I do finally manage to dig out a single pair of Giorgio Armani jeans and his Loro Piana baby cashmere hoodie. The socks I find don’t seem particularly warm, but they’ll have to do.
“Chase.” I crouch down beside him and hold out the clothing. “We need to get you out of those wet clothes.”
Chase lets out a low moan. His eyes are open only to slits. Again, I can’t help but think we have to get him to a hospital… or else. But every time I look out the window, the snow is coming down harder than it was the last time.
Jake emerges from the kitchen, and now that he’s walking on an even surface, it’s obvious the way he was limping before wasn’t entirely due to the snow. He winces every time he puts weight on his right leg, but that doesn’t slow him down. He’s carrying a pot of water that has steam emanating from it. I want to dunk my body in that pot. The chances of getting a hot shower in this cabin are zero.
“I can’t wake him up,” I say, my voice breaking. “I think… he’s really sick.”
Jake lowers the pot onto the coffee table. He seems completely unconcerned. “We just need to warm him up.”
“What about calling for an ambulance?” I lift my eyes. “They might be able to send some EMTs out here, at least…”
“I don’t have a phone.”
“You…” I’m having trouble wrapping my head around this one. My phone is my life. I’d have it surgically attached if I could. “You don’t have a phone?”
“Nope.”
“At all? Not even a landline?”
“Nope.”
“Then how do you call people?”
“I don’t.”
“But…” I shake my head. “What if it’s an emergency?”
“There’s a phone at the general store five miles down the road. If I really need it.”
I blink a few times. He lives out here all alone. No wife, no kids, no family, no friends. And he has no phone to even communicate with the outside world. “Don’t you get lonely?”
“Nope.”
And that’s apparently the end of that conversation.
Jake bends down next to Chase. He lifts his eyelid with the only intact finger of his left hand—his thumb. Chase’s eyes flutter and briefly come into focus. He startles at Jake’s appearance—not that I can blame him.
“Hey, buddy.” Jake shakes his arm. “We need to change your clothes. Can you hear me?”
Chase just stares at him for a minute, and when he finally speaks, his voice sounds slurred: “Who are you?”
“My name is Jake. What’s your name?”
“Ch-Chase.”
“Can you sit up for me, Chase?”
Chase is acting like he does when he’s had a few too many bottles of red wine from his private cellar. But Jake is really good with him. He manages to sit him up and get him out of his wet clothes and into the new dry ones. He’s nicer to Chase than he was to me. I guess you have to have hypothermia for this guy not to be a jerk to you.
“What about the warm compresses?” I ask. The pot of water is still steaming. I dip my fingers into it, which is heavenly. “Should we put the compress on his hands? They were ice cold.”
“No,” Jake says. “That will force the cold blood back to his heart, lungs, and brain, and he’ll die.”
“Oh.” Good to know.
“Put it on his forehead.”
I rest the warm compress on Chase’s forehead. His eyes are shut and he moans softly, but doesn’t open them. He looks terrible. His complexion is pale and waxy, and he’s barely said two words. I’m still convinced he needs a hospital, but Jake doesn’t seem like he’s going to give in on that.
“He’ll be okay,” Jake says, as if reading my thoughts. “He’s got the blankets and the fireplace. Let him rest.”
I look around the small living area. “Where will I sleep?”
“I got a sleeping bag in the closet.”
“A sleeping bag?” I wince. I’ve never slept in a sleeping bag in my entire life. Even when I had sleepovers at a friend’s house as a kid, they always managed to rustle me up a bed. But as an adult, it sounds nothing short of horrible.
“Sorry, Princess.” He shrugs. “That’s all I got.”
I flinch the way I do every time he calls me Princess. He thinks I’m a spoiled brat, who can only sleep on Frette silk sheets draped in satin without so much as a pea under my bed. Well, Frette sheets would be nice, but I don’t need them. I’ll show him I’m not a spoiled brat. “No, a sleeping bag is great,” I say quickly. “Actually, it’s more than I expected. Honestly, it’s not like I even need a sleeping bag. I can just… you know, sleep on the floor. I do that all the time when I’m camping out. I always say: sleeping bags are for the weak.”
