She nodded. “Someone has been here. Recently. Maybe a hunting party?”
“It’s not hunting season.”
There was that.
The wind rattled the windows like something trying to get in. Outside, darkness pressed against the glass.
“I’ll help Topher get the fire made,” he said softly. “We’ll be okay.”
There went that rescuer’s voice again. And, fine, yes, it helped.
Still, twenty minutes later, after Jericho and Topher lit the fire in the hearth, after Jericho confirmed every window was locked, the cabin’s growing warmth couldn’t quite reach the cold place inside her chest.
Maybe the problem was simply that every surface held memories. The nicks in the pine table where she and Gabe had cleaned fish. The worn spot on the couch where Mom would read themA Wrinkle in Timeand other books she loved. The rack by the door where Dad’s rifle used to rest.
No, she shouldn’t have forced her way in. Shouldn’t be here.
She’d found jars of dried barley soup mix and had melted snow on the cookstove. Now, the rich aroma of reconstituting vegetables and herbs filled the cabin.
Which only gave the past breath.
She stirred the soup, tried not to let her mind play games.Behind her, Topher wrapped Sunni’s ankle, his voice low as he explained what he was doing. Jericho had abdicated his first responder skills to their resident paramedic, although the man stood, arms akimbo, watching.
Orlando lay near the stove, but his head kept lifting at sounds of the storm, ears pricked toward something only he could hear.
“Found bowls.” Winter appeared beside Harley, setting down a stack of heavy ceramic. “Still in the same cabinet.”
“Everything’s where it’s always been.” She meant it to sound normal. It came out broken.
The wind moaned through the eaves, and Orlando whined softly in response.
“So”—Harley forced herself to turn, to face the room—“why were you really out here in weather like this, Sunni?”
The fire popped and hissed. Snow pelted the windows. Sunni shifted on the couch, something complicated crossing her expression.
“I got a message.” She wouldn’t quite meet Harley’s eyes. “I needed Winter to fly me out because ... because...” She sighed and caught her lower lip.
“Because what?” Winter asked.
“Fine.” She glanced at Harley, something soft, almost gentle in her voice. “Because it was from Gabe.”
The spoon slipped from Harley’s hand, clattering against the soup pot. Heat rushed up her neck, then drained away. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.” Sunni leaned forward, wincing at the movement. Topher had finished wrapping her ankle in an ACE bandage, and it held a snowpack in a plastic bag to her injury. “He’s alive, Harley.”
She just blinked at her, the words not landing.What?
“It’s a long story, but most importantly, three days ago I foundmountain ash berries in my mailbox. They were from Gabe. His signal.”
Signal?
The room tilted sideways. Mountain ash berries. “My mom loved mountain ash.”
“Yeah,” Sunni said. “I know.”
Harley just stared at her,blinked.“Six months ago on my birthday, I got a bouquet. White roses with mountain ash berries. Showed up on my porch in Juneau, wrapped in brown paper, no note.” Her skin prickled.
“There’s more.” Sunni’s voice had gone soft, urgent. “Last night, I got more berries, and this time, there was a picture of a cabin. I knew he meant here—”