Work and pain. It’s my entire existence. I wake up, wash under a flood of cold water, do chores around my cabin, go outside, hunt or chop fire wood if I’m running low, and then return when the sun goes down to eat and sleep in a bed that’s more steel tubing and springs than mattress. Rinse, repeat.

It’s a monotonous cycle. Some might even think of it as hell.

But for me, though, it’s peace. It’s a hard sort of heaven.

The work and strain keep my mind occupied, freeing it from the demons that torment me and the ghosts of my past.

But not today. Today’s agenda is a different kind of hell. From far away, like the buzzing of an annoying fly, I vaguely hear . . .

“Fresh crisp air, sweeping views of Great Falls, magical nights spent looking up at the twinkling stars. Enjoy it all while staying at our amazing cabin, featuring all the amenities you need. So what are you waiting for? Book your trip to Bear Mountain now. How’s that sound?”

“What?” I grunt absently, sitting back in my great oak chair. It’s handmade, like most of the furniture in my cabin, but there aren’t too many chairs that can take a man who stands six five and is built like a Strongman contestant.

Seated at a large wooden table near the window in a chair that makes her look not much bigger than a child, Carlotta Lawson, my fiery-haired second cousin and sales and marketing consultant, looks up from her laptop and scowls murder at me. “Have you been listening to me at all?”

A lock of red hair falls in front of her green eyes and she brushes it back in annoyance to continue her glare. She’s been working for the past hour to create a presentable brochure, and my lack of attention to detail has her on edge. I know I should be helping out more. She’s just about the only member of my family . . . hell, nearly the only person, I have contact with anymore.

But to be honest, I haven’t been listening for the past ten minutes, though I should be. I need this sales pitch to be a hit with potential customers. Rising taxes on my fifty acres of land have been brutal, and if I want to hang onto my mountaintop paradise without dipping into my savings, I need to raise some cash.

Luckily, there’s an extra little cabin on the property that will make a great seasonal Airbnb rental to help pay the bills. I won’t even need to do any face-to-face contact with guests. I can hire a cleaning person when I need it, or just clean it when they’re not around. But I’m not the marketing genius she is, so I need Carlotta to come up with the perfect vision . . . with as little input from me as possible.

I’m not the creative type, but give me an axe and I’ll impress anyone with how fast I can send a tree crashing down before I lug it through the woods to turn it into firewood.

Carlotta continues to glare daggers at me as the silence drags out. “Well?” she finally says. “I’m waiting!”

I scratch at my beard, reminding myself I need to trim it. “Sure, I have,” I finally say. “I’ve been paying attention.”

Carlotta huffs, unconvinced. “Then what did I say?”

I think for a moment and say an approximation of what I think I heard. “Something about twinkling stars and gorgeous bears. And maybe crisp apples, but I don’t know where you got that shit from.”

Carlotta snorts in disgust. “See, that’s my point exactly!” she says, ignoring her laptop to stare at me. Before I know it, she’s slipped off into one of her epic rants about how I’m an inconsiderate, ‘grunty’ bastard who might as well be a caveman. She gets out of her chair, stomping back and forth and waving her arms around as she explains all of my shortcomings, behavioral, physical, and maybe genetic, in excruciating detail. It’d hurt if I still had feelings, or if they weren’t all things I’ve heard before. Reality is . . . she’s right, though, so not much I can do but let her get it all off her chest. “ . . .always so rude. I’m here to do you a favor and you don’t even have the decency to pay attention!”

I let her irritation run its course before replying, knowing if I don’t, I run the risk of it starting all over again. “I was thinking, and really, there’s not much I can offer. If you think it’s good, it’s good. I trust you and your skills.”

It’s about as much of an apology as she’ll get out of me, especially after her little tirade. Carlotta shakes her head, crossing her arms and giving me the stink-eye. “If I could fight a man . . .”

I’m barely able to contain my grin at the image of her tiny fists flailing at me as I hold her back with a single finger to her forehead. “Listen, what you have sounds about right. Make it official.”

Carlotta throws her hands up in defeat, snapping her laptop shut and climbing to her feet. “I know you’re just saying that to get rid of me, but fine. I’ll get the brochure printed and sent out to all the local businesses as soon as possible and finalize the online ad so it’s live. I’ll help, though you don’t deserve it.”

I rise out of my chair, towering over Carlotta. She doesn’t mean it. She knows why I live the way I do, even if she doesn’t quite approve. “You do that. I’m sure it will get us some traffic.”

It’s not quite a compliment, but close enough, especially when partnered with my telling her she’s got good skills that I trust. I hand pleasantries like that out about as often as the Bills win the Super Bowl. But truth is, I’m amazed she puts up with my ass at all. Most of the world, and most of my family, stopped trying years back.

Carlotta glares up at me for a moment before her expression softens and she lets out a soft sigh. “Look, I’m sorry, Aubrey. You know I didn’t mean to go off on you like that. It’s just that I’m worried about you. Everyone is. You’ve moved up here, practically become a recluse, and haven’t talked to your parents in years. You know your mother misses you terribly, right?”

