Updated Apr 12, 2026 • ~8 min read
Chapter 13: Not Ready
Quinn
The rescue team arrives at three PM on day seven, and Quinn’s not ready.
Not ready to leave the cabin where she fell in love with Cole Hartford.
Not ready to face the reality of her job and the lawsuit and all the complications they’ve been avoiding.
Not ready to stop existing in this bubble where nothing matters except the two of them.
But ready or not, there’s a knock on the door and voices outside calling “Search and Rescue,” and Cole squeezes her hand once before getting up to let them in.
“Hartford? You folks okay in there?”
“We’re fine,” Cole says, opening the door to reveal two men in official gear who look relieved to find them alive. “Storm was pretty bad but we had supplies.”
The men—Tom and Jerry, which Quinn initially thinks is a joke but apparently isn’t—do a quick assessment, check them both over for signs of hypothermia or injury, and seem satisfied that they survived intact.
“You’re lucky Hartford knew about this cabin,” Tom says to Quinn. “Most people wouldn’t have made it in those conditions.”
“I’m very aware,” Quinn says, not looking at Cole because if she looks at him she might start crying and that would require explanations she’s not ready to give.
They pack up their minimal belongings—Quinn’s original overnight bag, Cole’s emergency gear—and follow the rescue team out into a winter wonderland that’s both beautiful and somehow hostile now that it represents the end of what they had.
The snow has stopped but there’s at least three feet on the ground, drifts higher in places, and Quinn thinks about how she and Cole were trapped by this weather and somehow it became the best week of her life.
The rescue snowmobile ride back to town is loud and cold and prevents conversation, which is probably good because Quinn has no idea what to say.
I love you but I don’t know how to make this work?
Thank you for the best week of my life even though it’s about to get incredibly complicated?
Please don’t let this end even though we both know it has to?
They arrive in Cedar Ridge to what appears to be half the town waiting in the street—concern and relief and definitely curiosity about what happened between the construction company owner and the environmental lawyer who were trapped together for a week.
Cole’s mother is there first, pulling him into a fierce hug. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again, Cole Alexander Hartford—”
“I’m fine, Mom. We’re both fine.”
Margaret Hartford turns to Quinn, and Quinn braces for hostility or at least suspicion, but instead gets pulled into a hug that smells like coffee and vanilla.
“Thank you for keeping my boy safe,” Margaret says quietly.
“He kept me safe,” Quinn corrects. “I would’ve died without him.”
“Well. Either way. You’re both alive and that’s what matters.” Margaret steps back, studying Quinn with sharp eyes that definitely notice something. “You’ll come to the ranch for dinner. Both of you. Tonight. Non-negotiable.”
“Mom—” Cole starts, but Margaret cuts him off.
“Tonight. Six PM. Quinn needs proper food after a week of emergency rations, and you—” She pokes Cole’s chest. “You need to tell me what happened because I can tell something happened and I’m your mother so I’m going to find out eventually anyway.”
Quinn catches Cole’s eye, sees the resignation there, and tries not to laugh.
“We’d love to come to dinner,” Quinn says, because apparently they’re doing this. “Thank you, Mrs. Hartford.”
“Margaret. Call me Margaret. Mrs. Hartford was my mother-in-law and she was terrifying.”
The crowd gradually disperses once it’s clear both of them are fine, and Quinn finds herself standing in the middle of Main Street with her overnight bag, no car since her Prius is presumably still parked at the motel, and no idea what to do next.
“I need to—” she starts at the same time Cole says “You should—” and they both stop, laugh awkwardly.
“You first,” Cole offers.
“I need to call my firm. Check my messages. Figure out—everything.” She looks around at the town that hated her a week ago. “And I guess find somewhere to stay since the motel kicked me out.”
“Stay at the ranch.”
“Cole, I can’t just—”
“You can. We have a guest room. Mom already basically invited you. And—” He lowers his voice so only she can hear. “I’m not ready to be away from you yet. Not when we just got rescued and everything’s about to get complicated. Please. Just for tonight. Let me have one more night before we have to figure out the real world.”
Quinn knows this is probably a bad idea.
Knows that staying at his family ranch is going to fuel speculation and make everything more complicated.
But she also can’t bear the thought of going to a motel alone after spending a week with Cole, so she nods.
“Okay. One more night.”
“One more night,” Cole echoes, and there’s relief in his eyes.
He drives her to the ranch in his truck—finally able to use an actual vehicle instead of navigating blizzards—and Quinn stares out the window at Montana in winter, all snow-covered mountains and endless sky, and thinks about how a week ago she hated this place and now she’s considering moving here.
The Hartford ranch is beautiful in a way Quinn wasn’t expecting—sprawling property with mountains in the background, the main house looking warm and inviting with smoke coming from the chimney, horses in a nearby pasture that don’t seem bothered by the snow.
“This is where you grew up?” Quinn asks.
“Six generations of Hartfords. My great-great-grandfather built the original homestead, each generation added to it.” Pride in Cole’s voice. “Two hundred acres of land that we’ve maintained, preserved, passed down.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s home.”
He shows her to the guest room—simple but comfortable, with an actual bed and electricity and running water that feels like luxury after the cabin—and Quinn calls her firm before she can talk herself out of it.
Her boss answers on the second ring. “Fitzgerald. Where the hell have you been?”
“Snowed in. Blizzard trapped me in an emergency shelter for a week with no cell service.”
“Christ. You’re okay?”
“I’m fine. Listen, about the Hartford case—”
“We’re proceeding with summary judgment. Judge wants briefs filed next week, hearing scheduled for month-end.”
Quinn’s stomach drops. “I think we should consider settlement.”
Silence on the other end.
Then: “Settlement? You said the case was ironclad.”
“It is ironclad. But there’s potential for a compromise solution that protects the wetlands and allows modified development. Hartford’s willing to work with us on environmental mitigation if we’re willing to—”
“Fitzgerald, did you get Stockholm syndrome during this week in the cabin? Because it sounds like you’re advocating for the defendant.”
“I’m advocating for a solution that serves our actual mission—environmental protection—instead of just winning a precedent case.”
“Our actual mission is precedent. We’re setting an example that developers can’t ignore environmental regulations just because it’s inconvenient.”
“Hartford wasn’t ignoring regulations, he didn’t understand the full impact. Now he does and he’s willing to redesign the project. Isn’t that better than bankrupting his company?”
“It’s not our job to educate developers, it’s our job to enforce the law.”
Quinn closes her eyes, recognizing the tone. Her boss isn’t interested in compromise—he’s interested in the win, the precedent, the ability to point to this case and say they’re tough on environmental violations.
“I want to take a leave of absence,” Quinn hears herself say.
“What?”
“One month. Personal leave. I need time to—to process the week, to figure some things out.”
“Fitzgerald, we need you on this case—”
“You have three other lawyers who can handle briefing and arguments. I need the leave. It’s non-negotiable.”
Another long silence.
“One month,” her boss finally says. “But when you come back, you’re on this case and you’re arguing for summary judgment. No compromise, no settlement. Those are the terms.”
“Understood.”
Quinn hangs up and sits on the guest bed, shaking slightly.
She just bought herself one month.
One month to figure out if what she and Cole have is real, if they can find a compromise that works, if she can build a life in Montana or if she needs to go back to Seattle and let this beautiful terrible thing end.
One month.
It’ll have to be enough.
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