“So, how did you guys end up all the way out here?”

Not as tactful of a question as I might ask one of my clients, but Austen isn’t a client. He’s my client’s brother. And something tells me he might be an easier nut to crack than Logan.

“Dad bought the land about ten years ago. He had big plans for this place. Not just for the property, but for Lost Haven too.”

“What do you mean?”

“His idea was to turn our property into some kind of tourist destination, a wilderness getaway of sorts. There’s plenty around here, but this stretch of land . . .”

He trails off, his attention firmly fixed on building a teepee of logs. Once he’s got the structure sturdy, he pushes up, wiping his palms on the worn denim of his jeans.

Urging him to continue, I say, “This stretch of land . . .”

“It just never got developed, I guess. So Dad took out a loan, bought up all this acreage, and we got to work building the house. The barn came next, then the garden. It was another two years before we cleared the land to get the guest cabins done.”

I nod along, adding up the years in my head. “Sounds like a lot of man hours.”

“Woman hours too,” he says, correcting me. “Mom pulled her weight. We were just finally getting to a place to scale up this operation, start turning a profit. And then, well . . .” He pauses, swallowing a lump of emotion in his throat. “Well, then Dad passed. Now it’s all up to Graham. A whole lot of pressure is on him. On all of us.”

I pause for a moment, searching for the right words. But if there’s one thing I know about losing someone you love, it’s that the right words don’t exist. There’s just no way to make it better. Time and being gentle with yourself are really the only things that can help. It’s a reality I know all too well. Yesterday, when Logan learned about my mom, I saw the hard look on his face falter, but just for a second.

“Sounds like big shoes for Graham to fill,” I finally manage to say.

“Sure is,” Austen says with a grunt. “And with all that change, money has been tight.”

“I know Logan signed a nice contract.”

“Sure, but he doesn’t have most of that money yet. Besides, Graham’s too stubborn to let his baby brother sink any money into this place, no matter how much we could use it.”

Reaching into his pocket, Austen fishes out a box of matches, then crouches down again. Two or three strikes later, there’s a spark, and then it catches on to the drier bits of wood. Soon, the tiny glowing embers grow into a low, steady fire.