The Rookie

by Kendall Ryan

Or maybe he just really needed to work off some tension?

  I hesitate, but decide to knock on his cabin door. A few footsteps approach from inside, and the door swings open.

  “Summer,” he says, sounding somewhat surprised.

  “Hey. Good morning.”

  Maybe I should feel embarrassed or regretful about the kisses we shared last night, but even in the light of day, any negativity is just absent.

  “Thank you for the firewood.” I tip my chin toward the neat stacks.

  “Sure. Wanted to make sure you’d be warm. The weather is turning.” He glances at the sky before meeting my gaze again.

  “I’m going up to the house. Can I bring you some coffee?”

  “I’m good.”

  I shift my weight, nerves suddenly setting in. “Are we okay? Last night . . .”

  He stops me. “We’re fine. Last night was my fault. It won’t happen again,” he says, his voice sure and steady. “In fact, let’s meet tomorrow for another counseling session.”

  “Sure,” I say. “What time?”

  He scratches his chin. “How about tomorrow afternoon? I’m helping Graham today, and then I’m going hunting with Matt tomorrow early in the morning. I’ll be back by lunch, though.”

  Filled with a renewed sense of purpose, I nod. “Okay, I’ll see you then.”

  13

  * * *

  LOGAN

  It’s still dark out the next morning when my brother Matt wakes me with three quick knocks on the cabin’s front door followed by one slow one. Our secret knock as kids.

  My eyes are closed, but I smile before grunting and rolling over. It’s too damn early for this, but I agreed to go hunting with him today. He said we had to get an early start, but if I’d known he meant before dawn, I might have reconsidered.

  The door opens, and he calls out, “Wakey, wakey.” His voice sounds way too cheery for whatever ungodly time this is.

  “Go away.” I tug the blankets over my head, as if that will block out his enthusiasm.

  “I brought coffee.”

  “Leave it on the table and then go away,” I say with a groan.

  A low chuckle is followed by the sound of his boots crossing the floor. “Come on, it’ll be fun. And I need your help.”

  “You do not,” I grumble.

  Matt hunts without me all the time. Turkeys in the spring, elk in the early fall, and then deer later on.

  He chuckles. “Come on. Get up.”

  Realizing he’s not going to stop until I do, I shove off the blanket and sit up. “Fine, but give me that coffee.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m dressed in warm clothes and hiking through the woods beside Matt. Thankfully, the thermos of coffee he had for me is strong, and it’s working to improve my mood.

  “So, did you and Graham make up, or what?” he asks, referring to our fight the other night. One that I’m not proud of, for the record.

  “Yeah, we did. All good now.” I spent the day yesterday helping him brew beer.

  He shoots me a curious look. “Do I want to know what you were fighting about?”

  “Nope.”

  The less stress for this family right now, the better, I figure.

  “All right, let’s talk about Summer.”

  Uncertainty squirms inside me. Last night, things went too far. I’d hoped kissing her would take the edge off the need that had been clawing at me for days. But it didn’t, not at all. It only made that need grow more insistent, fiercer. Darker somehow.

  “What about her?”

  Matt smirks. “First, she’s smoking hot.”

  “Don’t.” Stepping over a fallen log, I give him a warning glare.

  “What? I have eyeballs.”

  “Well, keep your balls to yourself.”

  He chuckles. “Oh man, don’t tempt me. Do you know how fucking horny I’ve been?”

  “No, and I don’t want to know.”

  But the truth is, I do know, because I’m in the same boat. Or at least a similar canoe. An adjacent watercraft.

  Fuck. I’m being weird. Pay attention to what he’s saying, Logan.

  Matt takes a swig of coffee and carries on, completely unaware of the entire monologue that just took place inside my brain. “You don’t live here, so you don’t understand how there’s like one woman for every ten dudes out here.”

  I roll my eyes. “This isn’t like Alaska in the Gold Rush, bro. What about dating apps?”

  He laughs. “Yeah, I tried that, dumbass. Believe me, it’s bad. The single men in this town far outnumber the eligible women. Half the town has blue balls.”

  Not the conversation I expected to be having this morning. “That sucks,” is all I manage to say.

  “It does. Not all of us are pussy-slaying NHL stars.”

  “Well, I’m not anymore. That second thing, anyway. I’m suspended, remember? And that first one . . . believe me, I’m not slaying anything.”

  “No puck-bunny action?” His tone is filled with surprise.

  I shrug. “Not really. There was this one girl last year, but I got the sense she liked the idea of posting about me on Instagram more than she actually liked being with me.”

