Cabin Fever (Lost and Found Book 1)

by Elizabeth Lynx

  That's when I came up with the idea last night. But the more I thought about making her clean up the hardened mud, hay, and dung on the floor, the guiltier I felt. The floor to the barn was dirt and only needed a cleaning about once a year, so making her think it constantly had to be done was an exaggeration on my part.

  I was honest when I admitted to cooking extra bacon and letting her sleep in this morning. As annoying as Olivia had been, I let my conscience get the best of me.

  "She's not that bad, Kitty. Olivia means well. But she's from DC. From what Dad told me, someone like that doesn't understand the importance of a job well done."

  Sure, she had a smile that could brighten the darkest night, but being attractive wasn't a reason to treat anyone different. If someone did a good job and worked hard, I'd let them know. Like two days ago when I told her I was impressed she took on the task of feeding the ewes without me having to ask. The pasture was covered in ice that was too hard for the sheep to get to the grass. I was going to do it myself but when I made my way back to the barn from the pasture; she was already there feeding them.

  I was surprised she took the initiative, but that didn't stop her from showing her true spoiled colors today when she demanded that I serve her breakfast.

  "I won't be swayed by the one time she worked hard. It took me years to earn my father's respect with the farm. And even then, everything I did was double-checked." I shook my head. "What about all the other times I had to go back and fix what she worked on?"

  Kitty snorted.

  "She's learning. Okay, I was young once and had to be taught what to do. But I was a kid. She's a grown woman. Olivia is strong and has soft curves. And her breasts are . . . um, too big. There, I said it." I slid my eyes to Kitty, who popped one eye open and stared at me.

  "I don't mean that's unattractive. If anything, it makes her very appealing . . . in a sexy, supple way. I can only imagine what she'd look like naked. Any man would love to brush their thumbs over her tight nipples—"

  "What are you doing?" Olivia said as she walked out of the hallway and into the kitchen.

  I fell back in my chair as I choked on my coffee. Lying there having a coughing fit, I stared up into pale blue eyes as a large, pink tongue licked my cheek.

  "Oh, Carter. Are you okay?"

  I pushed Kitty off me and turned to see Olivia, her cheeks pink with warmth.

  "I . . . uh, I'm fine." I coughed a few more times before I continued, "Just discussing if I should consider using the two pregnant ewes for milking. Uh . . . yup. Just coming up with ways to make some extra income from sheep's milk."

  She lowered her hand and helped me stand. A few strands of her golden hair stuck to her face and without thinking, I reached up to push the strands away. But before I touched her cheeks, I thought better of it and clasped my hands behind my back.

  Her half smile caused me to sweat. "Oh, that's a good idea. I wonder what sheep's milk tastes like?"

  "Sweet. Buttery, very rich," I said as I stared at her plump lips.

  I bet that's how Olivia tastes.

  That thought shouldn't have occurred to me. My eyes snapped up to find knowing, sparkling brown eyes laughing at me. Her mouth soon followed.

  She caught me in my lie. Why did I go on about her nipples? And her breasts. They weren't too big for anything . . . farming, cooking, lovemaking.

  Warmth slid up my neck and I was thankful I had the beard to cover my ridiculously red face.

  "Sounds delicious. And you were here, why?" Olivia's eyes slid down my body and I felt every inch of heat it left on my skin.

  Damn, she was sexy.

  I rubbed my forehead as I replaced thoughts of heated gazes and erect nipples with a memory from when I was eighteen. I had slipped one rainy day into a pile of sheep excrement I had been putting into a wheelbarrow.

  "I was taking a break from fixing the truck. I think I might have . . ."

  The words died in my mouth. A confusing mix of mesmerizing fear and heated want grew as Olivia stepped toward me. Her delicate finger lifted and came to rest on my chest.

  "I see. Enjoying the coffee?"

  Her need for touch was becoming unbearable. I wanted to grab her finger but didn't dare. Not knowing if I would push it away or pull her closer.

  "It was cold outside." I glanced down, finally noticing that my shirt was wet.

