The Staying Kind

THE STAYING KIND

CERIAN HEBERT

SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

New York

THE STAYING KIND

Copyright©2016

CERIAN HEBERT

Cover Design by Wren Taylor

This book is a work of fiction.  The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Published in the United States of America by

Soul Mate Publishing

P.O. Box 24

Macedon, New York, 14502

ISBN: 978-1-68291-153-2

www.SoulMatePublishing.com

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

To all my horsey pals who I grew up with.

The ones who I bummed around on trails with,

and the ones who helped me to become

the best rider I could be.

Acknowledgements

There are so many people who have helped me get to this point. First I have to thank my wonderful editor, Char, who has been patient (at least I hope) with me in this process to make my stories ready for the world. I don’t know what I’d do without her or her purple pal, Kevin.  And thanks to the talented Wren Taylor who makes gorgeous covers I’m so proud to show off.

Thanks to the fabulous ladies at the New Hampshire Romance Writers of America who have given me so much support since I joined them. Every time I’m with them I feel inspired to do more.

And last, but certainly not least my family who have always believed in me and given me the time—a lot of time—to let me do what I’ve always loved.

Chapter 1

Nothing smelled sweeter than the musty leaves and twigs that crackled under Travis Lithgow’s boots. Although his trail had long since become overgrown, he knew these woods like the back of his hand and it would only be a matter of minutes before his camp came into view. Right now the sun through the autumn leaves above cast everything in an orange and rust glow, camouflaging the old place.

He hiked with only a backpack and sleeping bag. In a month or so when he returned he planned on having a rifle as well. Maybe he’d invite his buddy Lenny to join in for a guys’ weekend out, reminiscent of the happier days before Afghanistan. Before losing Laura. For now, tramping through the woods by himself rejuvenated him. He savored the cool October breeze that slipped its way through the tangle of branches overhead, trekking out to the cabin that had been his dad’s, and before that, his grandfather’s.

This weekend his daughter, Jessa, was staying with a friend, and Travis wanted,
needed
to get out to the cabin
.
He could’ve taken the easier, if not longer way and drive around to the old logging trail, but this half-mile hike from his farmhouse through the woods satisfied his soul. He’d taken this trail all his life, from the first time his dad brought him out to the cabin when he wasn’t more than three years old. By the time he turned five he knew the route by heart. Every blueberry bush, every fallen log.

There’d been something about the cabin when he was a boy, almost as if it became a mythical place, his fantasy and adventure land. They’d been staying at the cabin the first time he’d shot a buck. The first time he drank a beer. He even lost his virginity down there, he and Laura, two teens who were more nervous about being caught than enjoying the ultimate taboo. After that, they forgot to be scared and the cabin became their rendezvous.

He was sure Jessa had been conceived in the cabin.

Better times. Better memories, far easier to deal with than the other, more powerful ones he’d escaped.

At any given moment, Travis could feel the phantom weight on his Army-issue pack bearing down on his shoulders, and the ever-present rifle in his grip wasn’t the hunting rifle his uncle had given him but the more dangerous weapon he carried in the streets of Kabul. Much too often he had to blink away the visions of what he had encountered day after day, then splash cold water on his face and walk outside to remind himself he was home.

He hoped to embed this weekend in his brain; the fact he was back in the woods of New Hampshire and not in the barren landscape of Afghanistan. He wanted those nightmares banished forever.

Trees gave way to the cabin, hunkering down in the small opening of pine and oak. It never changed. Never seemed to age, and always welcomed. The little building was as much home as the farmhouse. He felt the stress drain from his bones, from his muscles, like a heavy blanket he could finally shrug off. Travis paused and studied it.

Leaves overhead rustled in the breeze. Some fluttered down in a gentle swirl to create a vibrant carpet on the forest floor. In a week or so there’d be more on the ground than in the branches and in a month, when he’d return for the beginning of hunting season, the orange and yellow cast would be gone and the forest would be a blend of gray, brown and green. The warm air would be gone too, and in its place the breeze from above would nip. By then he’d have to bring some firewood down and make sure the chimney was up to code.

Travis continued on, anticipating the solitude. As he closed in on the cabin, he stopped short.