  “When’s the last time you . . . ya know.”

  “This is a conversation you and I will never have,” I mutter.

  He gives me a pointed look.

  “Fine.”

  I realize I’m being evasive. Matt and I have always been honest with each other. Back when he was eighteen and freaked out that he’d gotten Tessa Elford pregnant, it was me he came to for advice.

  Thankfully, she wasn’t pregnant, but I listened to his worries and gave him advice during the stressful week when she thought she was. Maybe talking this stuff out is part of being a good brother. Or maybe that’s just Summer’s advice getting into my head. Either way . . .

  “It’s been a while,” I say begrudgingly.

  “So, why don’t you make a play for Summer?”

  “No.” My tone leaves little room for negotiation, but Matt is undeterred.

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” I mutter rather brilliantly.

  My brother rolls his eyes. “Okay, then let me ask her out. Like I said, she’s gorgeous. Someone should go out with her.”

  “No.”

  He scoffs. “I don’t have to ask your permission, you know. I could just ask her out.”

  The idea of that is not a pleasant one.

  Summer isn’t mine, and she’s free to date whoever she wants. But the idea of her with another man? Well, I don’t like it.

  The surge of territorial instincts that hit me take me by surprise. Summer’s a grown woman. She can choose who she dates. And it’s not like that man is going to be me—for obvious reasons.

  “And take her where, exactly?” I ask. After all, Matt is the one who just mentioned how very little this town has to offer.

  “I don’t know. Back to my bedroom? Bed of my truck?”

  The thought of that makes my blood boil. “You’re an asshole.”

  “I’m kidding. God, you should see your face right now. There are some cool places. The mineral hot springs is one. They don’t have that in the city. Or the farmer’s market. Duke’s Tavern. Lots of places.”

  “Hmm.” I make a noncommittal sound.

  “Even a picnic, if it wasn’t so cold out.”

  “Yeah, did Mother Nature just decide to skip fall this year or what?” It’s so chilly out, we can see our breath.

  Matt nods beside me. “Yeah, it looks like it.”

  We walk in silence for a few minutes longer. I can’t decide if he’s still thinking about Summer, or just opting to stay quiet because we’re getting closer to the deer stand and he doesn’t want to scare away the animals.

  When we reach the spot where Matt’s constructed a blind up in an old oak tree, he goes up first, and then I climb up after him. It’s tight quarters—little more than just some elbow room between us as we huddle inside. The plywood sid
es don’t offer anything in the way of warmth, and I find myself hoping that we can spot a deer and be out of here soon. A great woodsman, I am not.

  Matt surprises me by striking up another conversation, this one about Graham’s newest plans with the beer operation.

  Jeez, Chatty Cathy over here.

  I give him a stern look. “I know I haven’t been hunting in six years, but aren’t we supposed to keep quiet?”

  Matt shrugs. “Hunting is more about the bonding time. And I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  Feeling a little guilty, I nod. “I know. But Graham will be pissed if we come back without a deer.”

  He huffs out a breath. “True story. But Graham’s pissed off about everything these days.”

  Matt’s comments aren’t directed at me. I know he doesn’t mean to make me feel guilty about the fact I’ve stayed away, but I do. I haven’t been here to help, and it’s becoming increasingly obvious that the family has been under a lot of stress. I can’t help but think about the fact that my family seems to need me more than my team does.

  Since I left Boston, there’s only been a few halfhearted texting attempts from the guys. Saint reached out the other day, and since I’ve heard from Alex and Reeves.

  But while I do miss them, miss being out on the ice, I can’t let myself think about hockey right now. I need to focus on getting a deer to feed my family this winter. Need to focus on being there for Matt. And Graham.

  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.

  Tugging the scratchy wool hat down a little further over my ears, I trudge out the door and toward Logan’s cabin. But it doesn’t matter how hard I pound on the door, there’s no response.

  To my surprise, though, the doorknob twists easily, so I take a serious risk and let myself in, peering into what would be pure darkness if not for the dim light of the lamp on his nightstand. It casts a warm yellow glow over the deep gray comforter, where Logan is propped up against the pillows, sleeping soundly on top of the covers. It’s as though he had sat down for just a moment and then nodded off.

  “Logan?”

  He doesn’t stir at the sound of his name, so I try again a little louder. “Logan? Rise and shine.”

  He doesn’t budge.

  When I reach his bedside, I pause for a moment, admiring the way the lamplight casts shadows along the curve of his jaw. I’ve never seen him so at peace, all cozy and cute in a Burton Snowboards hoodie and gray sweat shorts.

