“Turn here,” Wyatt said, pointing to a washed-out dirt road.
“Whoa,” Harper murmured, leaning forward to look out the front window better.
The road was rough, sure, but there was no denying the beauty of these woods. It was early autumn, and the leaves were turning vibrant oranges, yellows, and bright reds. Sugar maple, sweetgum, scarlet oaks, and hickory trees lined the road in a myriad of sizes, and the ground was covered in the colorful leaves that had fallen early.
Up front, Weston tossed Wyatt a confused look she didn’t understand, and Wyatt leaned out the open window and inhaled deeply. His shoulders relaxed on the exhale. Huh.
As they came to a rusty old gate with a lock on it, Wyatt murmured, “I got it.” There were No Trespassing signs posted on either side that looked new, but the fence was old, and some of the posts had fallen over. Wyatt got out of the truck and jogged up to the gate, entered in a combination to the lock, then swung it open. He waited for Weston to pull through before he closed it and locked it up again.
“Uuuuh, I don’t feel comfortable trespassing,” Weston said, his dark brows jacked up high as Weston got back in the cab of his truck. “I’d like to not get shot by a landowner today.”
Wyatt gestured out the window to a blue sedan that was parked on the side of the road up ahead. “The landowner knows we’re coming. He was the one who called earlier.”
Weston shook his head and bounced and bumped the truck up the road, spinning out in the muddy spots. An older man with glasses and thin hair on top of his shiny dome waved as they came to a stop. His smile was there, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He looked…worried.
“Martin,” Wyatt greeted him heartily, shaking his hand the second he was out of the truck.
“Hey, Wyatt. Thanks for coming on short notice. I thought for sure you’d be busy on your day off.”
Wyatt introduced them to Martin one at a time as they piled out of Weston’s ride. And when he got to Harper, Wyatt rested his hand on her lower back and said, “This is my…this is Harper.”
Martin’s bushy gray brows arched up immediately. “Oh, wow.” He gave two owl blinks and then shook Harper’s hand vigorously. “I’m sure pleased to meet you.”
“You, too,” she murmured, baffled.
“Uuuh.” Martin released her hand and gestured up the road. “I’ll show you around.”
Wyatt’s eyes were boring into her, but she didn’t understand the attention. Even as they walked up the muddy road and into a clearing, he kept casting her strange looks. It wasn’t until she saw the cabin that she realized what was wrong with him.
He was watching her to see her reaction to the place.
The boys were dead-silent now, awed perhaps, or confused. She didn’t know, but right now, she couldn’t drag her gaze away from the old, dilapidated cabin to save her life.
The Smokey Mountain range painted the background like a picture, all oranges and yellows, and the woods were absolutely breathtaking. So different from the evergreen woods she’d grown up in.
Harper’s breath came shallow as she made her way to the old cabin—a two-bedroom perhaps that had gone to disrepair. The porch sagged, and the railing was rotted. The roof was bad, and the picture window on the side was cracked in a couple of places. There was no paint on the log planks that made up the walls, and somehow, it felt like it was a part of these woods. Like it belonged, instead of sticking out like a manmade thumbprint.
There was a thin trail around craggy, tar-colored rocks that shone in the sun, and farther up the mountainside was another cabin. A double it looked like, from the twin doors and the breezeway that went right through the center.
Such an odd feeling came over her. A warm, prickling sensation that spread from her chest to her arms.
“What is this place?” she asked on a breath, so she wouldn’t ruin the magic of this moment.
“Is it some kind of commune?” Ryder asked.
Martin chuckled. “No. My late wife’s family has owned this land for generations. I run the gem mine, and when my wife was alive, this was where she dug in her heels. There are four cabins on the property. For twenty years, we rented them out to tourists for extra income, and my Betty managed the properties, but we got muscled out by a big fancy chain with new cabins, personal chefs, river views, hot tubs on every porch, the works. And when Betty passed, I couldn’t keep up with the mine and manage the property, so…” He shrugged and shook his head. Resting his boot on one of the black rocks that jutted out from beside the path, he said, “I’m going to have to sell it. It’s been draining my savings, and I’m wanting to retire soon. I’ve kept it for Betty, but we didn’t have any children to give it to. I was hoping to find a buyer I know will take care of it.
Weston moved past her, eyes trained on something beside the door as he stepped carefully up the old porch stairs. With trembling fingers, he pulled up the last number of four that hung upside down from a single rusty nail.
Chills blasted across Harper’s arms when she read the number. 1010.
Wide-eyed, Weston looked back at Wyatt.
“I know,” Wyatt murmured. “It’s the same number as the old trailer up in Damon’s mountains. I was never one for signs, but damn if that didn’t draw me up when I saw it.”
A shudder trembled up Harper’s spine and landed in her shoulders as she moved past Weston and pushed the door to the main cabin open. Inside, the place was dusty and made entirely of wood, from the floors to the walls to the kitchen cabinets and counters. There was a chair toppled over on its side and covered in cobwebs, and gingerly, she righted it and dusted off the seat. She could see the potential here. She could imagine polished floors and a small table in the corner with a vase and yellow flowers. Phantom laughter echoed through the house as she spun slowly, transforming it into a homey cabin in her imagination. Couches and pictures, and a TV stand over there.