by K Larsen
Cabin Fever
K Larsen
Mara White
Cabin Fever
A Novel by K. Larsen and Mara White
Copyright © 2018 by K. Larsen & Mara White
Cover by: Rachel Caid
Edited by Grey Ditto and Mara White
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Epilogue
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The Marriage Pact
41. Chapter 1
42. Chapter 2
One
Tristan
A blue jay settled on a snowy limb of a pine tree. Tristan rose excitedly from his rocking chair.
"There's only been one jay all winter," he said to himself. After a record pileup of snow in Burke Valley and beyond, Tristan could push the door open and step outside. He finally had a view instead of mounds of snow. In the respite between the storm that was, and the one predicted ahead, he slipped a jacket over his sweater and tucked a knit hat over his too long, salt-and-pepper hair that matched his bushy beard. It was a good day when he could step out to share bread with a feathered friend. He stretched his back and grinned as he took the plunge from the front door landing into the shin-deep snow below—yesterday the snow had been up to the landing. A good two days of sun had done its job and whittled it down to something far more manageable to walk in.
He inhaled the crisp, fresh air and reveled at the vista he called home. Outside his solar-powered, woodstove-heated cabin, where he lived alone, five miles from any sign of civilization, and felt at peace. Tristan grew up in Atlantic City but always felt isolated. He watched society tear itself apart over civil rights and greed and finally, he had snapped. He'd packed what he could in a backpack and headed for the mountains. Tristan hadn't had a plan or a concrete destination, but he made the trek. Purchased a plot of land in the remote valley between two mountains and started building what he needed. He had never fit in well. He was socially withdrawn and couldn't imagine a woman putting up with him. It was too bad because a partner was something he'd wanted. Although, not at the expense of giving up his rustic life and he hadn't met a woman yet who'd willingly want to live alongside him so removed from civilization. It was hard work; back-breaking sometimes, with long stretches in the winter where he saw no other people. Where it was dark more than light and bone-chilling temperatures made it nearly impossible to keep the cabin comfortable.
Every other week or so, he would try to get to the nearest town, Bluebell, to haul back provisions on a sled strapped to his back. As weather allowed, he skied more than forty minutes through the sloping canvas to retrieve what he could not provide for himself, - cereal for breakfast, peanut butter and jelly or grilled cheese supplies for the half-sandwich he ate for lunch, and pasta for dinner, complemented with the veggies from the greenhouse he built abutting the cabin. He also brought back cookies, tea or coffee, and books when he could. He always kept sacks of potatoes, rice and beans in the shed to supplement the more perishable foods.
He'd worked for the first few years at a nearby weather observatory to supplement the small nest egg he'd arrived with while building his modest compound. The locals embraced him there and he found he'd built a few solid friendships. Sometimes he'd even stay long enough to play a round of darts and have a beer at the pub. The old mining town had no qualms with him or he with it and it worked out nicely.
The blue jay landed in his weathered palm and pecked at the breadcrumbs. He'd always had a way with wild animals. More so than with people. Tristan laughed as the bird ate what he offered it. Short, quick little movements—awkward. The bird was aware of the great risk it was taking by trusting him. As if sensing being laughed at, the bird peered up at him a moment before taking flight. Tristan plowed through the snow to complete his chores. There was plenty that would need to be done before the next storm rolled in and if the sky could talk...it would tell him he was in for blizzard-like conditions.
His favorite way to pass the time outside of reading were movie nights. He had a small projector and one wall of the cabin covered by a sheet became his movie screen. One night last week as a snowstorm raged, he watched You've Got Mail. He knew it was strange for a grown man to watch such lighthearted romantic nonsense. But he hated violence and horror. Only happy movies made the cut out here. There was enough doom and gloom provided by nature alone, in his life.
He’d made the mistake, over a beer and a game of darts, of admitting his movie preference. It had earned him rolling laughter from the blokes he played with. Sometimes he forgot social norms and graces. Spending so much time alone would do that to a person. The only person he needed to please was himself and he did. Going into town was refreshing but could also make him anxious. He knew the men were laughing at him, but he was late in pinpointing exactly why, which had caused more raucous laughter. At the cabin, there were no others to make him second guess what brought him joy or what made him a man. It struck him as odd that the masses let others’ opinions dictate their own self-worth. He’d laughed alongside the men at the bar that evening but had never been so relieved to finish his beer and game and return to nonjudgmental nature. Isolation afforded him a freedom that society had never graced him with.
