Wayward Secrets: The Raven Brothers of Fallen Mountain Read online

  "No, no, I'm fine. So um… do you know where the outfitter place is?"

  "Raven Brothers Outfitters and Tours," he replies, "I know it. It's off the beaten track, and that's saying something for Fallen Mountain. You sure that's where you really want to head to? There's a good B&B in town, right on the main street. Real cute. Way more your style. They've got this real adorable cat that sits down in the lobby, I swear to god it's older than me-" His words dry up in a low laugh.

  I try not to flinch.

  "Cats don't really like me," I say, which isn't a lie. Maybe they can smell my fear, or something, but for as long as I can remember, they've always growled at me when I've come close. Even when I have bits of smoked salmon in my hands for them. Ungrateful wretches. "And really, Lacey's waiting for me."

  "Lacey?"

  "You gonna repeat everything I say as a question?" I ask and that startles another laugh out of him.

  "Oh no," he says, "she's just… Lacey's outta town. Sorry about that. She didn't email you, I'm guessing?" My heart drops at the news. His pupil slides to the corner of his eye so he can keep his face forward but still look at me.

  "You know her?" I ask, surprised, but I shouldn't be. It's a smallish town. And he seems like a friendly guy. The kind that's always welcome in the local bar, buying his round and never grifting. There's gotta be the other people at Raven Brothers, the actual guides. They'll have info on Lacey, and on the cabin. And I've got the emails from her confirming I'm coming, and that the place will be ready for me.

  "Yeah," his voice grows quiet. "But yeah… I think maybe it's better if I drop you off at the B&B. For now. There's a motel too, but uh, on the edge of town it's kinda… not the place you wanna be. And Lena cooks up a great breakfast at the Gato, even if you don't like cats."

  "I never said I didn't like them. I said they don't like me," I protest, but whatever else I'm going to say dies in my throat as we come to the crest of a hill, and the woods break for a moment, the world spilling forward and down. Mountains emerge on either side of us, and I shift forward in my seat.

  There it is. Fallen Mountain, the actual mountain, in the distance, imposing and grand, rising high above a misty lake that stretches as far as I can see, steel-gray waters looking icy-cold and forbidding. Between us and the lake is the town that gets its name from the big hunk of rock towering over everything around. It's all so eye-wateringly beautiful. It's lonely just like me. It's rough and raw, and perfect.

  The breath leaves my lungs for a very different reason than normal.

  My name is Cordelia Stone, and I want to die somewhere pretty.

  And Fallen Mountain is just the place.

  2

  Cordelia

  “Thanks,” I say as Grady sets my suitcase down for me. I glance up at the bed and breakfast. The front yard is small, as it sits back from the main street in Fallen Mountain just by about ten feet or so. There’s a purple-painted picket fence bordering it, with a host of whirly-gig rainbow sun catchers and windmills in the garden. The grass grows thick around them. It’s probably, certainly, a nightmare to mow, but it’s cheerful. “Are you sure-”

  He glances at me, his eyes serious.

  “From what I know, Lacey’s outta town, and the Raven Brothers are… well, it’s better you call first to let them know you’re coming, right?” He cocks his head and smiles before reaching over to clap me on the shoulder. It’s familiar, his touch warm through my clothes. “Lena and Val will take care of you.”

  The Gray Gato B&B is an old sugar-spun Victorian, with a rickety-looking front porch that’s been painted so many times the spindles on the guardrail look fat. The paned windows are clean, though, and shine gold from within against the falling dusk around us.

  I’m not sure how much it will cost to stay the night, but hopefully, I can get ahold of someone at Raven’s tomorrow, or maybe Lacey will call me back if I send her an email with my phone number. I sold everything when I left Twocities, but old furniture doesn’t get much these days, and I’ve got enough ready cash to cover my expenses for a few more months.

  It’s all I’m going to need, really.

  “Thanks again.” I wave to Grady as he hops back into his truck, the headlights popping on as the engine growls to life. He watches me from inside, shooting me another one of those killer grins, and salutes me one-handed.

  Down the street, and up it, I see the quaint storefronts I had expected to see when my driver from earlier had woken me up out of my hazy snooze in the middle of nowhere.

