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Wyatt

I ’m thankful that my father taught me the ins and outs of The Wildwood before he passed away. He’d been the main caretaker of the property for as long as I can remember.

I help the latest honeymooners pack their bags into the transport vehicle when Finn shows up to drive them. From what I understand, there will be another couple arriving today to take their place. We never seem to have more than one couple at a time during this time of year.

I hear the engine start, and I turn to watch as the vehicle backs out of the parking space and turns down the long winding lane that leads to the highway.

Finn is a good man. From what I understand, we’re between twelve and thirteen years apart in age, but we’re both adults, and there shouldn’t be any reason we can’t hang out now.

Especially considering we don’t have anyone watching over us making sure we are working hard and not messing around as if we were kids.

I’ll have to offer him a beer when he comes back.

Who knows, maybe we have a lot in common?

Maybe we even like the same type of girl.

He could be my wingman when we go into town—the saloon always has a few single gals.

Although I can’t say I’ve ever really been interested in getting to know any of them.

They just don’t do it for me. I don’t know why.

As a kid, I watched those movies that have people falling in love.

They always seem to have butterflies in their stomach, or something happens, and they suddenly feel compelled to kiss each other.

I’ve yet to feel that, but I haven’t given up hope that someday that’ll all change.

Whatever the future holds, that’s for another time.

All I can say for now is it would be good to sit by the fire and chat about our fathers.

Finn lost his dad recently, so I hope to be of some comfort to him since I know how it feels.

A gust of wind sends chilled air straight through my coat, causing me to shiver.

I pull my collar tighter around my neck and sigh.

I know it’s not too early for snow, but the last few years have been relatively mild.

Clouds are rolling in, dark grey spreading across the clear, deep blue in an ominous way.

I’d better retrieve my weather radio in case our internet goes out.

We often have to rely on old-fashioned tech when things get bad up here.

“Please hold out,” I whisper to the universe. “At least let Finn pick up the travelers and get them back safely.”

There’s still a lot to get done around here and I shouldn’t be dilly dallying.

I hurry down the graveled path to the outbuilding behind the main house.

In there, we have backup generators, snowmobiles, plows, and whatever else you can imagine you’d need up here in the wilderness.

We even have emergency food rations and extra propane and gasoline.

The Wildwood is one of the best-stocked places in the region.

Our closest neighbors are miles up the highway, but they know in case of extreme emergency, they can find safety, a hot meal, and a warm fire.

I set to double-checking the batteries and gas levels in the toys, as we call them.

All the fun outdoorsy things people like to use, including ATVs, snowmobiles, and even long-range drones.

Mr. Wildwood and my dad really made sure this place was a destination, not just a stopover on the way to something more fun or exciting in Alaska.

After finishing up in the outbuilding, I lock it up tight.

If there’s going to be a storm, the winds can get crazy strong and pry open unlocked doors—among other destructive things.

The clouds have completely taken over the skies and the temperature has dipped further.

The wind is steady, but nothing alarming, although with night approaching, we wouldn’t see much coming until it’s upon us.

I double-check the immediate surroundings to make sure anything that needs to be tied down is already, and then hurry to get inside.

Halfway up the hill to the main house, the first spit of rain lands on my face.

So much for it holding off until Finn gets back with our guests.

I want to call and see if everything is going okay but also don’t want him to answer the phone if it’s raining harder where he’s driving.

He’ll have to take one dirt road, but the vehicle has four-wheel drive.

Shaking off my unease, I chalk it up to being paranoid, even though I’ve seen what the weather can do to people who aren’t prepared. And let’s face it, Finn isn’t someone who has much experience driving in Alaska, let alone during inclement weather.

Right as I reach for the door, a huge gust of wet wind hits me, ruffling my coat and dampening my face. I pull the door open—against the wind it feels like a hundred pounds—but make it inside in one piece. Taking off my coat, I shake the rain off it and hang it on the hook.

“The weather is taking a turn, and Finn isn’t back with our guests yet,” Doris Chamberlin says as she rushes toward me, frantically mixing something in a large metal bowl.

“I’ve already let the rest of the staff know to be on high alert for any sign of them arriving.

We need to be in our places to greet them, you know. ”

“Of course,” I say. “Does Miranda know which room she is putting them up in yet? She might as well have it prepared and ready for them when they get here.”

Doris nods and continues to mix whatever she is preparing to cook. “I’ve told her, and she said she’s already set and ready. Have you heard from Kandy?”

Kandy Cane is our guest entertainment performer.

She is blonde, mid-twenties, slim build, and has a set of fake boobs that rival anything Dolly Parton ever had.

She lives in town and works multiple jobs to make do but seems to really enjoy playing the piano and singing for our guests.

I don’t think she ever has anything but a five-star rating on any of those review websites.

Even though she doesn’t appear every night, she makes sure that each of our guests are serenaded at least twice during their week’s stay.

All in all, despite her cheeky-sounding name, Kandy is a class act and can really give an outstanding performance.

“I haven’t heard from her,” I say.

As if on cue, the front door bursts open and Kandy rushes inside, out of breath, and soaked to the bone. “This weather is shit,” she says. “The road is getting waterlogged.”

