Cabin Fever (Lost and Found Book 1)

by Elizabeth Lynx

  CABIN FEVER

  by Elizabeth Lynx

  CABIN FEVER

  Copyright © 2019 by Elizabeth Lynx.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations em- bodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For information contact:

  lynxelizabeth1@gmail.com

  http://www.elizabeth-lynx.com

  Book and Cover design by Elizabeth Lynx

  Photography by Natasha Fedorova

  DEDICATION

  To my dad.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CABIN FEVER

  DEDICATION

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  STORIES by ELIZABETH LYNX

  CABIN FEVER

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  EPILOGUE

  SNEAK PEEK: LIVING HELL

  NOTE TO READER

  BEHIND THE SCENES

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  STORIES by ELIZABETH LYNX

  THANK YOU

  STORIES by ELIZABETH LYNX

  New Release

  Happy New You, multi-author book

  Dirty Secret

  Cabin Fever, book 1 Lost & Found, standalone

  Upcoming Release

  Living Hell, book 2 Lost & Found, standalone, releases May 2019

  Hot Dish, book 3 Lost & Found, standalone, releases August 2019

  Cold Burn, book 4 Lost & Found, standalone, releases October 2019

  Royal Disgrace, book 5 of Cake Love, releases November 2019, standalone

  Cake Love Series - standalone

  Rules of Payne, book 1, standalone

  The Attraction File, book 2, standalone

  One Wild Ride, book 3, standalone

  The Spy Ring, book 4, standalone

  Cake Love: Boxed Set, Books 1-4

  Him Her Them Series

  Her Night with Him

  GET LATEST ALERTS, releases, sales, and exclusive stories by signing up for Elizabeth Lynx’s newsletter. READ the inspiration for my upcoming book Dirty Secret, called Dirty Hands (it was a finalist in a short story contest) INSTANTLY ⇨ http://bit.ly/NwsltrDHinspire

  CABIN FEVER

  Have a destination wedding, they said. The mountains are so romantic, they said. They’ve obviously never been a runaway bride.

  Olivia Love has it all. She’s rich, spoiled, and about to marry the man of her dreams—until she witnesses her fiancée with someone else, sending her on a little run. Down the side of a mountain. In her wedding dress.

  When she finds a cabin in the woods, her relief is short-lived at discovering it to be empty. No phone, no heat, and no way back to her perfect little life. That is until a gun-toting mountain man fills the space and sends her heart rate skyrocketing.

  Carter Fitzwilliam likes the simple things in life. His sheep farm, his privacy, and man’s best friend are all he needs until a smart-mouthed beauty in a white dress breaks into his cabin and threatens to complicate the hell out of everything.

  Will these two opposites attract or push each other over the mountain?

  ONE

  Olivia

  "THERE IT IS AGAIN." I pushed my back against the solid and, hopefully, blood-thirsty-animal-proof front door. Despite the thunderous thumping of my heart, I kept my ears perked until I heard a click.

  Never had I believed the clank of a doorknob snapping into the frame would sound delicious, calming, and triumphant all at the same time. If I could make out—using tongue, of course—with this door, I would. But there'd be splinters and that wouldn't be fun.

  I wasn't what most people would call gutsy. My usual response was to run. If running wasn't an option, then find something to throw. I once encountered a spider. The nearest thing to me was a book of matches. I contemplated burning down the house, but my sister stopped me before the matches were in my hand. That bathroom had been dead to me ever since.

  The wild, guttural cries that drove me to hobble with surprising speed into the cabin started back up. They sounded muffled now, farther away.

  "Good door." I patted the wood, then attempted to hug the entrance in appreciation.

  The air was crisp, despite having a roof over my head. My breath was a lingering fog as I exhaled with relief.

  Don't people use heat here in the mountains?

  Allowing my legs to give, I slid down the door. For the first time in hours, I sat. My knees creaked, and I winced from a shooting pain in my left leg but sitting my butt on the mud-stained wooden floor felt glorious.

  Olivia Jane Holiday Love, you are safe.

  I reveled in letting my limbs throb from spending a good part of the day trekking through a mountain. Looks like I won't need to exercise again for at least a decade.

  Steam rose from the grimy lace that covered my chest as I tugged at the large pink parka I grabbed before racing out of The Lodge this morning. I rubbed the delicate fabric and gasped. "It's gone."

  My engagement ring. Hot tears laid a trail down my cheeks as I remembered yanking at the ring in anger and leaving it right next to my purse. I had no money, no cell phone, and no fiancé.

  It was all my fault.

  "Damn it. What have I done?"

  I knew exactly what I had done. There was no lying to myself. I had destroyed my life, possibly ruined my family's lives, and opened a hornets' nest of chaos so big I'd probably become a legend back in DC—and not the good type of legend, either. No. My tale would spread with hushed tones, secretive whispers, and wide eyes.

  Did I have a choice? Yes. But I didn't have to run.

