“He didn’t want to, but I would have heard about it eventually.”

“And now you’re gonna be freaked out every time you step outside, thanks to him.”

“I already was!”

He groans. “Calla, you’ve never actually seen whatever has you spooked. You haven’t even seen the fox and that thing is around all the time.”

“Exactly my point. Who knows what else could be out there? I was doing some reading this afternoon, and I want to get cameras.”

He gives me a flat look. “Cameras?”

“Yeah. Motion-sensor cameras. Tons of people use them to see what’s coming onto their property. Even in Alaska.” And now that my bank account has more zeros than I know what to do with—my jaw dropped when I checked to confirm the deposit, because even though I knew it was coming, actually seeing it was a shock—I feel no need to worry about stressing Jonah out over finances anymore.

He pinches the bridge of his nose as if pained. Or possibly annoyed. “Did you burn something in the kitchen today? Smells like something burnt down there.”

“Uh … yeah. I was trying to bake something, but I went wrong somewhere.” I smile sheepishly. What went into the oven was a promising birthday cake for Jonah. What came out of the oven was a flat, goopy mess that had dripped over the sides to burn on the oven floor.

He chuckles. “I don’t have to fly until tomorrow afternoon. I was thinking we could drive up to Talkeetna.”

“Do they sell cameras in Talkeetna?”

He seizes my waist and pulls my body onto his with little effort. My elbows find a natural spot on either side of his head. “I have no idea. If it makes you feel safer, get cameras. You can watch moose trip the motion sensors all day long, for all I care. You’ll probably go years without seeing a bear around here.”

“And what if you’re wrong? What if one comes and you’re not around?”

“That’s why I keep tellin’ you that you need to learn how to shoot a gun.” He kisses my jawline. Such a contradictory move for his words.

“And I keep telling you that I hate guns.”

“Fine.” He smirks. “Then I guess Zeke’ll protect you.”

“That stupid goat’s going to get eaten one of these days.”

“Better him than you.” He smooths his hand down along my spine to settle on my backside, where he fills his palm with a squeeze, and pulls my body tighter against him. Beneath me, I feel him hardening.

“We’re hiring Toby to be our mechanic,” I say, before I lose my chance to bring it up tonight. “He came back to help run their resort because his brother died … disappeared … whatever. Anyway, his passion is plane engines, but he let that go to come back and help his family here, and, I don’t know, I feel like it’d be good to use him for the planes.”

“He’s gotta be a good mechanic. I’m not messin’ around with any clowns that might put me into the ground.”

“The snow machines are working great.”

“Those aren’t planes.” Jonah sighs. “I guess I should probably go and meet this guy soon, then.”

“Yeah. Definitely. You’ll like him.”

“Really? ’Cause you’re about to turn our peaceful log cabin into a fucking military base with all your surveillance, thanks to him, so I don’t think I like him too much right now.” He hooks his thumbs on the waistband of my pajama bottoms and begins drawing them down, ending our conversation.

Chapter Eighteen

May

“The guy’s coming out on Monday to quote us.”

Jonah tosses the heavy brochure on the kitchen counter. “I told you already—I can screen in the porch. It’s just two-by-twos and a couple rolls of screening.”

“And you can make it look like this?” I tap the picture of the log cabin—much like ours, only far nicer—with the enclosed porch off the front.

“Who cares what it looks like? It’ll keep the bugs out. That’s what you want, isn’t it? And at a tenth of the price that guy’s gonna charge.”

I glare at him. “Hi, have we met? I care what it looks like. And when were you going to do all this, anyway? You’ve been gone all day, every day, for the past week!” I shouldn’t complain about because it’s great for the company and has been keeping me busy with paperwork and collecting referrals, but I feel like I only see him when he’s sliding into bed at night.

“I don’t know! The next time the weather’s too shitty to fly. It’s supposed to be overcast on Monday.”

“This is more than a day’s work. Are you going to be able to finish it before the hot tub goes in?” I ask doubtfully. “Because those guys are coming in two weeks.”

“Are you kidding me?” Jonah groans. “You did not order that already.”

“I told you I was going to!” I had added it to my list of conditions for agreeing to the move—an ever-growing catalogue compiled mostly after mining “log cabin” hashtags on Instagram, searching for decorative inspiration.

“That thing was nine grand!” His booming voice carries through the house, his expression offering not a hint of humor.

“So what? We can afford it!” Which is the same thing I said to him when I climbed into the empty shell in the showroom and imagined us relaxing in it on our porch while we gazed out over the lake and the mountain range. “What we can’t afford is for me to go insane cooped up in this house once mosquito Armageddon arrives.” From what the lady in the grocery store said, it’s coming soon. Agnes has already warned me that, as bad as I thought the bugs were in Bangor, they’re a hundred times worse here, near the lake and among the trees.

Jonah shakes his head. “Wren didn’t leave you all that money so you could piss it away on custom screens and hot tubs and a fucking three-thousand-dollar fake antler chandelier!” He throws an accusatory hand toward the large box that arrived last week sitting by the fireplace. The local electrician is coming to hang it tomorrow. “You said you didn’t want it lookin’ like a hunt camp in here!”

“Hunt camps don’t have three-thousand-dollar chandeliers!” I yell as my indignation flares. “I am not pissing my money away. And he left it to me, Jonah. I don’t need your approval on how to spend it!”

“I’m not saying you need my approval,” Jonah begins through gritted teeth, as if struggling to control his temper.

A heavy knock sounds on the side door, interrupting our shouting match.

Jonah glares at it. “Is that another delivery guy? Jesus Christ, woman, what else have you bought?”

“I don’t know! Let’s find out!” I have no idea who that could be at eight a.m. and why they’d come to the side door—the barista machine I ordered couldn’t be here this quickly. Maybe it’s the new bedding. But Jonah’s attitude is making my insides burn. I storm down the hallway with him in hot pursuit and throw the door open, ignoring the fact that I’m in my pajamas.

A short, heavyset woman with a helmet of tight gray curls and a hard, weathered face waits outside.