Jake is gawking at me.
Too far, I think.
“Great,” he says flatly. “If you prefer the floor, I’ll just leave the sleeping bag in the closet then.”
“No!” I nearly yell. “I mean, since you have the sleeping bag, I suppose I’ll take it. It’s been a long day, after all.”
His lips curl into a crooked smile. He’s smirking at me. I’m not fooling anyone—he knows I’m full of it. “If you say so.”
If Jake were a food, he’d be a pack of beef jerky.
As he goes to retrieve the sleeping bag, I look around the cabin, scanning the small living space. You could fit this entire cabin in my living room. You could fit two of these cabins in Chase’s living room.
“Where’s the bathroom?” I ask him when he returns with the thin film of fabric that I’ll be sleeping on tonight.
“No bathroom,” Jake grunts.
My mouth falls open. “There’s no… but how do I…?”
He jerks a thumb at the front door. “You go outside and there’s a shovel. You dig a little hole and you squat.”
No. Oh my God, no. I do not want to do that.
“There are some leaves for toilet paper,” he adds. “Just be careful not to take the poison ivy ones. Leaves of three, let it be. Leaves of four, wipe some more.”
I stare at him.
Jake holds my gaze for a moment, then bursts out laughing. “I’m just joking. The bathroom is right over there. It’s got a toilet that flushes and everything.”
I force a smile, even though inside I’m not laughing.
Chapter 6
The floor of the cabin is even more uncomfortable than I would have imagined. The fabric of the flimsy sleeping bag does nothing to cushion my body from the hard wood. I toss and turn, intermittently emerging from my restless sleep to heat up some water and give Chase a new compress. God, I can’t wait until morning, when the blizzard is over and we can hopefully get the hell out of here.
At around two in the morning, I sit up with a crick in my neck. I stretch it out, but it’s ridiculously hard to get comfortable. I mean, I’m on the floor. Who sleeps on the floor in the twenty-first century? I look over at Chase, who is lying under four blankets. Maybe I could take one of those blankets so I’ve got another layer of cushioning between me and the ground. He’s not going to die if I take one blanket, is he? Is he?
Screw it. I’ll just spend the night tossing and turning.
The fire has died down and the cabin’s gotten colder again. I shiver, even with my heavy sweater on. I creep over to Chase to check on him, hoping he’s more alert than earlier. I touch his cheek and…
He’s ice-cold.
“Chase.” I shake his shoulder. “Chase, wake up.”
He groans like he did before, but doesn’t wake up—he won’t even open his eyes a little bit. It’s been hours—by now, he should be less lethargic, shouldn’t he? He’s really sick. Jake doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about—Chase needs to get to a hospital right now. I don’t care if there’s a blizzard outside.
“Chase.” I shake him harder this time. “Can you sit up?”
He doesn’t open his eyes.
When Jake came in, he hung his keys on the ring by the door. I look there now, and
the ring of keys is still there. His car keys are on that ring. I could take his truck and go for help. Jake refuses to do it but somebody has to. I’m not going to let Chase die on this sofa.
I shove my feet back into my useless non-waterproof Louboutin boots, which are still cold and damp from last night. I throw on my Thinsulate coat, which suddenly seems nowhere near warm enough for what awaits me outside. The red scarf has dried out, at least, so I put that on, along with my beret. Then I grab Jake’s keys from the hook and quietly let myself out the front door.
The green truck is parked right in front of the cabin. The snow is still coming down hard, and my leg sinks into it up to my knee as I make my way to the truck. My feet were slightly damp before, but now they’re completely saturated with ice-cold liquid. But I’ve got to push through it—for Chase. I’m the only one who can save him now.
