Trust by Viola Rivard Page B

could stay in. Excitement filled her at the prospect of being able to stay under a roof again.
    Still looking down, Lark said, “Wouldn’t you rather stay in the den?”
    “No way,” Taylor said. “Caves give me the creeps.”
    Larked looked disappointed at that. “Well, the thing about the cabin is, it used to belong to a pack member’s mother. She died last winter.”
    “Oh,” Taylor said, frowning. “That’s awful.”
    “No, it’s not like that,” Lark said, waving her hands. “Nobody liked her. She was really mean.”
    “Oh,” Taylor said again. “Well, then…”
    “You see, the thing about the cabin is, after Old Fay died, Holly—that’s her daughter—wanted to burn it to the ground. She didn’t like her mother very much, either, but that’s beside the point. Anyway, Glenn and I—Glenn’s my best friend—we asked Alder if we could have the cabin to store a few things. Alder said no, so we asked Hale—which you should never do, by the way—and Hale said he didn’t care, so we’ve kind of been putting a few things in there every now and then.”
    Taylor had been content to munch on strawberries while Lark rambled. When she realized Lark was finished, she said, “That’s fine by me. It’s not like it’s my cabin or anything. I’m just happy to have a place to stay.”
    Lark’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Good, good. I asked Glenn to clear out a few things, in case you decided to stay there. Do you want to come see it?”
    “Sure,” Taylor said, popping the last handful of strawberries in her mouth.
    Lark got up and helped Taylor to stand. “The cabin’s this way,” she said, pointing towards the lake. “Oh, can I ask you a favor?”
    “Don’t tell Alder about the stuff in the cabin?” Taylor guessed.
    Lark gaped at her. “How did you know?”
    Taylor grinned. “Just a hunch.”

Chapter Fifteen
    T he cabin wasn’t far from the field. Partially concealed by spruce trees, it was a squat rectangle made of halved tree trunks. Around in the back, Taylor could see a chimney crafted from cement and bedrock.
    She loved it.
    “Holly’s dad built it for his mate ages ago,” Lark explained. As they approached the front porch, she yelled, “Glenn, I brought Taylor. I hope you’re wearing pants!”
    The front door swung open and a very hirsute teenager stepped out onto the porch. He was carrying a large wooden crate that looked to be full of broken pieces of ceramic. He tilted his head, causing his unkempt hair to fall away from his face. When his blue eyes landed on Taylor, he quickly looked away.
    “Move out of the way,” Lark said, pushing past him. Taylor gave him a polite smile as she walked by, but she wasn’t sure if he saw it.
    Walking past the threshold, Taylor could tell why Lark had been so apprehensive. The cabin was a disaster. Crates lined all four walls, stacked so high that they blocked out the light from the windows. It seemed that they’d either ran out of crates or had gotten lazy, because on the floor there were piles upon piles of…stuff.
    There were a few things that weren’t garbage. Taylor saw several stacks of books, a bunch of pots and pans, and even a pretty cool-looking hunting bow. But she couldn’t see why anyone would want to keep the moldy magazines, moth-eaten fabrics, and jars that appeared to be full of dirt.
    “Did this stuff belong to Old Fay?” Taylor asked, giving Lark the benefit of the doubt.
    “No, only the rocking chair,” Lark replied. Taylor assumed that was buried somewhere in the mountain of trash. “Most of these are things Glenn and I find on our adventures.”
    “Don’t blame me for all of this,” Glenn said, still hanging by the doorway. “Lark’s a total hoarder.”
    Lark clicked her tongue. “I’m not a hoarder, I’m a collector . Now stop gawking at Alder’s female and start getting those boxes to the den.”
    Glenn let out a noise that sounded not unlike a growl before leaving the porch and heading down