. He might be gruff and reserved now, but he'd always been kind to my family.

Back when I was picked on at school—even by his own best friend, Jax…Cayden had always been kind tome.