Cabin Fever (Lost and Found Book 1)

by Elizabeth Lynx

Refusing to get any closer, I stopped by the door next to the dog.

  "I don't even know your name."

  I was going to do proper introductions back in the bedroom, but he raced off when I mentioned the wild animals. Who does that?

  That's when I heard them. The crying beasts from last night, ready to rip apart any who got near. At least, I assumed that would happen based on their toe-curling screams.

  I didn't know this man. Not even his name. Because he was kind enough to care for me, I couldn't stand by and watch him walk to his death. I reached out the door and my fingers curled into his flannel sleeve. "Don't go. They'll eat you alive."

  A crease formed between his brow. "Who, the sheep? No, they eat grass and clovers. There isn't much snow on the ground, so I don't need to put out a bale for them. But if you say you heard wild animals last night that might mean a wolf was around."

  I released my grip. Sheep . . . It was sheep I heard. My face warmed at how scared I was and thought death was near. My mother would always comment on how overly dramatic I could be. I liked to think I was preparing for the worst.

  "It might not have been a wolf . . ."

  He'd taken a few steps away, and I looked up to see a brown barn off in the distance. There weren't any trees back here, just the barn and a fenced off pasture. It was huge. The enclosure trailed for a while and curved down until I couldn't see it anymore.

  The burly sheep farmer with the lumberjack arms and beard turned. "Then what did you hear? A bobcat? I should still check on them."

  "Okay."

  He continued on and I stood in the door, letting the cold air seep into my lungs. It burned, and despite the bright sun, I was chilled to the bone.

  I deserved it. I had been nothing but a fool for the past twenty-four hours.

  The dog stayed by my feet and I leaned down to pet its head. The fur was soft, and it kept licking my hand.

  "You're a sweetie. Is your name Kitty?"

  The dog barked, still lapping at my fingers. Honestly, it was getting a little gross. I loved animals but didn't want slobber dripping off my hand.

  I removed it and the dog's gorgeous light blue eyes seemed to plead with me. He really liked kissing my hand.

  "I tell you what. Why don't I go wash up in the bathroom and then we can find that bacon."

  The moment I mentioned the meat candy, the dog jumped and ran toward the kitchen. I closed the door and went to wash up. When I opened the cabinet in the bathroom, I noticed an array of items that weren't there the day before.

  I could have sworn there was nothing in here before. Was I hallucinating? Perhaps that's why I acted so strangely yesterday.

  The man was back by the time I finished up in the bathroom and stepped into the kitchen. He stood over a pan on the wood-burning stove, lifting pieces of bacon onto a plate.

  "How are the sheep?" I took a seat at the small wooden table.

  "They're fine. I broke up the water for them as it froze overnight. But they were fine. I'll take them out to pasture in a bit."

  "I'm Olivia, by the way. Olivia Love," I said to his back as he prepared a plate of food at the counter.

  "Oh. Nice name."

  "Thanks." I smiled and waited for him to give me his name. A sudden awareness came over me and I felt awkward, completely out of place in his rustic home.

  My home—actually, my parents' home—looked nothing like this place. The most rustic thing they owned was an iron salt pot forged in the Tacaran volcano by the Quepuchean people in South America. They found it in a boutique on Rodeo Drive while visiting Los Angeles.

  "When I found this place last night, I thought it was abandoned."

  "When I go out for long periods of time, I hide everything. Make it appear like no one lives here. Most people think criminals frequent cities where there are lots of people." He shook his head before he continued, "But it's easier not to get caught in the middle of nowhere. Living alone, far from my nearest neighbor, it's best I give the appearance that this place is abandoned. That way if a thief, or worse, stumbles into my cabin, they won't come back."

  I swallowed. He had a rifle in his arms last night. What if he had mistaken me for a robber? My eyes flickered up to his and a shiver ran down my back. His gaze was hard but for some reason, I wasn't scared. Was it disturbing that I was a bit turned on?

