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.
He pointed at me and yelled, "I'm going to—"
That's all I heard because I blacked out. In a way, it was a blessing. I wouldn't be conscious for my death. Goodbye world. I had fun, except for my wedding day. Maybe Derrick would feel sleazy for cheating on me now that I was dead.
Did Olivia die and cause Derrik to feel like a dick? READ CABIN FEVER NOW.
STORIES by ELIZABETH LYNX
Newest Releases
Royal Disgrace, book 5 of Cake Love, standalone
Price of Fame
Idol, book 1 Price of Fame, standalone novella
Star, book 2 Price of Fame, standalone novella
Mogul, book 3 Price of Fame, standalone novella
Lost & Found
Dirty Secret, prequel, standalone
Cabin Fever, book 1 Lost & Found, standalone
Living Hell, book 2 Lost & Found, standalone
Multi-Author
Happy New You
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
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Elizabeth Lynx was a printer. She was also a graphic designer, photographer, actress, comedic improviser, merchandiser, and now adding author to that extensive list of professions.
Now, she’s a writer. Since she loved reading romantic and funny books she knew she had to write them. Several years ago she started with her first romantic comedy series, Cake Love, and hasn’t looked back since.
Find out more about Elizabeth on her website: www.elizabeth-lynx.com
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Royal Disgrace (Cake Love Book 5) Page 16