He knew he was strong, incredibly fit for his age. Outdoor work had shaped his body over the years into lean muscle. He knew he was smart too—he was still alive and thriving on his own, despite the unrelenting conditions he was subjected to. And he knew that if sappy romantic comedies made him feel good, then he would keep right on watching them. If those men had any good sense, they’d watch too. His cock knew that those movies always had the best sex scenes and the most attractive actors. And every man needed relief that only an orgasm could bring sometimes. He didn’t miss human contact, but he did miss the fire that only a woman’s touch could bring.
Two
Meghan
Meghan Taylor was equal parts excited and afraid. She’d never done anything remotely adventurous unless you counted filing for divorce from the man she’d married at the tender age of nineteen. A solo hiking and ski trip was out of character for her, but she was embar
king on a new life and with it, embracing all sorts of activities she hadn’t tried before. Like the volcano hike and zip lining she’d given herself for her thirty-ninth birthday in Costa Rica last year. There was no time like the present to discover what you truly loved and were actually good at. The twins were away at college, nearing the halfway point of their sophomore year, leaving her with no one to look after. Bruce was paying out a small fortune in alimony and Meghan felt pressure to do something meaningful with the sum—like rediscover her freedom and make every moment count.
When her husband ran off with the much younger and prettier principal of her kids’ school, it made her reevaluate her own meaning and purpose in life. Meghan had never felt quite content or fully satisfied being a wife, mother, and homemaker; yet that had been her existence for the last twenty years. She supposed that was the reason for her involvement in the PTA, the church, being the class parent, running the little-league fundraisers, all the volunteer work, the multiple roles she threw herself into, to escape being nothing more than an attorney’s wife. Bruce undervalued her, and in turn, she worked even harder at every endeavor she took on, as if she were constantly trying to prove her worth and value.
The doorbell buzzed and she hopped up from packing to open it. The living room floor was strewn with her hiking pack, her waterproof clothing, sleeping roll, small burner for cooking and heating water—all the thousands of accoutrements she realized she needed only through research and the hiking blogs she followed. You had to be prepared for all the possibilities out there: from bear attacks to blizzard whiteouts.
“Just sign here,” the delivery man said, holding out his hand-held device. He was young and handsome, probably just a handful of years older than her twin boys. He smiled at Meghan and licked his full lips. “You taking another trip?”
“Yes, winter hiking in the mountains.”
“Wow, Ms. Taylor, you’re the most adventurous housewife I know.”
Sebastian had been working her route for over a year and they often chatted. It seemed there was always something she had to order for one of her adventures. Sebastian was gorgeous and the adrenaline that raced through her body whenever he buzzed was one hundred percent chemistry-induced sexual tension.
Seb smiled at her again and raked her body with his eyes.
“Meghan, please, call me Meghan. I’m divorced—single.”
“You got it, Meghan.” Her name on his lips made her heart flutter.
One area she’d neglected ever since the divorce was dating, not even attempting to get to know someone new, and as far as getting physical—that realm was clocking in at a zero. A fact made more apparent to her by Sebastian-the FedEx guy, Martin-the man who pumped her gas at the service station, Luke-the cashier at her grocery store, and quite a few encounters with random men she never saw again. The tension was pulled tight, about as taut as it could go, and Meghan harbored fear that one day soon she’d just snap and start fucking every single one of them. Married at nineteen, she never had a chance to sow her wild oats.
“Backpackers’ meals, freeze-dried so they’re light,” she told him as he handed over the box.
“I’d love to go with you on one of these excursions someday,” Sebastian told her. He eyed her breasts that were responding to just the sound of his voice.
Cold air was rushing in the door, but all Meghan could feel was burning heat. Her face was flushed, her nipples hardened, and between her legs she pinged like a tracking device. She squeezed her thighs together and crossed her arms over her breasts.
Your children’s contemporary, she reminded herself. You’re nearing forty—the age they boot you out of the Playboy Mansion. Over-ripe fruit, expired milk, she mentally chided herself. Was there anything inherently wrong with banging the delivery guy? Probably not, but she wasn’t ready yet to find out.