  The doors are all shut, and the lights are out, though, except for one place way down at the end that looks like a coffee shop.

  The front door of the Gato opens, and the screen door too, with a screeeeee. I turn around. A plump woman, in her late thirties, half-apron tied around her hips, stands there. Her blonde hair is cropped close to her head, smooth and shining. She’s frowning as Grady drives off, before her gaze lands on me, and her lips turn upward.

  “Hello there,” she says, “we weren’t expecting a guest tonight.”

  “Grady said the hotel wasn’t worth looking at, so uh, I’m sorry, but do you have any rooms?” I feel so folded down and exhausted, but other than writing a panicked email to Lacey, there’s really not much for me to do. It’s this or the-

  “The motel,” she corrects me gently, as she comes down the steps, walking through the garden and opening the gate. “Come on in. And Grady’s right, it’s not the kind of place you want to find yourself in if you have a choice. Here-” She grabs my suitcase and starts pulling it along. I adjust my backpack and follow her, relief spreading from my chest all the way to my fingertips. “I hope you like roast beef stew,” she says over her shoulder. “Any allergies?”

  “Uh, no, no.” The steps creak underfoot, but we’re inside in another moment, and the soft, warm scent of cooking washes over me. The wood floors are painted a gentle sky blue, and the entryway feels cozy, a small bench for sitting on off to my right, and stairs leading upwards right in front of me. I pause for a moment. The stairs are a bookshelf, with each step recessed so that there’s room for books underneath it.

  It’s the kind of thing I’d have wanted when I was younger, before the reality that I’d never own my own house sank in. That I wouldn’t have time to read that many books.

  “Do you prefer upstairs or main floor? Oh, I’m sorry, I’m Lena,” she says as she turns to me, “and you look like you could use a good meal. Val, honey!” She calls over her shoulder down the hall. A swinging door pushes open, a formerly-dark-haired, dark-skinned woman sticking her head out. Her hair is bleached and dyed flamingo pink, and pulled up into a crowning braid that encircles her head. Her roots are still dark, though.

  “So you brought us a stray?” She asks, but she’s smiling at me, in a half-apron of her own over jeans and a loose t-shirt that slips down one shoulder. She’s not wearing a bra, not that she needs one. She’s thinner than me, all right angles and sharp collarbones. She dusts her hands on her apron and walks forward. “Gato will be happy.”

  “Who’s Gato?” I ask, just a low hissing growl fills the hallway. I turn just in time to yelp and jump to the side as a gray fuzzy cat with a smooshed face flings itself at me.

  “Gato!” Lena cries out, reaching down to grab him. He mrrrrooooowls at the top of his lungs and digs into the hardwood floor, racing down the hall and nearly knocking Val over. She laughs, catching herself on the wood-paneled wall.

  “Holy shit,” she says, as Lena turns to me with wide, brown eyes.

  “I’m so sorry, he’s not like that, normally, he likes everybody-”

  “It’s fine,” I reassure her. They’re being nice enough to put me up as a last minute guest. I’m not even mad. I should’ve known. This place is called the Gray Gato and Grady had mentioned it. It figures they’d have a gray cat as their mascot living with them. “Cats and me just… I think I smell funny to them or something.”

  “Are you allergic?” Val asks, as she comes up and holds o
ut a hand. “Let me have your bag. We’ll put you in the rose room. Lena, stop fussing, and leave the bag, your buns are going to burn.” Lena huffs and then brushes past Val, disappearing through the swinging door and into the kitchen, the source of those belly-filling scents of cooking. “Right through here.”

  Val leads me down the hall, past the kitchen. She points out the half-bath she says is for everyone to use, and then shows me into my room.

  It’s not rose-colored like I’d anticipated, but glossy white, all over.

  “You’ve got a private bathroom through there, with a bathtub,” she says pointing at one door as she sets my suitcase down and tucks it into a tiny closet for me. The bed is gigantic, and looks like it could fit four of me, covered all over in white crisp linens begging to be jumped into. The roses come from the view, I realize. A large picture window looks out onto the back garden, with a giant trellis crawling with roses in a riot of pinks, yellows, and oranges. I can practically smell them from inside.