  He moved back to placing food on his plate. I admired his body, clasped my hands under my chin and rested my elbow on the table. A woman would have to be legally blind not to notice the man had thick muscles in all the right places under that form-fitting plaid shirt and jeans. So what if he was a little scary? My body didn't seem to mind.

  As he shifted, reaching for the delicious smelling food, I stared at his ass. I knew a lot of guys who paid doctors so they didn't have to lift a finger to get that kind of backside.

  He arrived at the table with a heaping plate of food. My mouth watered as I stared at the bacon, eggs, and potatoes. I swallowed as I watched him shovel a forkful of food into his mouth.

  "You know, Kitty, I think this is the best potato hash I've made."

  My mouth fell open. Was I not going to be given breakfast? I wasn't familiar with etiquette up in the mountains, but where I was from, you offered guests food. Even if they were uninvited guests who ate your can of beans, then threw them at you.

  He turned in his seat to watch Kitty. The dog sat still on a small dog bed by the stove. Kitty was so motionless, someone could mistake the dog for a stuffed animal.

  "Good girl. Come get your food." The man threw some pieces of bacon and a heaping helping of potatoes into a silver bowl on the floor by the edge of the table.

  The dog ran to the dish as if it were a race.

  I watched as they both gobbled up their scrumptious meal while I sat with only my rumbling stomach to keep me company.

  Once he was finished, he sat back and rubbed his extended belly. A belch escaped his lips and I frowned.

  Men.

  "Come on, girl, it's time to deal with some sheep." He got up after patting the dog's head and went to place the plate in the sink.

  My frown deepened as I watched him leave. I was livid.

  I stood and did something I had never done before; I berated another person for their uncouth behavior.

  "I said I was sorry for breaking into your home. But I honestly believed I was in danger. And as for the can of beans I ate, I was hungry. I hadn't eaten since breakfast yesterday. If you wish me to pay you for the beans, when I finally get a hold of my purse, I can pay you for them. How much is a can of beans? Thirty? Fifty dollars? Whatever it is, I will pay it."

  The man stared at me as if I had beans dripping out of my ears. Here I was apologizing and trying to make things right, and he's acting like a jerk.

  "I apologized. Told you my name and now I'm left standing here with no way to get back to where I was staying at The Lodge. Nor do I know your name. And then, on top of everything, you and your dog eat your breakfast in front of me without offering me even a tiny morsel of sustenance."

  "Okay." Was all he said. I waited for more, but nothing came.

  "Okay? Okay? I've had a pretty shitty twenty-four hours. I was running for my life and now I'm hungry."

  "Then grab yourself a plate of food. I made plenty." He waved his arm toward the kitchen.

  "It's about time you offered. Kind of rude you hadn't before. I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to beg to get food for Christ's sake."

  I moved over to the kitchen and found the white porcelain plates. Rustic, indeed. After I overfilled my plate with the food, I turned to make my way back to the table. But something large was standing in my way, the sheep farmer with no name.

  "Excuse me, I'd like to sit—"

  I was cut off with a glare and finger jab into my shoulder. "There will be no cursing in this house. It's the language of criminals. Now I know that I am no criminal, but the question is, are you, Ms. Love?"

  I was shocked and couldn't speak, so I shoo
k my head.

  "Good. I am willing to feed you and keep a roof over your head as long as you are here. But understand that this is my home. Here, foul language is not allowed."

  Okay . . . My eyes slid sideways, and I noticed Kitty's stare was unusually judgy. This guy was serious. He must be one of those overly religious nuts who cut himself off from society to be closer to God.

  I didn't care if he thought God spoke to him and told him the world could only be healed by surrounding himself with copious amounts of oak. As long as he fed me and kept me safe, I'd be the perfect saint.

  "I apologize. No more bad language, I promise." I stared up into his eyes as his hardened features began to soften. This close, I noticed how handsome he was, in that sheep farmer sort of way. Even his thick, dark auburn beard was well-maintained.

  And as he stared his sea-glass green eyes darkened and dipped to my lips. My heart picked up and I wondered, was it fear or something quite different? Derrick had never looked at me the way this man was right now.

