Cabin Fever

by K Larsen

  The first result to pop up was a picture of her much younger, smiling up at a man who would suck the life right out of her eventually, the engagement announcement for her and Bruce. That man didn’t know a great thing if it kicked him in the face. His loss. Following the announcement, there was a link to Facebook. He didn’t have an account, but he clicked on it anyway.

  She’d posted two days ago. A photo at a cafe with a caption, “Nice day for a walk.” The cafe was tagged in the picture so Tristan followed the breadcrumbs Meghan had left until he knew that between the cafe address and a walk for her on a still healing foot, she had to live within a mile of the coffee place. Google maps showed only one residential street within walking distance, so that was where he would start. He knew they built their house, a Garrison-style home, how many Garrisons could be on one street with only one car at home on New Year’s Eve? Of course, he was assuming she was home and not out attending a party or gathering to celebrate. Maybe she had plans. Maybe when he showed up she would laugh in his face. He would leave it up to fate. If it was right, it would happen.

  The white-haired man across from him began coughing. Tristan watched as he struggled to catch his breath while attempting to keep his cough quiet on a bus laden with sleeping people. He reached into his bag and pulled out a bottle of water.

  “Here, take this,” he said, extending the bottle to the man. The man covered his mouth and coughed again while shaking his head no. Tristan set the bottle on the seat next to him and said, “Drink the damn water, please.”

  When the bus pulled into the station the old man sitting next to him caught Tristan’s forearm as he stood to stretch.

  “Do you have a place to go?”

  Just how bad did he look? He gave a shy smile and nodded, “As soon as I find a taxi, I do.”

  “Would you like a ride?” the man asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

  “Don’t you have someone to get home to? I don’t want to trouble you.”

  “These days it’s just me and Dolores, my cat, she won’t die waiting an extra thirty minutes.” He laughed. His voice was old and thick and rough-sounding, but Tristan liked it anyway.

  “I think Dolores might disagree.”

  The man shot him a look that meant business and said, “Take the damn ride, please.”

  Tristan grinned and helped him down the bus stairs. “Thank you. That’d be great.”

  The man, Walter, chatted on and on about his visit with his daughter upstate and how wonderful it was to finally meet his second grandchild. He had been sick and couldn’t travel but also couldn’t be near the baby initially and felt like he was letting his late wife down by waiting so long to go and meet the newest member of the family. He swung a left at the cafe Meghan had posted from and Tristan found himself staring at the sign as if he’d be able to see a little piece of her there. The road wound up a hill with dense trees lining the street.

  “Here’s good,” he said.

  “There’s no house here.” Walter frowned.

  “I know, I’m not sure which house it is so I’m going to walk by them all.”

  “Just what are you doing here, Tristan?”

  “What feels right.”

  “It’s a woman, isn’t it?”

  Tristan nodded.

  “I knew it. Well then, for love, I’ll drive you up the street—slowly, and back again.”

  Tristan stifled the chuckle at his new accomplice and agreed. Walter began creeping up the street at the pace of a slug, peering out the windshield along with him as if he knew what to look for.

  Thirty-Eight

  Meghan

  She was alone. On New Year’s Eve.

  Way to ring in the new year, party animal.

  She had a playlist of two songs blaring in the kitchen on repeat while she dusted the house. It didn’t need it. She’d been feeling stir-crazy the last week and found herself doing chores she normally avoided like the plague, doing them willingly just to keep herself busy.

  She had every light on downstairs. It helped her feel less alone at night. There was no man, no cozy fire crackling, no personal narrator reading a book to her. The house felt ridiculously too big for just her. Empty rooms galore. The boys were at a party somewhere, with no plans on returning for the night. She pulled open the fridge door and scoured the contents looking for something, anything, even though she wasn’t hungry.

  Meghan had treated herself to a bottle of Bourbon, just for old time’s sake. She’d poured herself two fingers in a lowball and it was warming her insides nicely.