I cross my arms over my chest, jutting my jaw. Carlotta never misses the opportunity to bring that little fact up whenever she’s here. Seeing as how she’s the only person I’ve let into my life lately, I don’t necessarily blame her for trying to get messages through to me on others’ behalf.

It’s never worked though. Maybe it will change in the future, but for now, the door is closed. Carlotta doesn’t understand the whole picture, even though she’s probably seen a side of it.

“Anything else?” I grunt stonily.

Carlotta stares at me for a moment before looking all around, stopping at the logs I keep stored on this side of the cabin. “Yeah, how about getting someone in here to help you keep this place tidy? Or better yet, get a girlfriend? It has be lonely up here all by yourself.”

The latter question is one she also brings up, and one I have no intention of answering.

“For your second question, none of your business. As for your first,” I reply, hooking a thumb at the broom against the wall that I just used yesterday, “you’re welcome to help yourself to sweeping and mopping.” My voice is hard, dismissive even to my ears.

I fully expect Carlotta to storm out, but she just shakes her head, looking up at me worriedly. “I’m just going to pretend you didn’t say that.” She leans in closer, her piercing green eyes filled with concern. “In all seriousness, I think it is my business. You can’t stay alone forever, Aubrey. You really need to find someone. At least a damn friend. I can’t even imagine what it must be like for you.”

“I’m fine. It’s just the way I like it,” I say stubbornly, refusing to budge. Carlotta sure is pushing the envelope more than usual today. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she wants to give me a hug, and I hug about as often as I compliment. “You needn’t worry about me.”

Carlotta bites her lower lip and then her voice drops low. “I know you’re still hurting over . . .” She stops short of bringing up a name that we both avoid saying, “but it’s been ten years now. You’ve got to start moving on. You don’t have to keep torturing yourself like this. He wouldn’t want you to.”

I keep my stone-faced expression, silent and imposing, not letting Carlotta in on the emotions roiling beneath the surface. Instead, I nonchalantly nod at the door. “I’d invite you to stay for dinner, but it seemed you wanted to leave?” It’s more order than question and works exactly the way I wanted it to.

Anger flashes in her eyes, and she steps back, turning on a heel. “Fine, be that way. I’ll have the proofs to you by tonight.”

Snatching her laptop and bag from the table, she leaves. For a few moments, I hear muffled cursing and then the roar of an ATV engine and the sound of tires rolling over snow and gravel as she drives off.

After she’s gone, my stony demeanor crumbles a little and my shoulders slump. I usually like Carlotta’s visits, and she’s right about a little human interaction being a good thing for me. But only a little, and on my terms. I didn’t mean to piss her off, but I wasn’t about to let her into that side of my brain either. Usually, she knows not to push me, but today, she was bolder than usual.

She’ll get over it.

Truth is, I ran Carlotta off for hitting my sore spot. Her only fault lay in reminding me of what I don’t have . . . and might possibly miss. I’m stubborn as a mule, but even I can see that maybe it’s time to test the waters a little bit.

Living up here in the mountains, though, I wouldn’t know the first place to start. Hell, maybe this Airbnb idea might be that first step. I could actually say hello to someone every now and then. Work on my terrible fucking social skills.

“Carlotta’s right,” I mutter as I realize grunting ‘good morning’ isn’t exactly rejoining the world. I was just too prideful and stubborn to admit it in her presence.

Looking around the cabin, it’s cozy enough, with caramel hardwood floors and a stone fireplace in the center of the living room. I laid that fireplace with my bare hands, picking the rocks out of the land surrounding my cabin and hauling them in a pack all the way here. It’s some piece of work. But the whole place is more functional and minimal than inviting. It looks like exactly what it is . . . a mountain man bachelor pad with no heart, no softness.

Beyond the cleaning, the connection with someone Carlotta talked about would probably do me even more good.

Having a woman around probably would make life easier.

But I haven’t been with anyone in a long time . . . and I’m practically a caveman these days. I don’t need Carlotta to tell me that.

It’s been a while since I’ve had a woman. And I’d be lying to myself if I said I wasn’t as horny as a bull that’s been caged up in a pen. There’s only so much ‘self love’ you can do before you’re frustrated for something more.

But what would happen if I actually started dating and let the caged beast within me free? I’m almost afraid to find out.

Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound comes from outside, and the pitter patter of furry feet breaks me out of my reverie. The wooden dog door I put in last winter swings in, and I look into the piercing grey-blue eyes of my only companion, Rex, a Siberian husky that’s been with me since moving to Bear Mountain.

If dogs are a man’s best friend, then Rex is the closest thing to a soulmate that I’ve had with a non-human. I’ve raised him from a puppy, taking him from Doc Jones, the vet in town, when Rex was abandoned by his owners. He’s always by my side whenever I need him and has proven himself to be of great use, helping me do chores around the property. If anything, he scares the shit out of local bears.

Rex stands in the short entrance hallway, gazing at me, obediently waiting for permission to come all the way in, though I don’t mind where he goes. He’s my buddy. I snap my fingers and he trots up to me, sitting right at my feet as I squat down, rubbing him behind the ears.

“You hear that conversation between me and Car, boy?” I ask him, finding his secret spot behind his left ear that makes his tail wag extra-fast. “She thinks I need a woman around here to keep things straight. What do you think about that?”