  It was thrilling and worrisome at the same time. He stepped forward so our lips were merely an inch apart and his hot breath warmed my cheeks.

  "My name is Carter. Eat your food. When you're done, I'll try to get the truck started and take you back to The Lodge." The corner of his mouth lifted. "Around here we serve ourselves, unless you're a dog. And you don't look like a dog to me."

  He stepped back and left the room. Kitty followed, and I was left there stunned. Was that his idea of a compliment?

  FOUR

  Carter

  "YOU HAVE TO PUMP IT. Then twist," I said for the fifth time.

  Olivia was trying my patience. When she said she had never done this before, I thought she meant in the great outdoors. She mentioned that she was a city girl the other day, so she must have done it lots of times where she was from. It's not something that only happened up in the mountains.

  "There's a weird smell. Is it supposed to stink? Ugh, my hand hurts," she yelled back with a whine.

  I had spent the last four days stuck in my cabin with her, and I had never wanted to run screaming from a person so much in my life.

  "It's called gas."

  "Then it's broken. You need someone to fix it."

  Every day I've come out to my truck, hoping it would start, but it never did. I changed the oil and fixed what I could, but I believe my truck was lost to me. I'd need to wait for the snowstorm to stop and the roads to be plowed to get my vehicle towed.

  I moved around from the hood and waved my hands in the snowflake-filled air. "Where am I going to get someone to fix this? There's at least two feet of snow on the ground and the phone lines are still down."

  "Then I guess you're stuck with me. Besides, even if it started, how would we make it out of here without the streets being plowed." Her long blond locks fluttered in the dry air as she hopped out of the truck. Her leg was healing up nicely. As much as her relentless questions about every little thing over the last few days had been like nails on a chalkboard, I didn't wish her harm.

  She was right. I was too eager to be rid of her to realize that we wouldn't make it very far anyway. Even with the small plow on the front of my truck, two feet of snow was too much for my vehicle to handle.

  I busied myself cleaning up under the hood and finally lowered it while she watched over my shoulder.

  "Looks dirty. I never knew there were so many parts to an engine."

  I let go of the hood and with a bang, it slapped shut. She yelped and threw her arms around my waist. I had never met a woman—or anyone for that matter—who was so comfortable touching people they barely knew.

  It was surprising the first time she placed her hand on my arm as I prepared dinner the first night she was in the cabin. I startled and a few pieces the potatoes I had chopped fell onto the floor.

  Her cheeks flushed, and she reminded me of a startled doe as her brown eyes widened. She seemed sweet in that moment with her lips pursed and worry etched on her features.

  I was used to rarely being touched. Even when my father was alive, he only gave hugs when I was hurt as a kid or the occasional slap on the back for a job well done.

  "It's not all engine. There's wiper fluid and the starter, and other things under that hood."

  Olivia was warm and that heat began to travel where I didn't want it to go. I shook my head and waited for her to lower her arms. She gave a slight squeeze before she let go.

  It was a habit of hers. Every time she touched me, before she let go, her grip would tighten as if preparing me for the release. It was comforting in an odd sort of way.

  "I'd love to learn more about it. Maybe when we try starting your car—"

  "Truck. This is obviously a truck.”

  "Okay, whatever. Truck. When we try again tomorrow, you can show me the parts."

  I chuckled as I wiped my hands with the rag before placing it in my back pocket. "If it starts, I won't have time to show you."

  Olivia's footsteps crunched behind me as I began to move toward the house. It was strange to feel someone following me, someone I knew. I guess that was how my dad felt whenever I tagged along as a kid while he tended the sheep or collected branches in the woods.

  I didn't know how I felt about her help. It was different.

  "It won't start. Face it, you'll never be rid of me. Wha ha ha!"

  I came to a stop right before reaching the steps to the porch. "That's not funny," I said as she bounced up to the porch, happily ignoring my concern.

  She opened the door, closing it behind her, and leaving me to my worry. It wasn't that Olivia was a bad person. She tried to be helpful but with her total lack of knowledge of farming, sheep, cooking, cleaning, and just about anything required to survive made her help a hindrance.

