Page 45

Wyatt

I couldn’t sleep. Nothing seems to make sense at the moment.

Even if we somehow manage to survive another attack from Mr. Oliver and his associates, hell bent on taking our land, then what?

From what I know from Finn, we don’t have the money to pay off the loans that were taken out against The Wildwood.

There’s got to be a solution that we can figure out together.

So, I throw on my clothes and rush from my room, heading straight for Finn’s.

My stomach lurches at the thought of losing him, of losing all of this.

My eyes fill with tears as I pass the bedrooms of Doris and Miranda, innocent victims in this entire ordeal. What will happen to them?

As I round the corner, Finn’s bedroom door swings open and he steps out into the dark hallway.

He looks up at me, an odd expression etched across his face.

It’s like he’s looking through me and lost in thought.

“Hey Finn,” I say as to break him from whatever is going on inside his clearly worried mind.

He smiles and his shoulders relax along with his tight jaw and clenched fists. “Oh, thank goodness it’s you, Wyatt. I wasn’t prepared in the slightest to defend myself if it would have come to that.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I couldn’t sleep and wanted to come and speak with you.” Looking him up and down, I realize he’s dressed. In fact, he even has his boots on. “Where are you headed?”

He looks both directions down the hallway and then pulls me into his room, closing the door behind us. “I’ve nearly finished reading my father’s journal.”

Smiling, I say, “Great, Finn. I hope it gave you some closure. And some answers to our dilemma.”

He nods. “Definitely learned a lot from his words, but there’s more.”

The deadly serious tone in his voice causes my chest to tighten. “What do you mean?”

“The last entry in the journal is like… some kind of cryptic treasure hunt.”

“Treasure hunt? I don’t understand.”

“Here, look,” he says opening to the last few pages of the journal. “He’s written a clue as to how we can find a hidden box or vault or something. In the previous entry, he mentioned how we cannot trust the Sheriff or Mr. Oliver.”

“Well, that’s something we learned the hard way,” I say with a shrug.

“True, but I think we need to follow his treasure hunt, Wyatt. I can tell there’s something we have to find out there. Maybe it’ll give us what we need to save Wildwood.” His eyes are bright and wide with excitement and determination.

I can’t help but join in with his new found hope. “Awesome. Where do we start?”

“We need to get our coats on and go outside.”

“Yes, and we have to let the ladies know we are leaving so they can be on guard while we’re gone.”

After touching base with Doris, we rush to the front entrance and I bundle up, pulling on my thick parka, gloves, and boots. Alaska’s winter is unforgiving, and the cold bites at any exposed skin. With the journal clutched tightly in Finn’s hands, we head out into the night.

Now on the front porch, I turn to Finn and ask, “What’s the first clue?”

“Begin where the birds sing their morning song, in the place of our fondest memories,” Finn reads aloud . “I think it’s the spot where Dad and I used to sit and listen to the birds every morning when I was really young.”

I know it well too as we step off the porch and head right toward the old oak tree. The snow is deep, and we trudge through it, our breaths forming clouds in the frigid air. When we reach the tree, I look around, feeling a pang of nostalgia.

“From what I understand, this was always Dad’s favorite spot,” Finn says quietly. “Although, truth-be-told, I only have flashes of memories about this place. One thing I remember is the smell of cigars when I was here.”

I nod and sigh, my breath visible in the cold. “He used to bring me here too. We’d sit for hours, just listening to the sounds of the forest around us.”

We search around the base of the tree, and I notice the small birdhouse my dad built. Inside, a folded piece of paper waits for us.

I unfold the paper, revealing the next clue. “Here it is,” I say softly, handing it to Finn.

“ From there, head to where the ice forms in beautiful patterns, like the webs of a winter spider ,” Finn says.

“The greenhouse… it has to be,” I say without much hesitation. “Your dad always marveled at the frost patterns on the glass. We would talk about how the temperatures caused the frost and depending upon how quickly the condensation froze, it affected the patterns.”

“Awesome,” Finn says. “Let’s go.”

We make our way there, careful not to slip on the icy path. The door creaks as we push it open, and we see the frost covering the panes in intricate designs. “They’re beautiful,” I say. “Aren’t they?”

Finn nods as he looks around for a spot to conceal a clue. “Where do you think he would have hidden it?”

