Akbar followed her pickup about twenty minutes along the highway. It was a heavy duty with a mid-bed hitch that he bet matched a big horse trailer. At the moment it had a couple bales of hay which occasionally tossed little bits of dry grass at him in disdain of his own smaller Jeep.
The first ten miles were winding their way off the high spot where Timberline Lodge perched well up Mount Hood’s southern flank. She pulled off on a paved narrow two-lane that looked deserted, maybe used by logging trucks. A mile in, she turned up a dirt lane completely overshadowed by trees. Another hundred yards.
There sat the prettiest little log cabin he’d seen in a long time. It was built of well-c*****d stout logs with a generous front porch beneath a deep eave. In all but the most slashing of northwes