  I wiped at my tears of shame and anger. My fingers covered in a filthy wetness. Laughter bubbled up from my throat. "Did you really believe Derrick loved you, Olivia? Like attracts like, as my father always said. Derrick was handsome. More than handsome . . . he looked like a runway model."

  I hiccupped and lifted two fingers in the air. "And number two. Wait. Was I counting?" I shook my head. "It doesn't matter. Number two. Derrick was smart." My dad told me how he worked his way up from the mailroom to be distribution manager of my father's company, Love Foods.

  "That brings me to number three," I lifted my middle finger, "everyone loved Derrick." Well, everyone but my sister, Bea. "He's the life of the party and the friend who would be there when you needed him."

  I once saw him cradle a squirrel in his palm. It was in shock from almost being run over. Then with gentle ease, Derrick placed the creature on the grass.

  "He's a freaking animal savior for God's sake! How did I react to animals? I ran screaming and hid in some stranger'
s home. Only to plop my dirty butt on their floor and start a conversation with myself.

  "And last, but never least, Olivia, you have a unique ability to pick men that use you and never really love you. Some may call this ability a superpower if superpowers were abominable."

  I let out a sigh and wallowed in the mess of my own creation for a moment. Then I looked up and faced the fact that I was in someone else's home.

  "Hello?"

  With a wince and a breath, I stood from the floor. With a quick scan of the sparsely furnished room, I did my best to brush the dirt from my white gown and brightly colored coat.

  I took a step farther into the room. It smelled of pine, a spicy lavender scent, and a hint of smoke.

  "Mental note, think of going into the fragrance industry. I will call my first scent Cabin Fever."

  That was a good idea. Perhaps there's some stationery and a pen somewhere so I could jot the idea down.

  There was a wood-burning stove immediately off to my left, cold and unlit. Along the wall next to it was a kitchenette. The cabinets, the counters, almost everything made of the same wood as the cabin itself. The only thing not made of wood was the porcelain farmhouse sink.

  In the middle of the room was a small, square table with two wooden chairs. I knew cabins were meant to be rustic, but it looked like an oak and a walnut tree had an inappropriate relationship.

  "Is anyone here?"

  There was only silence . . . and wood. Lots and lots of wood.

  Did someone even live in this place?

  As much as I had no desire to piss off the owner of this home, I didn't want to be stuck in the middle of nowhere alone, either.

  Maybe they're out for the day. I turned to gaze through the small window by the door. The sun was disappearing behind the trees. It must be late in the afternoon. If the person who lived here went out earlier, perhaps he or she would return soon.

  Then what do I say? Hi there! I hope you don't mind, but I broke into your house because I thought a pack of killer animals were after me?

  I was almost sure that the person would think I was crazy and call the police.

  At least if the authorities were contacted, I could go home. But did I want to go home?

  No. Not really.

  "Great, Olivia! Make up your mind. Do you want to be found or do you wish to remain lost?"

  I rubbed at the tiny crease that rose between my eyes, willing for a clarifying answer. Nothing came.

  A few strands of my golden hair stuck to my mouth as I shook my head. "Focus. Need to find someone or something to help me. Maybe there's a phone here."

  And yes, I do talk out loud in times of stress.

  Raising my chin, I limped toward the back of the cabin and noticed two doors.

  There was no response when I knocked on the door to my left. Slowly, I turned the handle and pushed. A clean, empty bathroom was inside. One toilet, pedestal sink, mirror cabinet, and a white claw-foot tub. The décor: wood, naturally.

  Opening the cabinet, I found it was empty. Not even a forgotten toothpick was left behind. The reality that the owner wasn't a minimalist but actually nowhere to be found was becoming heart-crushingly clear.

  The other room might contain signs of a person inhabiting this cabin. Anything to let me know a person was here recently. But as I left the bathroom and opened the room across the hall, reality sunk in. This small bedroom with a bed frame, double mattress, dresser, and no sheets or clothing to be found was a bitter slap in the face.

  I was alone.

  That's okay. It's a cabin. I had shelter from the elements. There should be something here to keep me warm. Maybe discarded wood I could throw in the stove for heat. I'd never created a fire before, not even when I went camping with my friends in high school. We had servants for that.

  It couldn't be that hard to start a fire, though. Just wood and a match.

  I made my way farther into the cabin and discovered a back door. There's always chopped wood neatly stacked along the outside of the house in movies. I'll check outside. The floor underneath me creaked as I unlocked and pulled the door open. I stiffened when I heard the terrifying cries of the wild beasts again.

  Slamming it shut, I twisted every bolt and lock on the door. In case all five of them failed, I grabbed a chair from the dining area up front and ran back to wedge under the doorknob. The wood could wait until later.

  The chilled air might do me some good. My mother had a winter wonderland themed New Year's party where there was an ice sculpture garden. Even former president William Higgins showed up and commented that the brisk walk helped him feel revitalized. Maybe it would help me, too. I could use some revitalization!