Something was wrong. He didn’t have to be any closer to know it had been broken into. The kitchen window stood about half way open, the faded blue curtain blowing in the breeze.

Slowly, Travis continued his approach, wary of everything around him. His hand touched the holster at his hip. The forest felt the same, no immediate threat lurked, still he couldn’t discount the fact he sensed something. Not necessarily threatening, but not anything he wanted to carelessly confront.

Instead of walking right into the clearing, he circled around, keeping in the cover of trees. Nothing in the air pointed to danger. He came out from behind the cabin and stepped onto the deck that surrounded two sides of the building. Then paused, listening to any sound from inside.

He glanced through the corner of the window. The interior was cast in a gray light. The afternoon sun didn’t penetrate into the living room. Nothing moved inside. Travis heard no life, except for the sounds from the forest.

He didn’t move, kept his attention on the window, not forgetting the surrounding forest. He’d learned caution during his tour in Afghanistan, and that would serve him well here. He sure didn’t think he’d have to use it in his own back yard.

As soon as he felt safe to go in, he sidled to the front door. Maybe the intruder had moved on. He examined the door. Not damaged. He figured someone had picked the lock. The door opened easily and he stepped quietly into the living room.

Nearly everything remained as he’d remembered it. Rustic, yet comfortable. His father had done some major renovations when he decided the cabin was too basic, too simple for his aging taste. Since Travis had been gone, his brother-in-law had come down a few times a year to do any necessary maintenance. He could have left the window open. Travis dismissed the idea immediately. An open window wouldn’t explain the front door.

With a cursory glance around the room, he noted nothing appeared to be out of place. In fact, things seemed too neat. Travis ran a finger along the bookshelf next to the door. Not a speck of dust. According to Ben, he hadn’t been to the cabin since June. There should be some dust. And the room smelled slightly floral instead of musty from being closed up for months.

“Hello?”

He didn’t expect an answer, and none came. The place appeared deserted. Still, he walked slowly through the room, searching any possible hiding place before proceeding to the kitchen.

More than the window had been tampered with in here. Next to the sink the dish drainer contained a plate, a cup, and eating utensils. Travis walked to the sink and picked up the sponge resting in a plastic margarine container. Wet.

Under his breath he swore and turned around. Another cup had been left on the table, this one with a small bouquet of flowers.

“What the hell?”

Someone had been living in his cabin. Or at least squatting. Not some thug. A thug wouldn’t decorate with flowers.

With less stealth, Travis left the kitchen and headed to the bedroom. Like the kitchen, the room was neat, with signs of occupation. A brush on the dresser, a magazine next to the bed.

This is ridiculous.
Travis left the bedroom and sat on the couch. The squatter obviously planned on returning.

He’d be here when they did.

Rio didn’t like walking down the logging trail after the sun had sunk below the trees. She couldn’t very well explain why she had to sneak through the woods to a home that didn’t belong to her. That wouldn’t look too good, and she wanted to stay put for as long as she could.

To accomplish this, she had to be sneaky, which meant not taking the main road from the farm to the cabin. It had been fine all summer long, but with October’s arrival, the dark came along a lot faster.

Walking down an old rutty, muddy road in near pitch black proved to be difficult under the best circumstances—if anything about this could be considered “best.” With her next paycheck she’d have to invest in a big flashlight.

Then again, by the time she received her next paycheck, she should leave. Normally she’d be heading for warmer places by now. Winter in New England wasn’t exactly ideal. With each passing day the colder weather crept closer and closer. It would be harder to travel when the snow started flying.

Besides, living in the cabin was like playing Russian Roulette. One of these days someone would discover her presence there. With hunting season nearly upon her, the chances of someone using the cabin increased daily. If she wasn’t careful she’d end up in a jail cell and while that would be a warm place to spend the winter, she didn’t want to give it a try.

In all her life and wanderings, it had been the one place she managed to avoid. Not once had she broken into someone’s home and squatted. Generally, she lived off either the generosity of the people she worked for, or in cheap motel rooms.

Next paycheck she’d buy a bus ticket for as far as she could. Texas, maybe. Someplace warm, definitely. She’d be happier somewhere warmer.