  “There’s no TV,” she apologizes, “but there’s one in the den you’re welcome to use if you like.”

  “It’s fine, I’m not into much watching anyway.” I prefer to read. It’s better, easier, to lose myself in a book for a few hours, submerging my entire being in a story, than to face reality. And TV is too easily tuned out from watching.

  Val smiles at me, her dark eyes glinting in the light of the room.

  “Well, why don’t you rest for a few. We’ll ring the dinner bell when food’s on. We usually have more people but-” She shrugs. “It’s just you and us tonight.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I say as she slips out of the room, shutting the door behind her. I can hear her scolding Gato out in the hall, for being unwelcoming to guests. He meows defiantly, and she offers him a saucer of cream. Their voices disappear into the kitchen. I sit on the edge of the bed and look out at the garden with a sigh.

  I need to get in touch with Lacey.

  Setting my bag on the bed, I pull out my phone to send her an email, and the sleeve of papers that I’d printed about my trip. My relocation, really.

  Hey Lacey,

  I’m in town, but was told you are away? Please let me know if I should just head over tomorrow. I’m staying at Gray Gato tonight.

  Thanks

  Cordelia.

  I’m trying not to be irritated, because I wish she’d just told me that she was going away so we could make other arrangements. But putting off my move-in for a night isn’t that big a deal. I can manage. And Val and Lena seem really nice.

  The garden is beckoning to me, the sun having set past the mountains but still lighting the sky. Long shadows creep along the grass, a herbal garden in one corner, and vegetables growing sturdily in the other. A hammock swings between two small trees, probably crabapple or cherry from the looks of them. It looks like the perfect place to curl up in on a sunny day, with a book in hand.

  The dinner bell rings from down the hall and I haven’t even washed my face off yet. I need to get the grime of sitting in that horrible man’s car off of my skin. There’s plush towels in the bathroom, and to my delight, a huge claw-foot bathtub, it’s porcelain gleaming. I am so going to have a long soak tonight after I eat. The heat will sink into my bones, and maybe I can even steal a book from the staircase.

  It’s a bright spot in a sort of miserable day. And Lena and Val seem nice. I need to ask them how much the lodging fee is for the night.

  Face-cleaned and a new t-shirt on under my hoodie, I slip into the dining room. The table matches the house, rickety, victorian, and polished so much that I swear some of the wooden filigrees are translucent from age. It’s set with real cloth napkins, though, and there’s a basket of bread in the middle of the table, waiting to be slathered with thick butter. A bowl of white cheese, long cut fingers is tempting me too.

  “That’s better, it’s nice to have three for dinner,” Lena says as Val backs out of the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind her, a pot in her oven-mitt covered hands. Lena passes me a deep soup bowl, and Val portions out some beef stew for me. My stomach rumbles. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until now that I’m sitting down. I reach for bread, the savory scent of beef rising to greet me.

  “We like to dine,” Val says an explanation, although she looks like she hasn’t eaten a good meal in a long time. She folds herself down to a large bowl of stew though, and pulls two pieces of bread off for herself.

  “Try the cheese, it’s fantastic. Local dairy farmer.” Lena pushes the bowl towards me, grabbing a spear of cheese for herself. I take one, and bite into it. It’s creamy, and buttery, and sharp all at the same time. Flavor explodes on my tongue and it gives me a tight little shiver at the back of my throat.

  “Bern called me,” Val says, “he’s lost another sheep just last weekend.” Lena frowns, worry lines creasing between her eyes.

  “That’s what, the fifth one this month?”

  Val makes a noise of quiet agreement. My spoon scrapes the bottom of the bowl, pulling up from the deep with a hunk of beef that’s just waiting to be consumed.

  “So you’re from Twocities I’m guessing?” Val turns to me, spreading butter on one slice of bread. Lena’s making a strong headway through hers already, and reaching for a second as we talk.

  “Yeah. I felt… well, it was time for a change.” I don’t want our meal to become a pity-party. And they barely know me. They’re nice enough women, I can tell, friendly and open-faced with warm hearts, but they don’t need to know. “So I saw this listing online, for a receptionist job at Raven Brothers, that came with a cabin as part of the payment for the work… and I jumped on it.”

