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Jake’s arthritis got bad a year or two ago.” She turned toward the kitchen. “Old Man! Does Jake Black’s cabin have a working kitchen?”
    “Of course it does, woman, you think Alice woulda let him clean and cook the fish up at the house? Or that she wanted our smelly selves in her kitchen three times a day during our trips?” Maggie wondered why no one had mentioned the empty fishing cabin sooner, which she assumed was in the forest on the Black side of the property line.
    “You eat your fries, sweetie, and I’ll go give Alice a call.”
    As the sun fell below the tree line that evening, Maggie was busy sweeping roughly two years’ worth of dust out the front door of the small cabin that smelled of fish, Old Spice, and liniment.

Chapter Seven
    Maggie said goodbye to the wolf only a few feet from the front door of the cabin where he’d walked her before leaping across the stream and disappearing into the trees. She could picture him, speeding through the forest, a blurry streak of gray, moving eloquently through the wilderness, and she allowed herself a second of envy before going inside to stuff her new swimsuit into her oversized shoulder bag. She took a quick second to access her face in the mirror hanging crookedly over the kitchen sink. She looked like she’d been up most of the night, and several before that. She was going to have to adjust her routine; she needed more sleep.
    She quietly took stock of the small cabin, which reminded her fondly of her first apartment. The furniture was mismatched and patched, probably before it was even brought out to the cabin. After sitting vacant for nearly two years it had taken longer for the water to run clear than it had to clean up the place. She was totally enamored with the whole of it.
    Maggie hiked out to where her car was parked. Ironically enough it was where she’d been parking all this time. Years ago Jake Black had cut out the deep shoulder so his fishing buddies could get to and from the cabin without having to drive up to the main house. This allowed Maggie a certain level of discreet privacy unlike what she’d grown accustomed to at the inn.
    When she pulled into the drive outside of Aidan’s, the comforting mix of McCartney and Lennon spilled out of the open windows. She smiled approvingly. She couldn’t fault a man who listened to the Beatles. She knocked on the door and had to wait only a minute until Aidan was standing there opening the door to her.
    “Good morning.”
    “Good morning, Maggie. Come on in.” He leaned back to let her pass and skimmed his lips across her temple. “I hope you’re hungry.”
    You have no idea, she thought to herself, but planted her tongue in her cheek and told him, “Starved. What smells so good?”
    “Breakfast.” He smiled at the droll look she gave him. “Specifically, bacon, home fries, and biscuits. I’ve got to get the omelets on, is Spanish okay with you?” When she nodded, he disappeared deeper into the house and hollered back, “Feel free to snoop all you like.”
    Maggie snickered as she strolled through the spacious room — she would’ve whether he’d told her she could or not.
Criminy, I bet the whole cabin would fit in this one room.
The living room was beautifully furnished; masculine without seeming macho or pretentious; it felt comfortable and lived in. She liked it. She wandered into the next room, which logic dictated should have been the dining room, especially since it was where Aidan had disappeared to, but instead it was an efficient and well-appointed home office. Following the natural flow of the house, she ended up in an eat-in kitchen almost the same size as the living room. “Your home is amazing,” she told him, scooting up onto one of many counters.
    “Thank you.” She watched him beat eggs and peppers together. He wore only swim trunks, the traditional sort, which made her smile. His body could easily pull off a modern European bathing suit. Her eyes skimmed from his