Right now she dug her hands inside the pockets of the old wool jacket she’d picked up a few days ago at a Salvation Army outlet, and trudged on down the dark, uneven road. The cabin came into sight, nestled in a small clearing about a hundred feet or so off the road.

She could see its inky silhouette against the backdrop of the forest, welcoming her home after a long day at work. In her jacket pocket she had a couple sandwiches Sadie Kerr had made for her, and a small carton of milk. It would have to do for dinner. And Sadie had also lent her a book to read so she could finally toss the old magazine she’d held onto for two months. How many times could she read about the glamorous and often shallow lives of the Hollywood crowd? Hollywood might as well have been on another planet.

She stayed because of Sadie Kerr. The old woman was a tough nut. Rio had grown attached to her over the past six months and she had to admit she hated to leave her. Not to mention the hard work satisfied her. This had been the first time she’d been around horses. Cows yes; horses, no. Florida would be a logical destination. Sadie had told her all about the horse shows down in Tampa and West Palm Beach. Someone down there might be willing to give her a job to see her through the winter.

Her next paycheck, she’d leave. And try not to worry about what Sadie would do to replace her. She never worried before, why start now?

The quiet night pressed down on the forest, the only sound coming from her steps on the dead leaves littering the wide path to the cabin. The cabin itself seemed even darker than before and Rio stopped several yards away from the porch. If only the place had some electricity. She had to depend on a lantern she’d picked up on her wanderings. Unfortunately, the lantern sat on the bookshelf on the other side of the door.

Something was wrong. Rio strained to see through the living room window. Though too dark to see much of anything, she had a feeling she wasn’t alone. That someone waited in there.

“Don’t be stupid,” she muttered. No one had been there since early summer. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling things were about to change. The realization she’d left traces of herself inside the cabin chilled her right down to the bone. She hadn’t left anything that could identify her and though she’d always been careful, someone would have no problem figuring out the cabin had been occupied.

She had to go in. She couldn’t stand outside and fill her head with all sorts of unpleasant scenarios. If someone was in there, wouldn’t some sort of light be on? If someone had discovered her presence, they would’ve gone for the cops. They wouldn’t be waiting inside to pounce on her.

Unfortunately she couldn’t be one hundred percent sure. There were plenty of people who would take matters into their own hands. Night hadn’t settled in quite yet and she could see enough to detect movement inside the cabin. Her heart shuddered when her fears were confirmed.

Even in the gray light she saw the shadowy figure move about the living room beyond the window. Whether he could see her, she wasn’t sure. She couldn’t take the chance the dark forest would hide her.

Rio didn’t feel afraid very often during the many years she’d spent on the road. She could’ve counted them on one hand. Not much could match what she’d gone through within the walls of her own house growing up. It had hardened her and prepared her for whatever she came across later in life. She wouldn’t thank her mother and her long parade of boyfriends for those life lessons.

Rio took a step backward and tucked her chin into her coat, hoping the less skin she showed the harder it would be to see her. She cursed under her breath. She’d been discovered and now the cabin wouldn’t be safe. She’d probably have to leave the few belongings she had behind. She thought of her backpack hiding under the bed and the few precious possessions it contained. What little money she had. Her birth certificate she stole when she ran away. Her small world was contained in her backpack.

Why on earth hadn’t she kept it with her when she went to work? She shouldn’t have left it behind. She’d become way too comfortable in the tiny cabin and forgot to be careful. Already she’d been here longer than she usually stayed in one place. The longer she remained, the more chance of being discovered. Evidently her time was up.

No, she wouldn’t leave them behind. She couldn’t retrieve them now. In a day or two she’d return for her stuff. If it hadn’t been discovered before then. For now, she’d have to sleep on the old sofa in the tack room at Sadie’s farm. She’d start work earlier the next morning.

She didn’t relish walking down the logging road again in near pitch black.

Travis stared out the window from the couch. He didn’t turn the light on. His vision adjusted to the darkness. Growing dusk had cast the forest in shadows that increased as night set in. Hours dragged by before he saw the figure at the edge of the logging trail.

He’d almost missed her, only spotting her when he’d gone to the kitchen for a drink of water. The figure was so small, he could hardly see her standing there. Had to be a female. He doubted a man would do something as feminine as decorating the kitchen with flowers.