Page 23 of Saving Jennifer
“You haven’t slept either.”
“I’m fine.” IT was the automatic response of a man accustomed to pushing beyond limits.
Jennifer wanted to argue but found she lacked the will or the energy, and knew she’d end up sleeping first anyway. “Wake me in four hours. I mean it, Noah. You need sleep too.”
He nodded, though she wasn’t convinced he intended to follow through.
The loft was simple—a full-sized bed with wool blankets, a small dresser, and a window that faced east toward the distant ridgeline. Jennifer barely registered these details before sinking onto the mattress, pausing only long enough to remove her shoes. She meant to remain vigilant, to listen for any sounds of trouble, but exhaustion claimed her within moments.
Jennifer woke to the scent of coffee and a soft sound she didn’t recognize. Disoriented, she sat up quickly, heart racing until memory flooded back. The cabin. Noah. Safety—for now.
Sunlight streamed through the small window, suggesting she’d slept far longer than the four hours she’d intended. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, wincing at the stiffness in her body, and made her way down the narrow stairs.
Noah sat at the table by the window, a mug of coffee at his elbow, his attention focused on a block of wood cradled in his left hand. His right worked a small carving knife with precise, economical movements, transforming the shapeless chunk into something with purpose. Shavings littered the table and floor around him.
He looked up as she descended, setting aside his work. “There’s coffee. And oatmeal if you’re hungry.”
Jennifer nodded, running a hand over her hair, hoping and praying her bedhead didn’t look awful. Making her way to the small kitchen, she asked, “How long did I sleep?”
“About fourteen hours.”
She spun around, shocked. “Fourteen? Noah, you were supposed to wake me for my shift.”
He shrugged. “You needed the rest.”
“And you didn’t?” Exasperation colored her tone as she turned back around and poured coffee into a ceramic mug.
“I got enough.”
The dark circles beneath his eyes suggested otherwise, but Jennifer bit back further comment. Instead, she glanced at the piece he’d been working on. “What are you making?”
Noah hesitated, then held it up. The small block had begun to take the form of a woman’s face, the features still rough but somehow capturing a determination that seemed familiar.
“Is that…me?”
His fingers closed around the carving. “Just passing time.”
Jennifer sat across from him, cradling her coffee. “When did you learn to do this?”
Again, that hesitation. “My grandfather taught me. He used to say working with your hands keeps you connected to what’s real.”
“Sounds like a smart man.”
“He was.” Noah’s gaze drifted to the window, toward the mountains beyond. “This was his place, originally. He left it to me when he died.”
Jennifer sensed this small revelation was significant—a piece of himself Noah rarely shared. “Thank you,” she said quietly. His eyes returned to her, questioning. “For bringing me here. I know this is your sanctuary.”
Something shifted in his expression, a softening around the edges. “It’s secure. Three sight lines, one approach path. Natural barriers on the other sides.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Noah held her gaze for a long moment, then looked away. “I know.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. Jennifer sipped her coffee, allowing herself to simply exist in this moment of relative peace. The cabin felt removed from the chaos they’d fled, a bubble of stillness in a storm that still raged beyond these walls.
“We should be safe here,” Noah finally said, “at least for a while. No one knows about this place except my family, and they won’t tell anyone. Which means we’re truly off the grid now. No backup, no resources beyond what we have with us.”
“What’s our next move?”