  The coffee had stained my shirt from the fall, and I was too distracted to notice.

  I had wondered for the past ten days what was it that bothered me so much about Olivia. She could be too talkative and her lack of understanding of how to do everyday tasks was dumbfounding. But I'd come across people in my life that held those qualities and worse, yet they didn't get under my skin the way my current houseguest had.

  There was something more to Olivia that ate away at me and I think I discovered what it was—she was distracting. Every question from her lips was timed perfectly to disrupt my stride as I worked. Her unusual need to touch me when I was stressed or tired only distracted me from what needed to get done.

  People like her were all too familiar with the power of distraction. My father wouldn't have spent all that time teaching me to not trust the rich, the powerful, and especially, the ones from Washington, DC if it wasn't true.

  The heat in my body went from desire to anger in seconds.

  "It sure is cold. So glad you were snuggled up here all warm while I scooped up shit in the freezing weather." Her lips twisted and the finger that was burrowing toward my heart lifted so she could fold her arms.

  The woman had the nerve to judge me in my home.

  "Just as you are taking a break. And I've said not to use language like that in my home."

  Her head flew back as she snorted. Again, another tool of distraction. The goofy laugh was probably meant to make her appear endearing, but I wasn't going to play her game. This was my cabin, and we played my games.

  "Oh, I forgot. Forgive me, Great Puritanical One!" She bowed and waved her hand in the air.

  I stood tall as I unbuttoned my flannel shirt. Refusing for one more second to give her more ammunition to distract me as she stared at the evidence all over my shirt.

  Olivia stilled as I removed my flannel. Her eyes widened and I couldn't help the smug satisfaction I felt at turning the tables on her.

  "Puritanical. That's what you think of me? You've known me for what . . . ten days, and you think you understand everything about me, Olivia? I'm just some backwoods sheep farmer that's going to fall for your lost in the woods innocence?"

  It was my turn to take a step toward her. Her brown eyes were glued to my chest in surprise, but it didn't stop Olivia from shuffling back until she hit the edge of the table.

  "There are reasons for everything in this world, Innocent One. And those reasons aren't always what you think they may be." Her hot breath tickled my chest. I leaned down, inhaling her sweet scent, and I wanted nothing more than to bury my nose in her hair and get lost in her aroma. But I didn't. This was my game, and I had to play it precisely.

  "When my sheep baa for you, it's not because they are calling in affection. It's because they believe you will feed them. If Kitty lifts the corners of her mouth and yawns, she's not tired, she's unhappy and uncomfortable. She's doing her best to comfort herself." I lowered my head so I was only an inch from her ear. I could see the tremble of her body as she shifted. Olivia's head tilted, giving me full access to her neck.

  I paused, licking my lips and staring at her creamy skin. It had been so long. What harm was there in just one little lick? Olivia probably tasted like salted caramel, and I always was a sucker for candy.

  "Okay," Olivia said, a trembling whisper that was like a slap in my face.

  I almost kissed her neck. I stood and sucked in the cool Olivia-free air. But as I gazed down at her rounded eyes with pupils so dilated I could dive inside and nipples ready to slice me in two, I found it even harder to resist touching her.

  I had to get away. It took a
moment for the message to get to my legs, but I managed to step away from Olivia and head back toward the bathroom.

  "Is that your idea of flirting? Get half-naked and tease me with your sheep talk?"

  I stopped at the doorway and turned. Olivia, with her hair in disarray and my old flannel shirt snug around her chest, was seared into my brain. I wanted to tease her into oblivion but knew that gave her the power.

  My father's warning rung in my ears. "People will use any means necessary to control you, even sex."

  "Maybe you're used to men teasing you, Olivia, but I would never do that. And as for your idea that I'm some puritanical nutter because I don't tolerate bad language, understand that language is an art form. Words convey meaning and can be used as weapons. My father raised me here, all alone, but it didn't stop him from teaching me about the beauty of books or different languages and how we use our bodies to express ourselves, even animals."