Rex tilts his head to the side, looking curious.

I chuckle at his expression, shaking my head as I walk over to the calendar I use to keep up with my logging schedule. “Yeah, I think she’s crazy too.”

I quickly scan the jobs I have planned for the rest of today. It’s not too much, just an old pine that could fall across the trail off my property in the next snow, but it involves some tedious chopping. Fuck chainsaws. I do this right. But if I want to be done by sunset, I need to start now.

I walk over and grab my favorite axe, an exquisite workhorse with a hickory handle and a hardened steel blade. I’m actually relishing the prospect of a hard afternoon of work. It’ll allow me to forget my problems.

At least I hope.

“Come on, boy,” I tell Rex, who obediently pads to my side as I shoulder my axe and begin gathering my gear. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

I walk back into the cabin covered in sweat, an iron ache running down my back between my shoulder blades from an afternoon’s labor, my booted feet clunking across the hardwood floor. Rex obediently pads in behind me, panting, and drops down on his worn and tattered dog bed.

Grinning at him, I fill his water bowl at the kitchen sink and place it in front of him. I watch him lap up the liquid like it’s the last drink he’ll ever have.

“That’s a good boy,” I tell him. “You act like you’ve been running a marathon in the desert.”

Grabbing a cold beer out of the fridge, I sit back in my big chair and prop my feet up onto the table, letting out a weary sigh.

“We made good progress today, Rex,” I say, looking out the front window. The sun is just now dipping into the horizon, and the surrounding trees and land are bathed in tones of yellow and orange. It’s a picturesque scene and the reason I chose here, along with the peace and quiet.

But wouldn’t it be better to share the sunsets with someone? the annoying voice in my mind whispers.

I shove the voice to the back edges of my mind, irritated. But it reminds me of something.

Carlotta was supposed to be sending me the final brochure.

I take several more chugs of my beer before getting out my laptop. Besides going down into town for the food I can’t get my hands on out here, this cranky old thing is my only link to the outside world. I use it to keep current with world affairs and to handle my limited business matters.

Ironically, an email from Carlotta is the first thing that pops up on my screen.

Dear Stubborn Pain In My Ass,

Aww . . . and here I was thinking she didn’t care.

Here is the brochure in its entirety. I hope it fits your liking, but even if it doesn’t . . . too late. Using my judgement and your lack of input, I’ve decided that it conveys the vibe we want perfectly and have gone through with a final version. The online profile’s updated, and the order is at the printers.

I should pick up the hard copies by week’s end and then I’ll get them all sent out. I’ve included my name and number on the brochure since you said you wanted me to handle all inquiries for booking. By the way, I’m taking a cut from that, so there!

In the meantime, I’ve included a digital copy that's specifically formatted for email. So if you have any friends who might be interested in a vacation or people who can help you pass it around to get the word out, feel free to share.

Friends? She is being optimistic, isn’t she?

By the way, I’m not mad at you for being an ass today. I recognize it’s a defense mechanism and I was skating on a touchy subject. I’m sorry. I’m just worried about your wellbeing. I hope you understand.

Love,

Car

I read her letter again before opening the attached document. I have to give the girl a salute with my beer, so I do, lifting my can toward the screen. It’s gorgeous, with professional pictures of the rental cabin and the surrounding landscape laid out in a neat collage intertwined with text. There’s even a link to a YouTube video, a two-minute overview that Carlotta narrated herself.

There’s no way I could have come up with something like this, and it proves I made the right decision in hiring Carlotta to handle the matter.

Still, I look over the finished product several times, looking for any mistakes she might’ve missed.

One picture in the collage, one that I was adamant that Carlotta include, keeps popping out at me. It’s an area I used to frequent a long time ago and one of the reasons I bought the property with the inheritance my grandmother left me.

It’s a nighttime shot of a small lake that leads off into a quiet cove, the stars twinkling above. It’s a romantic scene if there ever was one.

Seeing it brings back memories, memories I’ve tried to keep buried. Of the last time I felt romantic. Of the guy I used to be. Of her . . .

Ana Tucker.

Even after all this time, my heart skips a little at the mere thought of her. I don’t know why. She probably doesn’t even remember who I am. Even if she does, considering what I did, she probably hates my guts.

Unable to resist the melodramatic curiosity, I bring up Google and type her name in the search bar. I hover the mouse pointer over the search button for a moment, filled with indecision. I’ve never dared search her name before, making a pact with myself to forget her. That’s easier if I don’t know anything about her.

But after the visit with Carlotta today, and staring at the romantic lake image, I’m feeling a bit vulnerable.

Don’t do it. Don’t do it.

My mind goes through a million and one reasons it isn’t a good idea to search Anabelle. The biggest reason, of course, is that she’s probably married and has at least one kid that she’s proudly showing off all over social media.

I couldn’t handle that. In fact, even thinking of the possibility makes the dark clouds start to push in again and makes my decision easy.

Tapping my touchpad, I close the tab and shut down my laptop.

I’ll leave the memory of Ana Tucker in the past where it belongs since we’ll never be.