Page 2 of Challenged By the Rugged Lumberjack
Nothing happens. I wait, counting my heartbeats. One. Two. Three.
Just as I'm about to turn and leave, I hear heavy footsteps inside. The door swings open, and I immediately take another step back.
The man filling the doorway is enormous. At least six-foot-three, with broad shoulders that strain against a flannel shirt rolled up to reveal forearms covered in tattoos. Dark hair, slightly too long, frames a face that hasn't seen a razor in days. His beard is thick but not wild, and beneath heavy brows, eyes the color of strong coffee regard me with suspicion.
"What?" The word comes out like a growl.
All my rehearsed questions evaporate. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. His scowl deepens, and I notice a smudge of what looks like sawdust across his cheek. Behind him, I catch a glimpse of a tidy interior, so at odds with his rough appearance.
"I—" I clear my throat. "I just moved in. Next door." I point vaguely in the direction of my cabin. "The electricity isn't working, and I was wondering if you knew—"
"There isn't any." His voice is deep, the words clipped.
I blink at him. "Excuse me?"
"No electricity. Not in that cabin."
"But the listing said utilities included."
His expression doesn't change. "Utilities means the well and the woodstove. Propane for the fridge and water heater."
I feel like I've been punched in the stomach. No electricity? How am I supposed to—? I must look as devastated as I feel, because something in his face shifts slightly.
"There's a generator," he adds, almost reluctantly. "In the shed behind your place. Probably needs gas."
Relief floods through me. "Oh. Thank you. I don't suppose you know where I could get some? Gas, I mean." I realize I haven't seen a gas station since turning off the main highway, twenty minutes ago.
He sighs, a sound of profound irritation. "I've got a can. Wait here."
Before I can respond, he disappears back into his cabin, leaving the door open. I stand awkwardly on his porch, taking in more details of his home through the doorway. It's sparse but organized. A large wooden table covered with papers. Bookshelves lined with what look like field guides and repair manuals. A pair of heavy boots by the door, neatly placed.
He reappears a moment later, carrying a red gas can. "This should be enough to get you through tonight. Town's fifteenminutes down the mountain. Bell's General has everything you need."
I reach for the gas can, but it's heavier than I expect.
"Thank you," I say. "I'm Elisa, by the way. Elisa Lowell."
He regards me for a long moment, as if debating whether to offer his name in return. Finally, he nods once. "Josh Carter."
"Nice to meet you, Josh." The words come out in a rush.
He doesn't return the sentiment. Instead, he gestures toward the gas can.
"Cap's tight, but don't tip it. Generator's simple. On/off switch and a pull cord, like a lawn mower."
I nod, trying to absorb the instructions. I've never operated a generator in my life.
"Is there... is there anything else I should know? About the cabin, I mean."
I don't know why I'm prolonging this interaction. There's something oddly comforting about this gruff man who seems to want nothing to do with me. No fake smiles, no hidden agendas.
Josh runs a hand through his dark hair, leaving it slightly mussed. "Nights get cold, even in summer. Don't let the woodstove go out completely. Bears sometimes get into the trash, so keep it in the shed until collection day. Thursdays."
"Bears?" My voice comes out as a squeak.
"They're more scared of you than you are of them."
I seriously doubt that.
