Page 4 of Challenged By the Rugged Lumberjack

The crying stops abruptly. A moment later, the door cracks open, and her face appears in the gap. Even in the fading light, I can see the relief that washes over her features, quickly replaced by wariness.

"Josh. Hi." Her voice is carefully neutral. "Did we disturb you? I'm sorry—"

"No." I cut her off, uncomfortable with her apology. "I just... I wanted to check if you got the generator running."

She hesitates, then pushes the door open wider. The little boy—Mason, she'd called him—is balanced on her hip, his face tear-streaked and red. He regards me with solemn eyes, a grubby stuffed rabbit clutched to his chest.

"I tried," she says, and there's frustration in her voice now. "I really did. I found the shed and put in the gas, but it won't start. I've pulled that cord until my arm feels like it's going to fall off."

I nod, unsurprised. "Hargrove never maintains anything. When's the last time a tenant was in here?"

"The listing said it was recently renovated." There's a bitter edge to her laugh.

"Hargrove's idea of renovation is slapping on a coat of paint and calling it good."

The boy whimpers again, burying his face in his mother's neck. I notice she's shivering slightly in the cooling air.

"I can take a look at it," I hear myself say. "The generator."

She blinks, clearly surprised by the offer. "You don't have to do that."

"I know." The words come out harsher than I intend, and I see her withdraw slightly. I try again, aiming for a softer tone. "It's not a problem. Got my tools in the truck."

She steps back, allowing me to enter the cabin. It's even worse than I remembered—musty, with water stains on the ceiling and gaps in the floorboards where cold air seeps in. The kitchenette is decades out of date, and the woodstove sits cold and empty. No wonder the kid is crying. The place is freezing as the sun goes down.

"Show me the generator," I say, avoiding her eyes.

If I look at her too long in this dismal cabin, I might do something stupid like offer her my place instead. She leads me through the back door to the shed. The ancient generator sits like a rusted monument to neglect, exactly as I expected.

"You said you pulled the cord, right?" I ask, kneeling beside it.

She nods, shifting the boy to her other hip. He's watching me now, curiosity replacing some of his distress. "A million times. Nothing happens."

I examine the machine, quickly finding the problem. "Fuel line's cracked. Gas is leaking out before it reaches the engine." I glance up at her. "I've got parts back at my place. Won't take long to fix."

"Really?"

"Yeah." I stand, brushing dirt from my jeans. "But even if we get it running, you need heat. Woodstove work?"

"I don't know. I haven't tried it."

"Let's check."

Back inside, I examine the woodstove while she sets the boy down on the worn sofa. He immediately slides off and toddles over to me, keeping a cautious distance but watching my every move with wide eyes.

"Chimney's clear," I report, peering up the flue. "Damper works. You got wood?"

She shakes her head. "There's none inside. I saw some stacked against the shed, but..." She trails off, and I get it. She didn't want to leave her son alone to go gathering firewood in a strange place as darkness fell.

"I'll bring some in. And the tools for the generator."

I'm halfway to the door when a small voice stops me.

"Bear?"

I turn to see the little boy pointing at me, his expression serious. His mother looks mortified.

"Mason, no, that's not—"

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