  I raised my face to the gray sky. Flakes tickled my cheeks as I made my wish under my breath. "Please let it stop snowing so I can take Olivia home safely."

  "Who are you talking to?" The door opened. I snapped my head forward to find Olivia standing there barefoot. She had removed her pink coat and was now in the doorway dressed in my old jeans and a sweater with a hole in the shoulder that I stopped wearing when I was sixteen.

  Something strange happened when I saw her. More than strange . . . disturbing. Heat grew in my chest as if she had just been pumping the gas to my heart moments ago and not my truck. It's where the warmth bloomed next that concerned me—between my thighs.

  I understood that I had needs like any other man. And, every few months, I went several towns over and was lucky enough to make friends with a random pretty woman visiting from far away. One March evening, I had a great night filled with whiskey, sex, and a game called truth or dare with a lovely woman from France. She took tremendous interest in my beard and kept daring me to tickle places on her body with it.

  I liked that game.

  Those were planned moments. I never took these women back to my home. Opening my heart to someone always ended in tragedy. First my mother and sister, and then my dad. I had grown accustomed to living a life of solitude.

  Kitty was all the companionship I needed. Our conversations may be one-sided, but she was a smart dog and loyal. As long as I had food to provide.

  "Did you do something to my clothes?" I yelled up to her but stayed in place.

  Her head lowered and she lifted the oversized sweater, allowing for a brief, yet mesmerizing flash of her belly.

  Olivia tugged at the top until it molded to her shape before she turned. The more she groped at her clothing, the more pressure I felt against my jeans.

  It was in the single digits out here and I was sweating.

  "No. Is there a hole? I am sorry if I did something."

  Waving my hands, I kept my head down as I jogged up the steps. "Never mind. Just seems odd to see someone in my clothes."

  She moved aside and as I brushed past, I inhaled her intriguing scent. If I was confused before, the smell of my soap mixed with something uniquely Olivia had me utterly dumb
founded.

  She closed the door behind me, and I snapped my eyes shut for a moment as another blast of her surrounded me.

  "Want some cocoa?"

  I went over and sat at the kitchen table, focusing on removing my boots as I willed the scent away.

  "Cocoa? I don't have hot chocolate."

  Her brow wrinkled adorably. "You live in a winter paradise. This place," she waved her arms around the room, "looks like something from a Nestle commercial. And you’re telling me you don't have cocoa?"

  It was moments like this where Olivia became tolerable.

  I tried to keep a straight face at her dramatic response from my lack of chocolate drinks and swallowed a laugh. "No."

  She folded her arm and appeared in pain. "Why not? Are you allergic to chocolate? That would be the only logical explanation."

  Taking off my other boot, I got up and placed it by the door. This woman was a puzzle. She knew almost nothing about everyday life and self-maintenance, yet was shocked I didn't own cocoa.

  When she took a bath a few days ago, I had to show her how to plug up the bath so the water didn't escape. She explained someone always drew baths for her back home. I asked her what she did when she took a trip, like up here in Maine. Her response, "I bring my maid. Doesn't everyone?"

  She was confused, and it was a little like watching a kid being told there was no Santa as I explained that most people didn't have servants. This woman led a very sheltered and spoiled life. If she was going to be with me for a while, I'd make it my mission to break her of that lifestyle.

  "I'm not allergic. I never really thought about it when I go shopping."

  She clasped her hands over her chest and sighed. "Oh thank God, uh, I mean . . . goodness. I thought you lived so far from civilization that you had to have your food dropped by airplane. When we get out of here, I must take you out for cocoa. There's got to be a quaint little chocolate shop in town." Olivia suddenly developed a French accent as she said chocolate. Yeah, I got a lot of work ahead of me on bringing this woman back to Earth.

  "I'm obviously near people if you were able to walk here."

  Olivia moved to the lower kitchen cabinets which I had since restocked when she was unconscious the day she showed up. She pushed cans and boxes aside in search of something.