Then it dawns on me. “Maybe in the toolbox?”

Finn turns and cocks his head. “Why there?”

“I would tell my dad about the frost and he would smile and say that your dad was very special and he saw the beauty in everything and nearly everyone. But, he also said sometimes you just need to scrape away the frost and move on.” The toolbox sits up against the wall and I drop to my knees and open it. “We would keep the scrapers in here.”

Finn leans over me and I can smell his aftershave. My belly tingles with the rising desires I feel for him. Not that this is the right place or time to kiss him, but there is very little else I want to do at this very moment.

“There it is,” Finn says, reaching over me, his thighs pushing against my back as he pulls the scraper from the box.

Wrapped around the scraper is an older piece of paper that at one time was probably white, but now dingy and gray.

Finn carefully peels the paper off the tool, reading the next set of directions.

“ Seek the warmth that defies the cold, where the heart of our home beats strongest ,” he reads aloud.

“Wait,” I say, frowning. “Could it be the fireplace in the living room?”

Finn thinks for a moment. “Maybe, but it could also be the kitchen.”

“Oh, you’re right. Both of our dads would often say that the kitchen was the heart of the house.”

We rush back to the warmth of the lodge and decide to check the living room first, but after searching around the fireplace and finding nothing, we head to the kitchen. The heat from the old wood stove greets us as we step inside.

On the kitchen table, near the stove, we find the next clue tucked between two bricks which make up the chimney. No way would I have ever found the note had I not specifically been given a clue. The brick is loose and easily removable as I slide it out revealing the rest of the old faded paper.

“I guess you were right,” I say, a small smile tugging at my lips.

Finn grins back. “I know we’ll solve this, Wyatt. Together.”

“What does the clue say?”

Finn unfolds the note and reads, “ Look to the stars we used to count, but find them inside, where they light the way .”

“The attic,” I say immediately. “Our dads used to lie on the floor up there and look at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling. I asked them back then why they did that and they would smile and say it was part of the beauty of Wildwood.”

“The more I learn about them the more I realize they were so incredibly devoted to each other,” Finn says with a smile. “Their love is everywhere in this place.”

I nod, memories flooding back. “Yeah, they’d spend hours up there. Sometimes, I would go and lie on the floor with them and they’d tell me stories about the constellations and other celestial objects.”

Finn reaches for me and pulls me into a hug. His cheeks are wet with tears and he dampens my shirt as I hold him tight. “I wish I knew them better. I wish…”

Holding him at arm’s length for a moment, I look into his eyes. “Finn, you can’t think like this. The past is what it is. The important thing now is we use what our fathers are giving us to save this place. To keep our family and… each other together.”

Finn nods, wiping the tears from his cheeks.

Swallowing down my own emotions, I say, “No matter what happens, Finn. We will find a way.”

“A way for what?”

“To stay together,” I say. “I love you and I in no way intend to lose you now.”

Holding hands, we rush to the stairway. Single file, we climb the narrow stairs, the wood creaking under our weight. The stars still twinkle faintly, guiding us to an old chest in the corner. We open it, searching through old blankets and keepsakes, but find nothing.

“Maybe it’s not the chest,” Finn says, looking around. “What else up here has stars?”

I look around, spotting an old lamp with star-shaped cutouts. I pick it up and, sure enough, there’s a folded note inside. “Got it,” I say, pulling it out.

Finn shakes his head, smiling. “Dad sure was clever.” He then unfolds the paper and reads, “ Finally, search where secrets are kept safe, under lock and key but hidden in plain sight .”

“The study,” I say. “Your dad’s desk has a hidden drawer. He showed it to me one time, but I never knew why.”

“Now we know,” Finn says with a smile.

We rush to the study, my heart pounding. I pull open the drawer and feel around until I find the hidden compartment. Inside, there’s a small key and a final note.

“ The note reads: The beauty of Willows at Wildwood is more than the eye of the beholder .” Finn then takes the key, examining it. “What do you think it unlocks?”

I think for a moment, then remember the painting hung on the back wall of the study. The Willows is the title. It has to be something about the painting. “Follow me.”

We step up to the painting and stare. Finn looks around on the floor for a box or something that can hide a note. I push on the wooden walls looking for something loose that might indicate a false back or moveable panel.