I hurry over to the window and peer outside.

The wind is picking up and the rain is coming down in sheets.

The streetlamps that line the parking lot and lead down the road are little match for the conditions.

“I’d better take the truck and wait for Finn and the guests at the highway.

Don’t want them getting stuck or running off the road if they can’t see. ”

“Good idea,” Doris says. She turns back around and heads for the kitchen, but not before calling back over her shoulder, “We’re having Tomahawk Steak, homemade biscuits, fresh salad, and cream of potato soup. Need to make sure our guests feel warm and happy after traveling in this mess.”

She disappears around the corner and Kandy shrugs. “I’m going to change out of these wet clothes, then get to playing straight away. It’ll be nice for the guests to be welcomed by soft music to set the mood.”

“That sounds really nice,” I say. I grab my coat and pull the hat out of the pocket.

“I think I’ll be needing this.” After putting on the hat and coat, I open the door and step out onto the huge wraparound porch.

The rain is still coming down, but it appears to have lightened up a bit, which is good if I want to stay dry.

I fish my keys from my pocket and press the unlock button.

The white, four-wheel-drive, Ford truck tail lights flash and the vehicle beeps.

Now or never, I think. I run for the truck and get inside as the rain intensifies once again.

I’m about to back out of the parking space when my cellphone rings.

It’s Finn.

“Finn, please tell me you’re all okay?”

“Yes,” he says. “I called to make sure you didn’t come out looking for us. I’ve got our guests and we should be arriving in a couple minutes. I’ll need to talk to you about Bear Creek, though, once I get back.”

That sounds ominous. “Sure thing. I’ll gather the troops.”

“Perfect,” he says. “You read my mind.”

Tradition is going to be followed, weather be damned. I turn off the truck and rush back inside to get everyone in position. Doris is already dressed in her fine white chef’s coat, and I can hear the soft sounds of Kandy playing the piano. All we need now is Miranda.

I reach behind the front desk and grab the radio. “Miranda? Wyatt, here. Miranda?”

“Go ahead, Wyatt.”

“Our guests will be arriving on our doorstep in less than five minutes. Will you be ready?”

“Absolutely,” Miranda says. “I’ll be there in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

I return the radio to the charging station and stand next to Doris. “I hope these poor guests of ours haven’t got their hearts set on night sky watching or anything outdoors tomorrow.”

Doris sighs and Miranda takes her place on my other side.

Literally, thirty seconds later the door opens and our guests, Rebecca and Jake Southerland, followed by Finn, step inside.

The wind and rain continue to batter the outside, but in here it is warm, and the aroma of the evening meal wafts in from the kitchen.

The young couple greets us, one by one until they reach Doris, who holds out a basket of freshly baked cookies, scones, and what looks like strawberry tarts.

Is there nothing this woman can’t bake to perfection?

My stomach growls.

I offer to bring their bags to their rooms as Finn gives the couple a quick tour.

Finn explains what time dinner will be served tonight as part of his usual first-day spiel, which by my calculations is less than thirty minutes from now.

Sitting by the fireplace, I listen to Kandy play the piano and think about times long ago when I was a boy and my father would sneak me cookies from the kitchen—Doris pretended to be upset but always brought me more when I’d finished the ones I had.

My reverie is short-lived as Finn comes and sits next to me.

He is wet and cold. I can see it in his eyes; he wants to bitch and complain about the trek back from the airport, but he doesn’t say a word.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth and sound of crackling firewood.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Finn watching me.

I wonder what he wants to say, but I don’t ask; one thing I’ve learned over the years working with my dad is that it’s usually none of my damn business.

“Bear Creek has overflowed its banks,” he says.

I sigh. “I’m not surprised. It’s been raining something fierce out there. The creek will settle back down in a couple days.”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s bad, Wyatt. When we drove over the bridge, it was creaking and groaning with the pressure from the rushing water.”

“Damn,” I say. “If it stops raining tonight, we can inspect it in the morning. I’d better have you come with me. That way if something happens to me, I’m not left out there.”

“Sure,” he says. “I’ll check with you in the morning. We can go whenever you feel is the right time.”

A crack of lightning outside makes Finn jump. He looks up at the ceiling and toward the windows by the front desk. “Is this normal for Alaska this time of year?”

I shake my head. “Nothing is normal in Alaska,” I joke, but the humor is lost on him.

He is really worried, and I don’t blame him.

This is the first storm we’ve had since he moved up here.

Everything is new to him. “Thunderstorms aren’t the norm this time of year, but the rain isn’t uncommon.

It’s still early enough in the season, though, to not be overly concerned about snow.

If it happens, it’ll still melt before the real deep freeze happens later in the year. ”

“Good to know,” he says. “By the way, were you getting ready to come for us tonight?”

“Crossed my mind,” I say.

“Thanks. Seems like I’m in good hands, then.” Our eyes meet for the briefest of moments before he looks away and stands to leave. “I’d better get changed before I catch my death of cold.”

“Sounds like you’ve been talking to Miranda,” I say with a smile.

“She has the best sayings.”

I can’t argue with him there. There’s a lot of wisdom to go around in The Wildwood, and he always seems to be the better for it when he listens.