  She heaved out a sigh and wiped a single traitor tear that had escaped from her cheek. She missed him. Heavenly Day came on for the umpteenth time and she foolishly closed her eyes, hoisted her arms over the ghost before her and pretended to slow dance, to recapture the way she felt just for a moment. It was silly and she didn’t give a rat’s ass. There was no one there to chastise her anyway.

  When the doorbell rang, it startled her. She screamed and leapt in her spot, coming down too hard on her still healing foot, causing her to curse under her breath in a very unladylike manner all the way to the front door. It was well after eleven and there was no reason for anyone to be calling.

  She swung it open with a little too much vigor, the booze sloshed in her glass. Her mouth opened automatically to tell whoever it was that it was an ungodly hour to ring someone’s door, but she never got the chance. Tristan stood tall on her front stoop, lumbering really. His eyes burned holes through her as they drank her in. He was more handsome than she daydreamed him to be. More rugged and masculine. And he was at her house. He’d left the mountain and made it to the city, braved every adversity he loathed to arrive on her doorstep.

  Her hand flew to her mouth, covering her surprise. Tears welled in her eyes to the point she could barely see him clearly. And then she did what any sane woman would do. She flung herself at him. Legs wrapped around his waist, arms slung around his neck, his strong arms caught and pulled her flying form to him. He laughed as soon as he got his footing.

  “That went better than I planned in my head.”

  “Shut up,” she breathed and peeled herself away from him, so she could kiss his face. “You came. You came for me.” She peppered his face, his head, his beard, everything within reach with kisses as he carried them across the threshold into the house.

  Meghan knew too, what it really meant, coming from him, to show up for someone. Go the extra length, the trust he had to place in the idea that she wanted him too. She had doubted the connection herself, every single day of the past week. Tristan had gone out on a limb, and considering his past, the gesture must have been monumental for him. It meant the world to her that he left his safe cocoon to find her, meant that Tristan valued her company more than his own sanctuary. In a short time, her sanctuary had become his arms and it felt so right to be back in them again.

  “How do you keep finding me, mountain man?”

  “I use an owl service. Similar to carrier pigeons, but more exclusive.”

  “And these owls lead you to ladies in distress?” she asked.

  “You look healthy. No worse for the wear. The mountain air can do you good.”

  “I can see that.”

  Tristan weaved his fingers through her hair. He grabbed the base of her skull and pulled her mouth toward his. When he spoke, he did so looking into her eyes.

  “What I forgot to tell you was that I make house calls.”

  “Vernon isn’t too far out of your jurisdiction, Doc?”

  “As the crow flies, six hours is what it takes me to walk to town. The bus here was peanuts in comparison.”

  “I thought you were following owls.”

  “The only thing I’m following is you.”

  He kissed her suddenly and she melted into his touch. She knew she’d been yearning for him, but this sudden reunion gave her so much relief, the tension and stress slid right off like a discarded coat.

  “I felt like a traito
r leaving you there at the hospital. There were so many people and everyone wanted to get to you. I was fleeing that, not you.”

  “I thought maybe you regretted what happened.”

  “No regrets. All I could think about was getting home and the second I got there—I missed you. It didn’t feel like home anymore without you in it.”

  “I missed you too.”

  She fell into his arms easily, like she was meant to be there. Tristan scooped her up, held her tightly against his chest.

  “Where’s your bedroom? Is anyone else here?”

  “Upstairs to the left. Put me down, you need to be careful with your shoulder. Just hand me my cane and I can walk up the stairs.”

  Tristan laughed.

  Meghan realized they’d yet to discover what they were like together with both of them fully functioning. She could run, hike six hours into the woods if she pleased. She’d be back at it as soon as her foot healed.

  Tristan followed her up the stairs and they both shed their clothing as they ascended.

  “How did you get here, Tristan? How did you find me?”

  “A bit of detective work. Turns out, reading all those thrillers gives me a knack for tracking down missing persons.”

