Read Online Cabin Fever by Elle Casey - Free Book Online
Authors: Elle Casey
Tags: Humor, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Romantic Comedy, Contemporary Fiction, Contemporary Women, Women's Fiction
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supplies and pay for them with cash. I don’t even get a hello this time from Miss Sunshine behind the counter. She’s too busy filling out a questionnaire in her magazine about the perfect mate. I can see the title of the accompanying article from where I’m standing as I pay for my supplies. I could save her the trouble and tell her the perfect mate doesn’t knock a girl up and leave her to work in a convenience store alone, but I don’t bother. I’m no one to judge; my last boyfriend stole my couch before he left for good.
Jaws the mutt has finished his food, or as much of it as he can get to. He’s pushing the can around with his paw, but when the opening spins my way, I can see that most of the contents are gone.
“I’ll come back in a couple days to see you again, Jaws, okay?” I open my passenger door and put the bag in. “Unless you want to come with me?” I leave the door open and gesture to him to go into the car.
He sits down and licks his mouth.
“Okay, have it your way.”
I close the door and move around to my side, settling into the driver’s seat. Driving away, I’m struck by a pang of guilt for leaving him behind in the cold, but tell myself I have to be realistic. This dog hates me. He only accepted my offering because he’s starving. Otherwise, he would have happily bit my hand off.
His furry body gets smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, and by the time I get home, I’m crying. I hate myself and my cold, cold heart. Why didn’t I give him more food for later? Why didn’t I ask the girl in the store to watch out for him? Why didn’t I make him like me? This dog has taken the place of all the men who I haven’t connected with over the years. My life: it’s a sad state of affairs for sure.
Unloading the groceries takes me the better part of a half hour, giving me time to get control of my emotions and come up with the game plan of going back for Jaws with more food in hand. It feels good to have a plan.
Just as I’m about to head back into town, a giant pickup truck comes barreling up the driveway, its back end swerving a little to the left before straightening out again. The driver rolls down his window as he draws near.
“You the lady who needs wood?”
“Yes, that’s me!” The first happy thing that’s come along all day! Finally! I have heat! “The house is up there.”
He rolls his window up, revs his engine, and leaves me there. His truck plows right through the snowdrift nearby and he makes a new driveway around my car.
“Oh. Well, that’s handy, I guess.” I trudge through his tire tracks to get back up to the cabin. By the time I reach his truck, he’s already throwing wood out onto the snow.
“What are you doing?” I ask, breathless as I try to run the last few yards.
“What’s it look like I’m doing?” He pauses with his hands hanging at his sides. With the red and black flannel jacket, a greasy looking baseball hat, and a few days’ growth of beard, he looks like a lost lumberjack. He’s pretty much exactly how I pictured him, only younger and better-looking, in spite of that disgusting hat. “I’m delivering your wood, like you asked me to.”
“But you need to put it on the porch.” I look desperately from the pile of wood he’s already tossed out, to the place where I imagined it would be stored. I point for emphasis. There’re a lot of footsteps between there and here.
“I don’t get paid to stack. I just get paid to deliver.” He starts throwing wood out again.
“But there’s a storm coming!” I’m whining, but I don’t care. Desperate women are allowed to whine a little.
“Don’t I know it. I’ve got three more deliveries to get done today and I haven’t even had lunch yet.”
The bitter woman in me replaces the word lunch with first beer . I suppose I should consider myself lucky that he came at all. I dated an alcoholic once; I couldn’t depend on him for anything.
I turn around to head back to my
Jaws the mutt has finished his food, or as much of it as he can get to. He’s pushing the can around with his paw, but when the opening spins my way, I can see that most of the contents are gone.
“I’ll come back in a couple days to see you again, Jaws, okay?” I open my passenger door and put the bag in. “Unless you want to come with me?” I leave the door open and gesture to him to go into the car.
He sits down and licks his mouth.
“Okay, have it your way.”
I close the door and move around to my side, settling into the driver’s seat. Driving away, I’m struck by a pang of guilt for leaving him behind in the cold, but tell myself I have to be realistic. This dog hates me. He only accepted my offering because he’s starving. Otherwise, he would have happily bit my hand off.
His furry body gets smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, and by the time I get home, I’m crying. I hate myself and my cold, cold heart. Why didn’t I give him more food for later? Why didn’t I ask the girl in the store to watch out for him? Why didn’t I make him like me? This dog has taken the place of all the men who I haven’t connected with over the years. My life: it’s a sad state of affairs for sure.
Unloading the groceries takes me the better part of a half hour, giving me time to get control of my emotions and come up with the game plan of going back for Jaws with more food in hand. It feels good to have a plan.
Just as I’m about to head back into town, a giant pickup truck comes barreling up the driveway, its back end swerving a little to the left before straightening out again. The driver rolls down his window as he draws near.
“You the lady who needs wood?”
“Yes, that’s me!” The first happy thing that’s come along all day! Finally! I have heat! “The house is up there.”
He rolls his window up, revs his engine, and leaves me there. His truck plows right through the snowdrift nearby and he makes a new driveway around my car.
“Oh. Well, that’s handy, I guess.” I trudge through his tire tracks to get back up to the cabin. By the time I reach his truck, he’s already throwing wood out onto the snow.
“What are you doing?” I ask, breathless as I try to run the last few yards.
“What’s it look like I’m doing?” He pauses with his hands hanging at his sides. With the red and black flannel jacket, a greasy looking baseball hat, and a few days’ growth of beard, he looks like a lost lumberjack. He’s pretty much exactly how I pictured him, only younger and better-looking, in spite of that disgusting hat. “I’m delivering your wood, like you asked me to.”
“But you need to put it on the porch.” I look desperately from the pile of wood he’s already tossed out, to the place where I imagined it would be stored. I point for emphasis. There’re a lot of footsteps between there and here.
“I don’t get paid to stack. I just get paid to deliver.” He starts throwing wood out again.
“But there’s a storm coming!” I’m whining, but I don’t care. Desperate women are allowed to whine a little.
“Don’t I know it. I’ve got three more deliveries to get done today and I haven’t even had lunch yet.”
The bitter woman in me replaces the word lunch with first beer . I suppose I should consider myself lucky that he came at all. I dated an alcoholic once; I couldn’t depend on him for anything.
I turn around to head back to my
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