  "I didn't mean—"

  I wasn't about to let her launch into whatever sad excuse she had for her poor language skills. "And foul words used with the right body language can destroy lives."

  It could take the people you love the most away forever.

  I heard her footsteps as she moved toward me, but I kept going until I was in the bathroom and had the door locked.

  She knocked, but I ignored it.

  "Carter, please. I am sorry. I'm not used to being around such a passionate person. Actually, that's not true . . . Most of the men I know are passionate about one thing—money. You aren't like them and sometimes it's hard for me to realize that."

  I stared at my reflection. Was that a compliment or an insult?

  "I'm trying my best. I'd be happy to try to make breakfast tomorrow."

  "No!" I yelled.

  She tried making tea three days ago. Luckily, I had a fire extinguisher hanging on the wall in the kitchen.

  "Then what do you want from me?"

  I want you naked, on your knees, with those sweet lips sucking my dick like I'm your last meal.

  "Nothing. In fact, don't worry about helping with the farm. You're my guest, I shouldn't trouble you with work."

  "But I don't mind—"

  "Olivia. You are my guest. Once I find the spark plugs, I'll take you back to The Lodge. Then you can go home, and I can get back to being a farmer."

  I turned my head and stared at the door. When I didn't hear a response, I leaned my ear closer. The only thing I heard was her footsteps walk away and the door to the bedroom close.

  She should be happy about that. No more cleaning up poop or getting up early. It's what I wanted too, at least, I thought that's what I wanted. I wouldn't be interrupted by Olivia as I worked.

  Then why did I feel worse than I did when I found out she was from DC?

  SEVEN

  Olivia

  "WHAT IS THAT SMELL?" Carter's voice, like a startled goose, surprised me.

  I turned, glancing up to the loft above. His hair tousled, his eyes sleepy, and his chest bare. It should be illegal to look that sexy first thing in the morning.

  "I'm making breakfast," I said with a proud smile.

  "Oh, no . . ."

  He whipped around so fast I was afraid he'd fall. I studied his ass any chance I got, and now was the perfect moment as he climbed down the ladder from the loft.

  "I think I did a good job this time."

  My mouth dried at the sight of him. Carter made his way over to me wearing only flannel pajama bottoms. The man's entire wardrobe consisted of flannel and jeans—he even had a pair of jeans lined with flannel. I made a note to myself that if I were to ever get him a gift to make sure it was made of flannel, denim, or wood. His three loves.

  It wasn't that Carter looked sexy in flannel. Okay, I'm lying. He was super fine in flannel, but without a shirt and completely barefoot, it made it difficult to hold the man's gaze. Was I ogling him in what might be an inappropriate way? Probably.

  He leaned over my shoulder and if the situation couldn't get worse, he smelled amazing. All manly and seductive in a he doesn't realize he's being manly and seductive sort of way.

  "It's not burnt."

  "You sound surprised." I side-eyed him as he stepped back.

  He folded his arms over his chest. "It's just . . . the last time you tried to cook more than just the food burned."

  You would think covering himself like that would make Carter less appealing, but it only served to beef up his arms. Which caused me to stare at them like Kitty stares at bacon or if we're being honest, how I stare at bacon.

  "I apologized for that. When I finally get my purse, I'll give you money for that blanket."

  He shook his head, a grin tickling the corner of his mouth. "It's not that big of a deal. I got lots of blankets."

  Carter turned to head toward the bathroom.

  "Really, Mr. Grumpington? Because the way you went on, I could have sworn it was some precious family heirloom that Mother Teresa must have handmade you," I mumbled under my breath.

  "What? What did you say?" He turned before stepping into the bathroom.

  "Nothing. Just talking myself through the cooking process."

  I cringed. Way to think on the spot, Olivia. His expression was both perplexed and amused as he finally shut the door behind him.

  I made an effort to get up early today, discovering that the clock by the bed was an alarm clock. I had never used an alarm clock before, relying on servants to wake me in the past. It took a while to figure it out, but I set it for five thirty in the morning and to my surprise, it worked.