  Thirty-Nine

  Tristan

  She was happy to see him and that was all that mattered. His doubts melted away with the pure look of joy that took over her face the minute she saw him.

  He tore at her clothes, with an agility he usually saved for fires and hunting. But Tristan longed for her body like the desert for rain, and although he hadn’t thought he was starved for affection by all those years in isolation, touching Meghan brought out the hungry beast in him. He didn’t tone it down, and she never asked him to.

  He tore off her shirt, the buttons popped and flew, scattered on her hardwood floor. Yanked down her bra, until he had a breast in his mouth and one in his hand. He took from Meghan like he could never get enough. She sat back on her neatly made bed and pulled him down until he was on his knees in front of her. When she devoured his mouth, her lips tasted like liquor and it brought him back to their heated moments in the cabin. He liked her delirious and sober, drunk, happy, or scared. All of Meghan’s flavors and moods were to be savored. He yanked her silken pajama pants down, exposing the curve of her pale hip. He scraped his teeth along the small of her stomach until she writhed and kicked.

  Although she kept reaching for his cock, he batted her hands away and dragged her up the bed. Placing her delicately on the pillows, he straddled her, tasting first her mouth and then her neck. She arched her back and moaned, offering up her erect nipples. He tortured her near to orgasm before finally slipping a hand into her panties.

  Meghan was so wet and willing. He ground first two and then three fingers into her and she rode his hand flagrantly, all the while reaching for his straining manhood. When he finally released his cock from his jeans, he was leaking cum at the tip of an erection that was nearly painful. When she took him in her pretty mouth he felt sparks shoot up and down his spine. Meghan let him take control of her head and he guided his swollen dick slowly in and out of her mouth never wanting the feeling to end.

  At some point, Meghan went downstairs and got the bottle of Bourbon to ring in the New Year. The two of them sipped, warming their mouths and tongues, adding more fire to their kisses. Tristan spread her legs and kissed down her stomach until he covered her delicate pussy with his mouth. He sucked and licked, tongued her deeply holding an ass cheek in each hand, until she shuddered and thrust her hips. He pulled away and walked on his knees up the bed, his cock standing fully erect and pressing into his treasure trail. Meghan’s eyes were glassy and she licked her lips as she watched him. Tristan planked over her glorious body, supported his weight on one forearm while he stroked himself.

  “Can I still come inside you?” He took her nipple between his lips and she arched, straining up toward his cock.

  “Yes,” she was breathy and full of need.

  With one hand, he spread her lips and let his thumb slide inside. She was so wet he groaned, replaced his thumb with his engorged cock and stuck the thumb in her mouth.

  He fucked her hungrily, riding her body with all of the pent-up need that had been eating away at him. Tristan pressed one of Meghan’s legs up toward the headboard to reach deeper inside her and pound away at her G-spot. Her cries of abandon took him over the edge, until he pulled out and ejaculated all over her stomach with a roar. He tipped his head back to the ceiling as he milked his dick to the last drop.

  When the waves of orgasm finally stopped, Tristan collapsed down beside her. Meghan immediately rolled on top of him despite the messy fluids from their lovemaking. She licked his earlobe and he laughed out loud.

  They ended up in the shower scrubbing one another clean. Meghan cracked jokes about using the cabin as a summer residence, but he knew she could feel him withdrawing. He wanted her but not part time.

  “I don’t like you living alone,” he said to her under the hot stream.

  “Same goes for you,” she retorted. Meghan had a soapy cloth and scrubbed his back clean. He didn’t want to be sexist or a hypocrite, but he didn’t like the idea of her being alone so often.

  She hugged him after she washed him and set the shower on ‘steam.’ Tristan squeezed her back in a sincere embrace. He didn’t know what the future would look like, but the one thing he knew for certain was that he didn’t want to lose this—lose her. Meghan Taylor made him smile, made him laugh, made him want so many things.