  Lena glances at me, and then over at Val.

  “Raven Brothers?” She asks, like that’s weird. A cold spot forms in my belly. Why does everyone keep acting weird about them? I gulp down a spoonful of soup, trying to warm myself up.

  “Lena?” Val asks, staring at the other woman. "What're you thinking?" Lena shakes her head.

  “That’s unusual. I woulda thought he’d have taken you right to the cabin then,” she comments, stirring her stew with one spoon. I glance at her, and she presses her lips together. “That was Grady. The one who dropped you off here. He’s one of the Ravens.”

  3

  Grady

  "Why do you smell like the city?" Kyron asks, startling me as I enter the great-room. Kyron had been sleeping, or so I thought, on the long couch under the front window. A newspaper covers his face, boots up on the cushions, his plaid shirt unbuttoned over an old, worn, and graying tank. He's not asleep, though, and his nose is as sharp as ever.

  "That'd be because I'm the one who drew the short straw and went for supplies," I reply with a roll of my eyes. "Now, you wanna get up, or you wanna lay there like a swamp rat?" Kyron pulls the papers from over his head and blinks at me, his short brown hair messy. It's messy long. It's messy short. I don't blame him for bitching that he's gonna razor it off all the time.

  Beau makes him keep it, though. We get enough female tourists in, and they all seem to like Kyron better when he's got hair.

  "You get everything on the list?" Kyron follows me out to the truck and hops in the back from the side of it, the bed of the truck thudding hard when he lands.

  "You coulda squashed the croissants," I growl at him and he smirks at me, bending down to pick up the box of them.

  "I could smell 'em." He's unrepentant and cracks it open right then and there, to stuff a whole one in his mouth.

  "Give me that, idiot. Those are for guests." I hold out my hand for the box and he passes it down to me. The wheelbarrow we use is right beside where I parked, and he tosses things down to me as I fill it up. It's easier than hand-bombing everything into the house one by one. Kyron sits on the truck bed's sidewall as I run the wheelbarrow up the small ramp of our front deck.

  The cabin is, was, older than dirt when we took it over three years ago, and it had been a single-room place, no better than a shack. We spent the better par
t six months fixing it up and building out the back, giving us each our own room to sleep in, a den for private relaxing, and a big bathroom too. I like to run down to the lake to wash off, but that's not what 'normal' people do, and Kyron can be a bit of a little bitch when it comes to his grooming, so the bathroom with a walk-in rain shower was a must. We even put in a hot tub out back, that's wood-fired. The whole place runs on our muscle, splitting logs to burn up in Big Bertha, our wood stove that heats the house and the storefront that doubles as a great-room.

  I'll never forget the nights we spent sleeping under the rotted-out roof, seeing the stars between the slats. Those days are long gone, and while I'm at home in the deep woods as any wild mammal, but I gotta admit I prefer a bed with a ton of blankets and pillows. I'm done with sleeping rough unless it's by choice.

  "Where's Beau?" I call over my shoulder as I start loading things into the cabin's front room. Kyron is digging through stuff in the back of the truck, and I know he's going to be into the food if I don't hustle ass.

  "Tracking," Kyron says as he comes up behind me, a few packages of toilet paper in his arms. "What, you buy out the wholesaler?"

  "Well," I pause as the brush at the edge of the clearing our cabins sit in rustle. Beau emerges, dirt smeared on his face, and his boots muddy. I raise an eyebrow at him. He nods at me, before going right to the truck without a word. "Fill this up," I say to Kyron, pointing to the empty wheelbarrow.

  I've got to tell the guys at some point that trouble's on the horizon but that can come later. Maybe after we eat. Now I'm just grateful I bought extras when I went into town. If that Cordelia girl is for real, then she's expecting to stay in our guest cabin, out toward the back of the property. That's not a big deal to me, because we haven't had anyone pay to stay in it for over six months… but I know Beau's not going to like it. Kyron'll be indifferent because that's Kyron. I'm wishing more than ever that I'd checked what Lacey was posting on our website before I'd just waved my hand at her and told her to do whatever she wanted.