  As I watch his wide chest rise and fall with steady, sleepy breaths, warmth radiates from my chest to my fingertips. The Logan Tate I’ve gotten to know the past few days is sexy, without a doubt, but this is a different version of him. A soft, gentle, sleeping giant, he snores softly through his barely parted lips. He’s downright adorable, from his messy bedhead to his long bare feet, dangling off the edge of the bed.

  Snap out of it, Summer. I need to act fast before he wakes up and catches me staring.

  “Logan.” A firm shake of his shoulder does the trick, and his thick eyelashes twitch before his eyes fully open.

  “Jesus,” he grumbles, wiping one hand over his jaw. It’s surprisingly cute. “What time is it?”

  “Almost two.”

  “Shit.” His face scrunches up as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. “We got back from hunting, and I was absolutely beat.”

  “Nothing to apologize for. I’m glad you got some rest. Are you still down for our session?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then why don’t you get ready and then come find me?”

  He nods in agreement, and I head out the door, stepping back out into the chilly afternoon air.

  Here’s hoping the wind will blow the blush right off my cheeks.

  I admit it—I’m more than a little smitten with Logan. The trick is going to be learning how to hide it.

  Twenty minutes later, our roles are reversed, and Logan is the one letting himself into my cabin. He’s layered up a bit more than I would have expected, though, and it’s quickly obvious why.

  “I was thinking we could go for a bit of a road trip instead of sticking around here.”

  I fold my arms tight over my chest. “I thought we were going to have a counseling session.”

  “We are. I just think we should have it off property.”

  “Neutral territory?”

  He shakes his head. “Just someplace I thought you might like to see. Maybe even a bit of excitement.”

  I nod. “A change of scenery could be nice.”

  I have to bite my tongue to keep from arguing the point that Lost Haven has very quickly become one of the most exciting places I’ve ever been. Bonfires, stick shifts, and surprise CBD tea? It’s a lot more excitement than I’ve experienced in a long time. Tack on the steamy forbidden make-out session we had last night, and I can confidently say that this tiny little mountain town easily beats out Boston in terms of excitement.

  But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I shrug and say, “I’m down for whatever.”

  “Cool.” A sly grin tugs at his full mouth. “Follow me. You’re driving.”

  Well. That’s the worst news I’ve heard all day.

  Reluctantly, I follow him out to the driveway, eyeing public enemy number one—that manual rust bucket of a truck.

  “Can’t you drive?” I plead, but Logan shakes his head.

  “You can do this, I promise. I’m going to teach you.”

  When I slide into the driver’s seat, baffled as ever by the numbers on the stick shift, my shotgun passenger wastes no time launching into his lesson.

  “First, you’ve got to ground the clutch,” he says, as if that should mean something to me.<
br />
  When I stare at him with wide, clueless eyes, he laughs and rephrases his instructions.

  “Use your left foot to press all the way down on that pedal, and put the gear shift in neutral.”

  For as hotheaded as he is on the ice, Logan is a surprisingly patient teacher. I follow each and every one of his steps to a tee, stalling only a handful of times, and barely resist the urge to bang my head against the steering wheel until the car horn sounds.

  Here I am, supposedly the calm, cool, and collected counselor, and Logan is the one guiding me along the learning curve.

  It’s hardly what I was expecting out of today, but by the time we hit the highway, I’m a few steps short of a master of the manual transmission. All it took was some encouraging words and a few gentle squeezes of my thigh from the handsomest driving teacher this side of the Rocky Mountains.

  With all my intense focus on being in the right gear at the right time, I’ve hardly paid attention to where Logan’s directions are actually taking us. When he has me pull over on the side of a wooded back road, I’m sure we must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.

  “Where are we?”

  “The hot springs,” he says as casually as though we’ve just pulled up to a grocery store.

  I squint out my window, looking for . . . well, I don’t really know what I’m looking for. I’ve never been to a hot spring before, but from my understanding, they’re usually surrounded by fancy hotels and spas. Outside my window, all I see is miles and miles of mountains and rocky paths through the woods.

  “Don’t hot springs usually have, like, resorts built around them?”

  “Those are the hot springs that the tourists know about.” He gives me a coy smile and a wink, then throws open the passenger door. “The best ones are kept a secret unless you’re local.”

  My heart does a little kick in my chest. If I wasn’t feeling like a Lost Havenite earlier, I sure am now.

  I follow Logan along one of the rocky trails, ducking beneath branches and occasionally veering from the trail markers. He’s right about one thing—this is definitely the kind of place that only a local would know about. No one from out of town would ever think to go off trail like this.