  Forty

  Meghan

  Meghan rolled over and pulled the covers over her face. The weak January sun was doing its best to burrow through the window and heat up her face. She’d been dreaming she was in the cabin, drunk on Bourbon, wood smoke, and the cedary scent of Tristan’s chest. She sat up straight in bed like a missile. The white sun was streaming through her lacy curtains. Tristan was gone, but the smell of strong coffee wafted up the stairs. Her hair was tousled, she had a long layered bang now thanks to cutting out her blue streak.

  The scrape of shovel against gravel drew her to the window. Down below a strange man was shoveling out her car. It had snowed at least a foot while they slept. Meghan had knocked out after midnight and slept like the dead.

  “Tristan?” she shouted downstairs. She watched the young handsome man shovel with finesse. He’d done the front stairs and path and nearly all of the sidewalk in front of the house.

  In the bathroom she found the shower still covered in droplets. The sink basin showed trace amount of stubble. Meghan hurriedly brushed her teeth and ran a brush through her hair, swabbed the remnants of mascara from under her eyes. Had she cried last night? She couldn’t remember.

  She threw on comfortable jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, shoved her feet in slippers and ran down the stairs. Her jubilance to wake up reminded her of Christmas mornings from childhood—the excitement at the prospect of a new day and all there was to discover.

  “Tristan?” she said. As she came around the corner into the kitchen, she could see he wasn’t there. But through the large glass doors, the backyard was visible. The neighborhood was blanketed in a fresh fallen snow, a new start for the new year, and the sun shone so brightly that it turned the powder into iridescent glitter. Mother Nature had dressed up for the occasion.

  Meghan’s deck was shoveled and so was the walkway to the small shed with garden tools in her backyard. She ran to the front of the house and peered out the bay window at the shoveling centerfold who’d fully cleared her car.

  “Tristan?” she opened the front door and visored her eyes with her hand. The air was frigid and the sun was putting forth its very best winter glare.

  “Morning!” Tristan called to her. He was wearing sunglasses and a waffle-knit, red, long-underwear shirt. He was also shockingly beardless and his shaggy hair was held back in a short ponytail. Meghan had never woken up to anything quite so appealing.

  “There’s coffee. Thou
ght I’d wait to cook breakfast until you were up and ready.”

  Tristan smiled at her and she smiled back, tears rushing to her eyes. Although she wasn’t sure exactly what she’d expected—it wasn’t this. Tristan, chipper and happy, looking and feeling completely comfortable in his surroundings, her surroundings. She’d half expected to wake and find him gone, a long note left behind about how he couldn’t handle the city, social life, or relationships. She knew he was scarred by his past. But here he was smiling, teeth and lips shining in the sun, the reflections from the snow and his sunglasses practically blinding.

  “Do you like homemade cinnamon rolls? Also, I hope you don’t mind, but I went ahead and fixed the door on the shed. Just needed the hinges replaced and I found two in the toolkit in the garage.” He stomped the snow off his boots and laid the shovel against the house.

  “Jesus, should you even be shoveling with your—”

  He pulled her into a hug as soon as he stepped in the house and silenced her with a kiss. Meghan relished the feel of his naked jaw on her cheek. The beard took ten years off, she was sleeping with the sexiest man alive and he was making her homemade cinnamon rolls for breakfast.

  They drank their coffee in the sun room and Meghan could hardly believe that he was there in the flesh. She’d resigned herself to finish her quest, but very much without him.

  “How long are you staying?” she asked him timidly. She was testing the waters, not wanting to shatter the illusion of perfection that the first day of the new year had brought them.

  “I spent the whole bus ride thinking that very same thing. It seemed like a predicament, but that’s just because I was stuck in my head. I thought I had to be out in the woods to be happy, that self-imposed exile was it for me. But when I went back after the hospital, I realized my needs had changed completely. Being close to you is more important to me than anything. I mean, if you’ll have me.”