Her first glimpse of the site he’d chosen for the simple A-frame made her think Quinn was still in soldier mode. He’d set the cabin in the middle of an open meadow that was surrounded on all four sides by trees, with only one road in and out. In fact, the original homestead had been built in this same place nearly a hundred years before for essentially the same reason: distrust of the federal government in general. The first Walkers to live here had believed that if you couldn’t be found, you couldn’t be counted, and if you couldn’t be counted, then you were off their radar. That mind-set still lingered in some of the more remote areas of Rebel Ridge and the rest of the South. “Home sweet home,” Quinn said, as he pulled up to the cabin and parked. Mariah couldn’t quit staring. All it needed was some gingerbread on the eaves and snow on the roof, and it could pass for a fairy-tale cottage from a picture book. The deck was deep and wrapped around the cabin on three sides.