She looked good for her age. In the case of Sebastian, maybe too good. Her body was fit thanks to yoga, Pilates, and running. Her hair was long and a caramel, honeyed blonde. Maybe she dressed too young, showed too much cleavage. Maybe she was subconsciously inviting the advances and amping up the sexual tension herself. She was insecure and her inexperience made her feel vulnerable. Sex with Bruce had been ordinary, and she didn’t have the practice to compare him to anybody else.
“Part of the process is going alone. I’m on sort of a self-discovery mission,” she told him, politely moving the door in the direction of closed.
“Well, be careful. I don’t like to think of you sleeping out there alone!” Seb called as she carefully shut the door in his face.
He thought of her sleeping. If he were to come, Meghan didn’t imagine much sleeping would get done. She needed a shower, her vibrator, and realized it was time to finally start thinking about going on a date.
Meghan had spent the last year in a heartfelt mission of rebelling against her former self. She now had four tattoos, something that Bruce would’ve undoubtedly scoffed at. She’d dyed a lock of her long hair a soft baby blue and it wasn’t hidden underneath layers, in fact, it sat in front and often fell over her eye necessitating tucking it behind her ear. She’d taken multiple steps to expand who she was, because twenty years of an unhappy marriage had left her feeling stifled, spiritually stunted, out of touch with her community. The divorce made her realize that she suffered from a debilitating lack of a support. She felt like a nobody without Bruce, as if his just being had given her meaning. She’d enrolled in a local college course and started exercising more, taken up wine tasting, sculpture, and even more volunteer work.
Despite all of the attempts to enrich her life, Meghan was lonely. Turned out, when you left the wives’ club, your old so-called friends didn’t see the need of having you around anymore. Especially when Bruce still walked in their social circles with a 2.0 on his arm who beat you in nearly every single category. 2.0, because her name was also Meghan—Megan Hall was bustier and blonder, wore more fashionable clothes and could still party until four in the morning. 2.0 was younger, by only five years, but she had a loud laugh and liked to climb up on tables and dance whenever she got drunk. Meghan wondered if she was a wet blanket in comparison. Her passions were reading books, hiking, and raising two well-rounded boys.
So, Meghan channeled anger and jealousy over 2.0 into investing in herself. She’d figured out in such a short time that the journey of self-discovery was a never-ending one. Evolution was constant, and change was inevitable. She realized that every single day she woke up was a day she could start anew, and any of the cloying ghosts from the past would disappear from the simple refusal to engage in guilt or regret. Now her entire life was centered on moving forward, challenging herself mentally, physically, and even socially. It was a new dawn and she actually couldn’t wait to see what life held in store for her forties.
She’d be damned if she didn’t see the progress every time she looked in the mirror. Her face glowed with a vitality that hadn’t been there before. Her body hummed with excitement at the prospect of each new day, and her heart blossomed with compassion and a newly discovered love for humanity, for her sons, for her family, and most importantly, for herself. She thought she was getting dumped, but soon found that she’d been gifted the unique opportunity to be born again—a better version of herself in the making. She’d once imagined forty would mark the end of her so-called life, but it turned out that the age she’d dreaded was the open door she hadn’t known she’d been searching for.
Three
Tristan
Tristan prepped the cabin and greenhouse with a precision that came from years of practice. The sky greyed and a chill ran the length of his spine. He knew he needed to make a run for supplies, propane especially, but there wouldn't be enough time between the last storm and this one to do so. He made a mental tally of what he had and how long it would last. He should be okay if he rationed, for another two weeks or so. He finished up what he could just as the snow began to fall. Thick, heavy flakes descended from above, littering his jacket, hat, and b
eard with white spots.
Inside, Tristan shucked his coat, hat, and boots at the door before running his fingers through his beard. Looking out the window at the pines, the mountain rising above a stream he thought about how easy it would be out here, to not survive the long winter, but how it could all be very gentle too, if you didn't mistreat it.
He shoved some logs in the woodstove, alongside the necessary kindling and lit it. He picked up his boots and set them in front of it to dry out and keep warm before removing his socks to do the same. Tristan headed to his small kitchenette to start a pot of pasta for dinner.
It was dark outside. Wolves howled, the sound carried on the wind of the storm. Already a couple inches had accumulated. Regardless, he peered into the black, hoping his feathered friend had found shelter for the night.
He'd eaten, washed his dinner dishes and made a mug of tea, which was sitting on a table he’d built next to his threadbare couch. He grabbed an extra quilt as a particularly harsh gust of wind rattled the cabin windows before sinking into the cushions and opening his book to the dog-eared page.
