Three Men in the Woods

Why the winter, though? There were snow warnings all over this sorry airport, shouted in dotted red letters across marquee screens. Seth Guinne was many decades past his Scottish roots, and his long career in Hollywood had weakened him against the biting cold of the winter wind. What kind of madman would leave the city in weather like this?

By chance he caught a glance at his own face in a mirrored window across the luggage bay, all sharp features and dark hooded eyes. He couldn’t help but laugh aloud to himself while he heaved his bag off the conveyor. What kind of madman indeed? The Canadians around him looked like puppets from his childhood, all bundled bodies made of stuffed boots and felt layers.

Not only had Seth been convinced to leave his penthouse in L.A. for the wintry wonders of the true north strong and free, but he’d quite readily agreed to spend it hours from what any sane person would call civilization. Oh, the things he did for love.

The cabby was dapper as hell, even wrapped in plaid flannel, and that reminded Seth of the other reason he’d been so eager to get to his destination. Luke Hatchet was a looker he would never forget.

When he’d first heard that he would be...