Chapter 5 Another Visit
The moment Ethan popped into her mind, Clara felt her carefully nurtured irritation rise again, extinguishing the nascent warmth the wilderness had instilled. That man was infuriating. Arrogant, dismissive, and entirely too ruggedly handsome for her peace of mind. Why did he have to be so damned… present? He was just another complication in a life she already found too messy. She scowled, the serenity of the encounter replaced by a familiar prickle of annoyance.
She stomped back to the cabin, the earlier wonder replaced by a renewed determination to finish her business and get out of this wild, unpredictable place. She would catalog Beatrice’s belongings, arrange for the sale of the property, and return to Denver, to her predictable life, where spreadsheets made sense and coyotes didn't stare into your soul.
As she reached the porch, she heard the crunch of gravel. A dark green pickup truck, dusty and well-used, pulled up the winding driveway. Ethan Kincaid. Of course.
He killed the engine and unfolded his long frame from the driver’s seat. He wore a faded flannel shirt that stretched across broad shoulders, and worn jeans tucked into hiking boots. His camera, with a ridiculously long lens, hung from a strap around his neck. His dark hair was slightly wind-tousled, and a day’s growth of stubble shadowed his strong jawline. He looked like he’d been carved from the very mountains around them, an extension of the wild, untamed landscape that was just beginning to stir something within her. Which, perhaps, was precisely why he annoyed her so much. He embodied the disruption.
“Ms. Vance,” he greeted, his voice a low rumble. He wasn’t looking at her but scanning the tree line behind her, his gaze sharp and assessing. “Mind if I take a few shots, seeing as how you are uncomfortable about people wandering around without permission.” There was a hint of dry amusement in his tone, but his eyes, when they finally settled on her, were serious. He seemed to take in her slightly flushed cheeks, the pine needles still clinging to her jacket.
Clara crossed her arms, defensive. “I’m shocked that you decided to ask permission instead of just helping yourself.” It sounded stiff, even to her own ears.
Ethan’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “See any good arguments between squirrels?”
Her jaw tightened. How id he know? He must have been watching her. The thought, even innocently, was strangely unsettling. “I encountered some of the local wildlife,” she said, her voice clipped. “Quite… lively.”
He took a step closer, and Clara suddenly felt acutely aware of his presence, the outdoorsy scent of him, pine, smoke, something musky and uniquely his. “Yeah, they are. That’s why we’re trying to keep it that way.” His gaze softened then, losing its usual guardedness, and for a fleeting moment, Clara saw a deep, almost aching protectiveness in his eyes. “Beatrice loved this place more than anyone. She fought for it.”
The mention of Beatrice brought the journal back to mind, the cryptic notes, the unsettling photographs. “She was quite… passionate,” Clara conceded, the irritation momentarily eclipsed by curiosity. “She wrote something in her notes about ‘darkness beneath the beauty,’ and ‘watching.’” She instantly regretted saying it the moment the words left her mouth, feeling foolish for sharing her aunt’s eccentricities with this man.
Ethan’s expression tightened, the fleeting softness gone, replaced by a familiar wariness. He looked away, back towards the dense forest, his jaw working. “Beatrice saw a lot of things others didn’t,” he said, his voice lower now, almost a murmur. “And she was usually spot on.” He met her gaze again, and this time, there was a veiled intensity, something that hinted at a shared understanding, a secret knowledge that both connected him to Beatrice and set him apart from Clara. “The darkness isn’t always obvious. Sometimes, it hides in plain sight, just beneath the surface, waiting for you to see it.”
The words hung in the crisp mountain air, a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. Clara’s irritation flared, but this time it was tinged with a confusing blend of unease and a strange, undeniable pull. He wasn’t just talking about the environment, was he? He was talking about something deeper, something she was only just beginning to glimpse.
“Well,” Clara said, forcing a brittle cheerfulness into her voice, “I’m a data analyst. I tend to deal in facts, not… subtext. I’m here to put things in order, sell the property, and get back to Denver. Where things are logical.”
Ethan’s gaze held hers, unwavering. “Logical isn’t always real, Ms. Vance,” he said softly, a ghost of a challenge in his voice. “And sometimes, the real world out here has a way of changing your mind.”
Clara bristled, her cheeks flushing. He was challenging her again, her entire worldview. And frustratingly, a tiny, rebellious part of her wondered if, just maybe, he was right. The irritation was still there, a hot ember, but beneath it, a tiny spark of something else, curiosity, perhaps, or a reluctant fascination, had begun to glow. She hated that he could provoke such conflicting emotions in her. She hated that the wild, beautiful, unpredictable world he inhabited was starting to feel less like a temporary inconvenience and more like a complicated, intriguing puzzle she hadn't quite realized she wanted to solve.
“May I?” he asked, gesturing toward the trail she had been on earlier.
“I suppose,” she conceded. He started on his way toward the woods. She called after him. “Thank you for asking permission this time.”
She turned back to the cabin, a stark contrast to the measured angles and predictable city hum of her Denver apartment. This was her great-aunt’s legacy, squatted deep in the Rocky Mountains, a collection of roughly hewn logs and eccentric additions that bore the indelible stamp of its former owner, was beginning to grow on her, as were all the intricate details of the mountain’s flora and fauna. A woman who had communed more readily with marmots than humans, Aunt Bea, had once called this isolated patch of wilderness "heaven’s quiet breath."
Maybe it was, but she wasn’t feeling it just yet.