And I definitely can’t let myself think about Summer, so I settle in beside my brother and watch the horizon where the sun is beginning to turn the sky orange as it rises to greet us.

14

SUMMER

How long does hunting usually take?

This is the question I’ve been asking myself for the past few hours. I’ve been holed up in my cabin since just after breakfast, preparing for my afternoon counseling session with my client. The only issue? My client is MIA. Logan said he would be back by lunch, but it’s quickly approaching two o’clock, and I still haven’t seen or heard from him. Needless to say, I’m all sorts of anxious about it.

Heaving out a sigh, I collapse onto my bed and wriggle my phone out of the front pocket of my jeans. It takes some creative positioning of my phone next to the window, but I manage to scrounge up just enough cell service to send him an “are you home yet?” text.

Ten minutes later, still no word, but there could be a multitude of reasons for that.

There probably isn’t cell service out in the woods, or he may have turned his phone off altogether. Or maybe he left his phone in the cabin so it wasn’t a distraction. All totally practical explanations. But that doesn’t stop me from wondering if he’s actually ignoring me because he’s decided not to work with me anymore, all thanks to our little incident last night. That would be a death sentence for both of our careers.

Ugh. There’s only one cure for this level of overthinking. I need to put on my big-girl pants and head over to his cabin.

Getting out of bed on three. One . . . two . . . two and a half . . .

With one final frustrated groan, I shove up from the mattress and pull on a fresh pair of wool socks. Then come my boots, coat, and the gray wool hat I found shoved in the back of the top dresser drawer. It smells slightly of mothballs, but the sky is extra overcast today, and the cold feels like it could freeze my ears off without it.

When I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I’m startled by how well I could pass for a local in this outfit. A true Lost Haven resident. Lost Havener? Lost Havenite? Whatever you call them, I’m beginning to look like I fit in here, and it’s somehow both comforting and concerning. If I’m not careful, I could get a little too comfortable here. Which is why I need to focus on why I’m in Colorado in the first place—to work with my client.