Nothing.

We sit side-by-side and stare at the painting in silence. “It’s got to be a message in the painting,” Finn says.

I shrug, “But what could it be?”

Finn holds up the key. It cannot be super small. This key is pretty large for a lock and my guess is it’s some kind of safe.”

And then it hits me. “A wall safe?”

Finn’s eyes light up and sparkle, filling me with so much excitement I can barely contain myself. I jump up from the floor and reach for the painting with both hands. Slowly, I try to slide the painting to the right and then the left, but it will not move.

“Try and swing it out like a door,” Finn suggests.

I do as he indicates and voila, it works. I move the painting aside, revealing the safe. With a deep breath, I insert the key and turn it. The safe clicks open, and inside, we find documents, a will, and a letter from Finn’s dad explaining everything we need to secure the future of Wildwood.

Relief and a deep sense of connection to my father and Finn’s washes over me. I can almost feel their presence, guiding me, as I sit down on the floor next to Finn.

“Thank you, Wyatt,” Finn says, his voice choked with emotion. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

I place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “We’re family, Finn. We’ll get through this together.”

As we read through Finn’s Dad’s letter and the documents, a sense of hope fills the room.

The will shows we are the rightful heirs to the property.

Additionally, there is a hefty stack of cash, stocks, bonds, and even a couple gold bars.

There should be no reason we can’t completely pay off the entire property in one fell swoop.

“There’s something I don’t understand,” Finn says.

“Oh?”

“If your dad had all of these bonds and stocks, why did he take out a loan for my father’s care? Or use this money to pay off his medical bills?”

That is a great question, I think. “Maybe there’s more to this than we realize. I’ve heard of people needing to hide assets when their lives are at risk. Not to mention, it looks like some of these bonds weren’t eligible to cash out yet.”

“And clearly my father’s life was at risk, he was dying.”

“True,” Finn says and then grows quiet and contemplative. He’s rubbing his chin and looking off into the corner of the room.

“Finn.” I say. “What’s wrong?”

“My mom used to say that the hospital bills would always come rolling in like six or even twelve months after services were provided. Maybe my father was planning on cashing this stuff out, but didn’t have time once he got all the bills?”

“Fuck!”

Finn reaches for my arm and squeeze my elbow. “What’s going on? Did you remember something?”

I nod. “Your dad said that someone was going to look for the loot and I had to protect it for the lodge.” Wyatt shakes his head. “I just thought the poor man was hallucinating. He must have passed thinking I was a dipshit.”

“He would never, Wyatt,” Finn says with a kindness that makes my throat tighten. “We know about it now. That’s what matters.”

“True.” I look down at my watch. It’s now the following morning and I sigh.

“What’s wrong, Wyatt?”

“Today’s the last day we have to pay everything off. Which means we have to get our asses down to the bank and settle up with Mr. Oliver.”

“With pleasure,” he says. “I can’t wait to see his face when we walk in his office, money in hand.”

We sit in silence for a moment, the kind that feels comfortable and right. I can feel Finn’s eyes on me, and when I turn to meet his gaze, my breath catches in my throat. There’s an intensity in his eyes, a look that makes my pulse race.

“Wyatt,” he says softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to do since you came to my door tonight.”

I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest. “Yeah? What’s that?”

Instead of answering, Finn leans in, his eyes never leaving mine. I feel his breath on my lips, warm and inviting. My eyes flutter closed, and then his lips are on mine, soft and tentative at first. It’s like a spark ignites between us, a fire that quickly grows into an inferno.

I kiss him back with everything I have, my hands finding their way to his hair, tangling in the soft strands.

His arms wrap around me, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us.

The world around us fades away, and all I can think about is the way his lips feel against mine, the way his hands grip me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.

We break apart, both of us breathless, and I rest my forehead against his. “I’ve been wanting to do that too,” I admit, my voice shaky but sure.

Finn smiles, that beautiful smile that makes my heart ache. “Good,” he says, his thumb brushing gently over my cheek. “Because I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.”

I laugh softly, the sound mingling with the night air, and pull him back in for another kiss. This time, it’s slower, more deliberate, each movement filled with unspoken promises and the certainty that this is just the beginning.