  As good as I felt for figuring something out on my own and not burning the food, I realized how dependent I had been on others to take care of me. I was no better than a five-year-old expecting everyone to cook for me, clean up after me, drive me places, make sure I had what I needed—the list went on and on.

  These past eleven days had been a wake-up call. No wonder Derrick had easily taken advantage of me, of my family. We were too trusting, gullible even. I was so willing to take the candy from the bad man.

  But not anymore. I could cook for myself, clean, and I even helped with the sheep.

  "What do you think about me taking up sheep farming?"

  Carter came out of the bathroom with a shirt on, socks, and his hair wet. I was disappointed but it's best he stays warm, I guess.

  He stopped pulling out the chair from the table and stared at me. "Is that a joke?"

  "No." I plated his food, which was only bacon. I had tried making potatoes, but they turned out burnt on the outside and raw on the inside. That obviously required more skill. "I think I'd make a good farmer. I know how to cook bacon." I placed the plate in front of him and went to get him a mug of coffee.

  "Cooking bacon has nothing to do with farming." He lifted a piece and gave it an inspecting sniff.

  "I know, but what I mean is . . . I'm getting better at doing everyday stuff. You know, like learning to take care of myself. And with some more time, I can learn how to take care of sheep. I cleaned out the barn floor yesterday and only threw up twice."

  I sat at the table with my breakfast and took a bite of the bacon. If I was being completely honest, it was the best bacon I had ever tasted in my life. I had a gift—an untapped talent, suppressed from years of pampering.

  Maybe taking care of animals was another skill of mine that lay in wait for the time when I would learn how to wield it. Like a superhero, just with sheep.

  "It takes time to learn how to be a farmer. I may not have been born here, but I spent most of my youth here, learning from my father." I noticed he gobbled up the bacon and tried to speak between mouthfuls. Clearly, Carter enjoyed my meat candy.

  "You weren't born here? I thought you lived here all your life? Where are you originally from?"

  I took a sip of the addictive coffee, letting the warmth of the liquid glide down my throat as I eased back in the chair.

  "More to the south," he mumbled and immediately lifted the mug to his lips.r />
  "Where to the south? Somewhere in New England?"

  His jaw tensed as he lowered his cup. "It's not important. My goodness, you ask a lot of questions."

  "I'm curious. Like a cat."

  "More like a hyena," Carter mumbled.

  I ignored his negative connotation and his attempt for me not to know anything about the man. This was the eleventh day since I ran from my wedding. I had lived with Carter, knew his quirks and temperament almost better than I knew Derrick. Yet, I understood nothing about his past.

  "I don't even know your last name."

  Carter grumbled, eating another piece of bacon.

  "Come on. You know my last name . . . Love. How can I write you a thank-you note when I get back home if I don't even know who to address the envelope to?"

  He took a moment and glanced at every spot in the kitchen before finally lifting his gaze to me. "It's Fitzwilliam. Carter Fitzwilliam."

  I frowned. I knew a few Fitzwilliams through my father. They were a political family in DC, but I doubt Carter was related to them. I couldn't see the Fitzwilliams having sheep farmers in the family. Must be a common name like Smith and Jones.

  "See. Now was that so hard?"

  "Yes."

  He tried his best Mr. Grumpington impression, but I noticed before he could hide it with his cup of coffee, the corners of his mouth curved.

  "Whatever you say, Mr. Fitzwilliam."

  His eyes widened and pain stole Carter's amusement in a flash.

  "D-Did I say something wrong?"

  Was he teased as a child about his last name? I couldn’t imagine the name Fitzwilliam producing taunts, but you never know what kids will find amusing.

  "No. It's just, uh . . . my dad was Mr. Fitzwilliam. I was always Carter. It reminded me of him. That's all."

  "Oh. Did something happen to your father?"

  He had mentioned his dad many times since I'd been here, so I knew his father had a powerful impact on Carter. I had no idea if his father was dead or just elsewhere.

  "He died two years ago."

  "I'm sorry. I bet you two were close. And from what you've told me about him, he taught you well."