Frustration courses through me as I walk into the kitchen an hour later, seeing that Harrison wasn't all talk. He is really, truly gone. And I am here, all alone.

I'm seething. This isn't cool. Or charming. Or the way into my heart. Hell, he already had my heart. I gave it to him last night. And now this? Leaving me here, alone, in an unfamiliar place?

Trying to take deep breaths, I decide what I really need is some fresh air. I unlock the side patio door, terrified I might trip up the alarm system. Still, I don't actually care right now. I am in the middle of Nowhere, Alaska, and my supposed fiancé jilted me on our second day together.

As I walk through his property, I run my fingers over the fresh leaves of wild mint, noticing the lemon balm that grows in thick patches around his home. Everywhere I turn there are wild herbs. I smile despite my anger. Harrison is growing everything I need for my beauty product line. The line I wanted to sell online before Max ran off with my start-up funds.

I run my hand over thick stems of lavender, and bring my hands to my nose, inhaling deeply. And I start to calm myself down.

Yes, Harrison is acting stupid, but he has been through so much. I can't even begin to imagine the scope of it. I know only what I've seen on the news about Afghanistan, and I wish I had a better sense of all that he has seen and gone through.

I find that I've walked to his shop, and when I turn the knob, am disappointed when I see that it's locked. There is an alarm system on the siding beside the door and I twist my lips, not having a clue. Heading back inside, I see that he has left out a security system manual on the table, along with the codes. Such a guy move--ditching me yet leaving out these codes.

Before I leave the house, a phone begins to ring, and I locate it in the kitchen. I stand there, looking at it, debating if I should answer it or not.

Finally, curiosity gets the best of me, and I pick it up. "Hello?" I say into the receiver. I haven't used a landline in ages.

"Uh, hey, uh, is Harrison there?" a male voice asks.

"Who's asking?" I ask, more sternly than necessary. I'm not exactly in a cheery mood.

There is a chuckle on the other end of the line. “It's Sullivan, Harry’s twin brother."

"Twin?"

"Yeah, who are you? His wife?"

I lean against the kitchen counter, thinking maybe this conversation can help me. "Not quite," I tell him, and I explain the storm derailing our plans.

"And what's your name?" he asks.

"Oh, sorry. I'm Hannah."

"Well, nice to meet you, Hannah. If you don't mind me asking, where is Harry now?"

"He's... out."

"Is that a code word for freaking out at the idea of intimacy?"

I swallow. Harrison had no problem being intimate last night after we got through our initial hiccup.

But now.

Now he is gone.

"Maybe," I say softly. "I don't know. I thought things were going well, but then this morning he..." I don't want to say too much and betray my fiancé's confidence.

Thankfully Sully is his twin and seems to know him better than I do. "Let me guess, he left?"

"Does he do that often?"

"He's been through a lot," Sully says. "It's hard for him to put himself out there. He's scared of letting people down. He carries a lot of baggage from the war."

"I can only imagine," I say, honestly grateful to hear Harry isn't just some flaky guy.

"The thing is, he just needs to realize no one expects him to always be the hero. I'm guessing you'd be happy just to have him as a husband."

"I would. I know it might seem weird, getting married to a stranger, but I know what I want. I want a partner. I just want one who wants me back." I groan. "I am totally oversharing here."

"No, no it's fine. It's actually what Harrison needs, a woman who shares her emotions, lets her feelings out. He's been alone too long."

"Yeah, well, I just hope he comes back."

"He will."

"It was nice talking to you, Sullivan."

"You too, Hannah. And if there is anything you need, ever--don't hesitate to call. I have a private plane and can get you anything you need pretty quickly."

I lift my eyebrows. "A private plane? Sounds fancy."

"Yeah, well, Harry has one too. He's just too humble to show off. Don't let the modest cabin deceive you."

I look around the gorgeous kitchen. "Um, Sullivan, you've gotta get a grip on reality. This is not modest."

"Fair enough. But it's only one of Harry's homes."

I shake my head, knowing I have a lot to learn about his family. Sullivan gives me his phone number, and I jot it down, putting it in my pocket for safekeeping. I hang up the phone, thinking that if my husband never returns, at least his brother can fly me back to the mainland.

Taking the paper with the security information in hand, I head back to the shop and unlock it, anxious to get to know my husband-to-be a little more.

I turn on the overhead light and the workshop is illuminated, taking my breath away. This is like my kind of paradise. I walk around, oohing and ahhing over his different workstations, and I can see how methodical he is by the way he has them ordered.

One table is filled with books, notes, and models of how to build the ultimate campfire. Another table is filled with research on native plants and foods to forage, complete with seeds and photographs of various berries and roots. And the final table has homemade traps along with animal hides and hunting knives.

A smile spreads across my face as I realize how seriously he is taking his survival guide. He has so many piles in place, and I see that he isn't just doing this on a whim. It matters to him. I swallow, thinking about why someone would be so compelled to make a book like this.

One answer flashes before my eyes: He wants everyone to survive.

My chest aches at the thought, at the losses Harrison must have experienced in war. I hate that for him, but here he is, still fighting for other people.

It makes me want to be his champion. Makes me want to fight for him, the way he has fought for everyone else. Thinking over our conversation last night as I knelt before him, asking him about his prosthetic, I remember the irritated skin and how inflamed it was from the protective sleeve he wears constantly.

Looking around, I see a gallon size container of coconut oil and a box of clean mason jars. Grabbing a plastic bin, I fill it with some small jars and the oil, then I grab some scissors and head outside with the security code in hand.

I look around for the herbs I want. Lemon verbena and Saint John's wort. They are growing wild on the east side of the house and I snip off a handful, breathing in the fresh mountain air and refusing to assume the worst about Harrison.

Then I head into the house and rummage through my luggage. I pull out my bag of essential oils and root out the pink grapefruit. Then I grab the cocoa butter and castor oil. Smiling, I dig out my labels-- the ones I had designed before I lost all my money. They have my little logo and brand name printed on a sticker.

In the kitchen, I set to work. I may not be able to heal Harrison's heart, but I can make his skin softer.