Page 4

CHAPTER

THREE

As Logan headed down the road in his state trooper SUV with Zac Brown on the radio, he couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss he’d shared with Morgan four days ago.

More than anything he wanted to recreate it. To pretend he hadn’t shared the truth afterward. To pretend nothing stood between them and a possible future together.

Now that Morgan knew part of the story behind what had happened, she wouldn’t want anything to do with him. He’d known that would be the outcome. It was why he’d delayed the explanation for so long.

But he’d also known the day would come when he’d have to tell her.

He’d known after the award ceremony that he needed to give her space.

Doing so had killed him. Had caused a physical ache to form in his heart. Had caused his stomach to twist into knots until he felt like he might be sick.

He wanted to call her. To check on her.

But he didn’t.

For four days.

Then he knew he had to follow up. Morgan might not want to hear from him. But he needed to do his weekly check-in to make sure she was okay.

Did she even have any idea what kind of danger she was in? Did she realize that the Iron Brotherhood had vowed to take down anyone who’d sold them out?

Probably not. Logan had only told her part of what had happened. He didn’t think she could handle the entire truth. Besides, she hadn’t stuck around long after the kiss for him to explain.

She’d stormed inside the lodge and had gone straight to the bathroom. Andi had followed after her.

Then several minutes later, Morgan was gone.

She’d told Andi to apologize to everyone for her sudden exit. Said that she wasn’t feeling well and needed to get home.

He could only assume Morgan didn’t want people to see her distress.

Thankfully, the award reception had almost been over anyway. But still . . .

Logan eased his SUV into the gravel lot of the Sourdough Roadhouse, the tires crunching over patches of lingering dirty snow that refused to surrender to April’s hesitant thaw.

The fading twilight—lasting noticeably longer now than during winter’s grip—cast long purple shadows across the weathered log exterior of the restaurant.

As he killed the engine and opened his door, the muffled thrum of conversation and clinking silverware drifted through the windows, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter.

When he stepped from his vehicle, the late afternoon air bit at his exposed skin with surprising sharpness—typical Alaskan spring, promising warmth by day but delivering a frigid reminder of winter’s reluctance to leave once the sun began its slow descent.

The tantalizing aroma of house-smoked salmon and fresh-baked sourdough bread wafted from the kitchen vent, mingling with the clean scent of melting snow and spruce sap.

On the distant horizon, the alpenglow painted the snow-capped peaks in shades of amber and rose. The sight always reminded him of Morgan’s photographs.

Logan tugged his jacket tighter against the chill and headed for the welcoming glow of the roadhouse’s windows. The weight of his current investigation into a chain of car thefts was momentarily lightened by the simple promise of a hot meal.

But, first, he had a phone call to make.

He didn’t want to hear the hurt in Morgan’s voice. Or to think she might hate him now.

It had been difficult keeping the truth from her all these years. Now the truth was out in the open. Now they could each deal with the cruel reality of Bobby’s death.

Still, his heart felt bittersweet as he realized the very thing he’d always dreamed about would never happen.

He and Morgan could never be together. The fact hurt even more considering that he’d secretly been in love with her, even before they ever met in person.

Making matters worse was the fact that now, after his kiss with Morgan, he had a taste of what life with her might have been like.

Glorious.

With a sigh, he decided to stop delaying and dialed her number.

His call went straight to voicemail.

He frowned.

Of course. Morgan was avoiding him.

He tried again.

This time, he left a message. “Morgan, it’s me. We need to talk. I know you probably don’t like me very much right now. But at least let me know you’re okay. Give me some proof of life here. Call me.” He paused before adding, “Please.”

He stood outside, waiting for his phone to ring. For Morgan to stop being so stubborn and call him back.

There was nothing.

He drew in a deep breath. He didn’t want to overreact. But his thoughts spun out of control.

The Iron Brotherhood had been quiet for years. None of their threats had materialized.

But he’d always known that at any minute this could change.

What if this was that moment?