  I was secure in this cabin, had a mattress to sleep on, and I could huddle up into my coat to keep warm. What more did a woman need?

  My stomach rumbled. Food. Apparently, I needed food.

  I hadn't eaten since early this morning. Perhaps that small kitchenette had something that could see me through the night.

  Taking a deep breath, I made my way toward the front to the small kitchen. Five cabinets. I opened every one. Nothing.

  "Oh God, I'm going to die here."

  My breathing picked up. It felt like I was losing oxygen despite my rapid breath.

  I was an idiot. Who runs from their wedding during the middle of winter in the mountains of Maine in a wedding dress?

  "Why didn't I take Bea up on her offer last night? I could be warm on a beach in St. Croix right now. But I hadn't found out the truth about Derrick yet. Now I'll never see my loving and slightly crazy sister again!"

  Because I thought marriage to a man I believed loved me would make me happy. I learned my lesson. Love doesn't equal happiness. In fact, it made life terrible.

  I spit on the floor and instantly regretted it. This wasn't my home. How barbaric to invade a residence and spit? What came over me? Just last week I gave the stink eye to my cousin Kiki for adding milk to her teacup before pouring in her tea. In my defense, Kiki was a bit of a black sheep. The best way to describe her life was sloppy.

  I was ashamed of my actions then, but now I was horrified about how I was treating this stranger's home.

  It was to be the happiest day of my life. Instead, the day had fevered my brain and turned me into an uncouth beast—much like the ones trying to gain access to my wooden tomb. I fell to my knees and didn't even care about the stabbing pain in my leg. Monsters were supposed to live in agony. I might as well get used to it.

  Hungry, cold, and so very alone, I cried. "This is officially the worst day of my life."

  Totally beating out the day, five years ago, when I was twenty-three and Sarah, the chef, was not in the kitchen. I was hungry, so I found a round piece of food on the counter. I figured it was fruit despite the funny smell and after peeling it, I took a bite. That was the day I learned what an onion looked like.

  Wiping the tears from my face, I was surprised there were any. I figured I was too dehydrated to produce them.

  "I could melt the snow outside to drink if I could only get outside without being attacked."

  I leaned my head against the edge of the open cabinet and saw a glimmer out of the corner of my eye. Turning, I reached inside and felt something hard. Using the minuscule amount of energy I had left from my starved body, I pulled it out.

  A can of red beans.

  "I've seen movies of old-timey people eating beans from a can."

  Hope burst from my chest as I gripped the metal in my fingers. This didn't have splinters, so I kissed it as if it was my high school crush, Jerad, now a New York runway model.

  Once my lips were thoroughly bruised and cold, I wondered, "How do I open it?"

  I looked for a button or a tab, but there was nothing but a hard lip that didn't peel back. This was a problem. I had food in my hand, but I couldn't get it inside my mouth because there was hard metal in the way.

  Maybe if I found a knife, I could stab it open. I got up and searched. Thankfully, I
found some weird tool that had gears and a knob. Having no idea how to use the thing, I did notice a sharp curved tip.

  I commenced stabbing. But no matter how hard or at what angle I hit the lid, nothing happened to the can—which was obviously forged in hell.

  I screamed and gave into my new barbaric ways by throwing in some curse words. That's when I lost it. You'd think everything leading up to this moment would cause me to go insane, but you'd be wrong. I was raised not to succumb to a meltdown unless there was good bourbon to drink, quality crystal to throw, and to make sure the bed was covered in the finest Egyptian cotton sheets for when I needed to roll myself into a cocoon and cry myself to sleep.

  There wouldn't be any soft as a butterfly's wing cocoon for me tonight. I'd make do with huddling in a ball, covering myself in a pink parka.

  I beat on that can with the metal stabbing tool until I was sweating. When it was thoroughly dented, I moved to the taunting metal lip. After hitting it, I moved my hand back and noticed the can came with me.

  Dangling the can in front of me, I gasped. The curved tip punctured a hole on the top edge. All I had to do was puncture several dozen holes and then I could eat!

  I worked that tool better than Derrick worked his dick to a Porsche commercial. The guy loved cars.

  After a minute, I was able to pull the top off.

  "Yes! I won't die tonight."

  Not even bothering to look for cutlery, I drove my fingers into the squishy beans and began shoveling them into my mouth. I didn't know if it was the dehydration and lack of food talking, but these tasted like they came from a four-star restaurant. Not five-stars, I wasn't that delusional yet.

  I engulfed half the beans when the door flung open. A huge man stood in the doorway with a rifle in one hand and a snarling dog at his feet.

  Normally, I wouldn't judge someone on their appearance as my mother taught me that was bad manners, but he looked fierce and scary and like every villain in every cartoon movie I ever saw growing up.

  I threw the can at him to defend myself as he stepped forward. He didn't need to duck because I had poor aim and it hit the ground about a foot in front of him. Beans splattered and the dog rushed forward, lapping it up.