Once I’ve reached the truck, I fumble with the keyring. He’s got three keys on it, and I frown at them, trying to figure out which one opens the door.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
I look up, startled. Jake is standing by the door of the cabin in his thick coat with a normal hat that covers his unruly hair. The snowflakes form white dots as they fall on his heavy beard. He’s peering at me with his left eye.
“Uh…” I back up against the truck, my heart pounding. “I, um…”
He takes a menacing step towards me. My eyes are drawn to that eyepatch covering his right eye—now that I’m close to him, I can see there’s a thin white scar snaking out below the patch. “Are you stealing my truck?”
Oh my God, he’s going to kill me. This man is going to snap my neck with his bare hands and throw me into the woods, and they won’t find my body till spring.
“I was borrowing it,” I say in a tiny voice. “Just… you know, so I could get help for Chase.”
“I see.” He takes another step toward me. “Borrowing it…”
I consider making a run for it, but it’s pretty obvious how that would go. He could chase me down in a second in this storm. But he wouldn’t have to—if I disappeared into the woods, I’d freeze to death before morning in my inadequate coat and boots without even any gloves.
“Chase is really sick,” I manage. “I could barely wake him up.”
He stops moving toward me. He cocks his head to the side. “You ever drive a truck before?”
“No.” I lift my chin. “But I’m sure I could figure it out.”
The menacing look vanishes from his face, replaced with a look of amusement. “All right, then. Go ahead.”
I stare at him. “What?”
He waves his left arm at the truck. He’s not wearing gloves and I can see the stubs of his missing digits. “You refuse to believe me that it’s not a good idea to go out in this storm. So take the truck. Go for it.”
“I…” I look at the truck then back at him. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Be my guest.”
I fumble with the keys, still uncertain which one opens the door. The fact that my fingers have become numb and pink doesn’t make it any easier. I select one of the keys and try to fit it into the lock with shaking hands.
“It’s unlocked,” Jake says.
Oh.
I squeeze my left hand into a fist, trying to get back some of the circulation. Then I yank open the door of the truck. I climb inside, nearly tripping on the snowdrift that formed right outside the door. When I glance back at Jake, that look of amusement is still on his face. I look down and…
Why are there so many pedals down there?
Shit, this is a manual transmission. And I… well, Chase gave me a few lessons on how to drive a manual transmission, but this doesn’t look anything like his Porsche. But it’s probably the same once I get going. I’ll be driving really slowly anyway.
“Everything okay in there?” Jake calls to me.
“Yep,” I say.
I can’t let him know how freaked out I am. I’ve got to be strong. For Chase. I’ve got to help him or he could die. I’m his only hope. So I put the key in the ignition and…
Damn it, why won’t it turn?
I push as hard as I can, but it won’t budge. I jiggle it. What the hell? Is this the wrong key? But no, it fits in the hole. It’s got to be right.
“Having a problem, Princess?”
I peer out through the window, and Jake is grinning at me. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile since he found our car. Considering he’s been living in the backwoods for God knows how long, he actually has pretty nice teeth. Fairly white. Not gleaming and perfectly orthodonture-straight like Chase’s, but that slightly crooked left incisor gives even more character to his face. He has, actually, quite a nice smile.
I want to smack that smile off his face.
“The key won’t turn,” I finally say.
He cups his hand to his ear. “Eh? What’s that?”
“The key won’t turn!” I pound on the steering wheel in frustration. “I can’t start the truck!”
“Huh.” He shakes his head. “Well, maybe the truck’s trying to tell you something. Maybe the truck knows there’s a fucking blizzard outside and it’s not a great idea to get lost in it. Maybe the truck’s smarter than you are.”
“Oh, is it?”
“It would appear that way, yes.”
I want to scream in frustration. I bang my fist against the steering wheel and it lets out a honk of protest.
“Get out of the truck,” he says.
Reluctantly, I climb out of the vehicle, my boots sinking down into the snow before they hit the ground. I barely feel the cold wind whipping at my face. All I feel is the sting of frustration. And humiliation. He holds out his right hand and I drop the keys into it.
“I’ll get the fire going again,” Jake says. “That’s why I came out—to check on it.”