Logan needed to check on Morgan. Even if it turned out to be nothing, he needed to see with his own eyes that she was okay.

He could deal with the fallout afterward—both personally and professionally. He was supposed to be investigating some car thefts. But his shift ended in twenty minutes anyway.

He forgot about grabbing a bite to eat and rushed back to his SUV. He headed to Morgan’s place so they could talk face-to-face like two adults.

He wasn’t sure if Morgan would welcome seeing him, but he’d go anyway.

It took thirty minutes to get to her remote cabin.

He worried about her living all alone out here. But this was the way she preferred it. The artist in her needed the solitude in order to create.

He pulled to a stop in front of her small, secluded log cabin. Her car wasn’t here, which meant she probably wasn’t home.

Had she taken a last-minute trip to get away from him? She might be mad, but she normally wasn’t petty. Logan felt certain she would have at least texted to let him know she was okay.

He would double-check just to be sure.

He climbed from his SUV and strode toward the door, using the flashlight on his phone to guide him. The Alaskan backcountry was darker than any place he’d ever experienced before.

Despite the fact he was 99 percent sure Morgan wasn’t here, he knocked.

There was no answer.

He let out another sigh before knocking again. “Morgan, it’s me. I just need to know that you’re okay.”

Still no answer.

He didn’t want to do this, but Morgan had given him a key. He didn’t normally let himself into her place.

But his worry was growing, so today he’d make an exception.

He slid the key into the lock, turned it, and pushed the door open. As he stepped inside he called, “Morgan. It’s me. Logan. I’m coming in.”

Logan paused inside the doorway and flipped on the lights.

The familiar scent of pine and woodsmoke immediately wrapped around him like an old friend. The small structure somehow managed to contain Morgan’s entire world without feeling cramped.

Exposed log walls highlighted the artful clutter that defined her space. Photography equipment was meticulously organized on a narrow table beneath the west window. A wooden cabinet contained files of all her photo negatives.

Then there was Morgan’s prized possession: a worn leather reading chair positioned to catch both the morning light and the warmth from the fireplace.

The open shelving above her compact kitchen area displayed mismatched mugs collected from various travels, while dried wildflowers hung in bundles from the ceiling beams, their faded colors a reminder of warmer seasons past.

What struck Logan most wasn’t the rustic simplicity or even the breathtaking photographs that adorned every available wall space. It was how the tiny cabin somehow captured Morgan’s essence perfectly.

Like her photography, she’d transformed this modest shelter into something extraordinary through her careful attention to detail and eye for finding beauty in unexpected places.

Even now, although absent from the space, her presence filled every corner.

Logan had spent a lot of time here, not just checking on Morgan but hanging out with her. Putting puzzles together, catching up in front of the fire, and having dinner.

The place was rustic but ideal for what Morgan wanted. Plus, this location was perfect because no one could find her here. Or no one should be able to find her here.

His gut clenched.

He glanced around the space, noticing that everything was in place. There were no signs of a struggle.

That brought him a certain measure of relief.

But in his gut, he also knew something didn’t feel right.

It wasn’t as if Morgan had to tell him whenever she went out. Of course, she didn’t.

But she usually let Logan know if she was going on any trips.

There was also the possibility Morgan had gone into town to get some groceries or do some other errand.

So why did Logan feel certain that wasn’t the case? He tried to put his finger on the answer. Going out too close to evening wasn’t her favorite thing. The roads out here got so dark and were so desolate.

He stepped farther inside, hating to intrude. Morgan knew him well enough to know he’d only do this with good reason.

And today, he had that.

As he glanced at the floor, he saw the footprint.

The dirty outline of a shoe. Everything else around him disappeared.

It wasn’t Morgan’s shoe. It was far too large.

No, this was a man’s work boot.

Or . . . or could it be a boot like someone in a motorcycle gang might wear?

Someone else had been inside her cabin. Someone who was possibly dangerous.

His breath hitched.

Logan prayed he wasn’t too late.