By Sorbus
“Sir, uhm, this is a cabin?” The words carried a hint of disbelief, because ‘cabin’ hardly described the building in front of us. It looked like something taken directly from Frank Lloyd Wright’s portfolio. This was no mere woodsman’s hut or hunter’s forest retreat. Huge windows, three levels high soared in an angled shape, rising up to a sharply peaked roof. It was built of stone and massive timbers, seeming to grow out of the rock it sat upon.
“Well, that’s what my grandfather always called it,” he replied with a shrug. “But my dad remodeled it and expanded it quite a bit when he inherited it. Then it passed on to me. The perks of coming from timber money, the family business.”
“Wait. . . what? You’re Stevens Lumber?” I looked at him in surprise. “But. . . you’re, you’re a game warden!”