“Thanks,” I mumble.
“Don’t worry,” Jake says. “Your boyfriend is going to be just fine. He’ll live to apply hair product another day.”
I want to knee him in the groin. He may have saved our lives, but I’m sick of being polite while he insults me and Chase. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He raises his eyebrows, which aren’t as bushy as his beard. “Don’t I?”
Whatever. This storm will be over soon and then we’ll go get help. This nightmare will be over soon. Chase just has to hang in there a little longer.
Chapter 7
The rising sun is what wakes me the next morning.
I thought I’d never get back to sleep on that uncomfortable floor, especially after my humiliating failed attempt to borrow Jake’s truck, but I guess I was more tired than I thought—almost dying in a blizzard takes a lot out of you. I sit up cross-legged on the floor, my neck creaking loudly as I turn it from side to side.
Chase is still passed out on the couch. Maybe I’m imagining it, but he looks like he has a little more color in his cheeks, and his breaths aren’t as ragged. He looks more like he’s sleeping than hanging onto life by a thread. Maybe he really is going to be okay. Maybe Jake knew what he was talking about.
I sort through the clothes in my Louis Vuitton luggage, wondering why I thought to bring a sleeper bed-to-brunch silk slip dress in blush but not a decent sweater. I want to wear something that won’t give Jake reason to judge me, and I have a feel that would not be my Dolce and Gabbana floral pussybow blouse. As I’m sorting through my choices, I hear the hinges of a door creaking open. I lift my eyes and see a large, unfamiliar man with short dark hair and several days’ growth of a beard pad into the room in slippers, blue jeans, and a white undershirt. He drops down into a rickety wooden chair at the small table in the kitchen and rubs his face with the balls of his hands. Just as I’m about to ask this stranger who he is and what he’s doing here, I see the eyepatch.
It’s Jake.
Oh my God, he cut off his hair!
That unkempt mane from last night is gone. So is most of the beard, but not enti
rely—he left enough that nobody would call him clean-shaven. I wonder if he even owns a razor—I bet he did the whole thing with scissors. Except why? Why would he do that?
“You cut your hair,” I say numbly.
“Good morning to you too.” Jake lifts his left eye. Now that all the hair is gone and I can actually see his face, I realize with a jolt that he’s rather handsome. At least, in a rugged sort of way that contrasts sharply with Chase’s classically handsome features. Especially with the eyepatch. “I got sick of the two of you looking at me like I was about to murder you and toss you into a wood chipper. I didn’t realize how much I’d let things go till I saw the look on your face.”
It’s true—he’s far less frightening with all the hair gone. Also, now that I can see his bare arms and the outline of his chest in that undershirt, I’m incredibly impressed. I assumed he had good muscles based on how easily he lifted Chase, but wow. I mean, wow.
Stop staring, Natalie. It’s rude. Also, your boyfriend is ten feet away.
Well, ex-boyfriend. But still.
“Well, you didn’t have to do it on my account,” I say, trying to avert my eyes from those distractingly large muscles.
He shrugs. “I was tired of the Grizzly Adams look.”
“You mean Chewbacca.”
He laughs thinly. “Yeah, that too.” He glances over at Chase, sleeping on the couch. “So Abercrombie and Fitch over there is looking better.”
I hesitantly approach the table to join him. Up close, I can see that his haircut was a bit of a hack job. He did better than I might have on my own scalp with a pair of scissors, but he definitely doesn’t look like he’s fresh out of Rolando’s (Chase’s favorite salon).
“Maybe we could go to the hospital after breakfast,” I say.
Jake squints out the window. “It’s still snowing. We’ll see how bad it is. Maybe later today.”
He’s right—there’s still a fair amount of snow coming down. Will it ever stop? My stomach sinks at the thought of it, but I push my fears away. At least we’ve got plenty of food here, a fireplace, and (thank God) a working toilet.
“Or else I could get you to your destination,” he says. “Where were you going last night anyway?”
Cabin Fever Page 5
