I stopped mid-stride when my body reacted much the way it had the day before as I remembered one very unwelcome detail about the man’s hair.
I’d wanted to touch it.
It’d been the strangest thing. The asshole had been berating me with his crap about not wanting to be bothered, but all I’d been thinking about was how silky his hair looked and wanting to know if that was what it would feel like as it slid between my fingers.
The urge had been equally disturbing and exciting. Even if the guy hadn’t kicked me out, I likely would have gotten the hell out of there anyway because I hadn’t known what to make of the weird sensation.
By the time I’d gone to bed the night before, I’d come to the realization that I’d only been looking at the man as if he’d been on the other side of my camera. There’d been a time when my entire life had been all about capturing things like texture and color through the lens of a camera and making people want to do exactly what I had… reach out and touch it. While my days behind the camera were long over, clearly there was a little bit of residual desire when it came to my previous career.
I’d been proud of myself for the show of logic and reasoning when it’d come to the new tenant, but there’d only been one little problem…
Not once had I ever reacted to anything on the other side of the camera the way I’d reacted to the man sitting forlornly at the kitchen table. Sure, I’d had that weird nervous energy before, like when I’d been shooting in an active war zone or I’d been photographing native tribes in places like Congo and West Papua, but it hadn’t been accompanied by the strange need for something… more.
Dismissing the unexplained and very unwelcome thoughts of the man in Birch Cabin, I pulled the truck away from the small house that had been home for the last couple of years. As always, pain leached into my heart as I took in the battered little structure.
"Not today," I murmured to myself. It was a promise I made myself every day. A promise to let go of the past and focus on the present.
I still hadn't managed to keep that promise. Not once in the two years since I'd moved back to Fisher Cove.
As I reversed the truck and then got it turned in the correct direction, I lowered my window and blew out a whistle. I couldn't help but smile when Brewer bolted out of the trees and ran at a breakneck speed toward the truck. Sunlight bounced off his glossy silver coat as he launched himself over the side of the truck into the bed. I got the truck moving and explored my surroundings as I made my way the few miles that separated the rental cabins from my house. With the new accumulation, there was a good three feet of snow on the ground in some places. Spring always came late to Fisher Cove and the new accumulation meant an even longer wait before the snow disappeared and new growth began to peek up from beneath the damp earth.
While it had been a tough winter in terms of weather, the cabins had been booked most of the season, so I’d been keeping up on the plowing of the access road that led to them. But with last night’s rough weather, the roads all around Fisher Cove would be a mess.
Not that there were that many roads to begin with.
But that also meant there weren’t a lot of plows. Well, none actually, except the one on my truck. The town’s single utility truck had broken down the previous year and there hadn’t been enough money in the budget to buy a new one. So while it wasn’t officially one of my responsibilities, I’d taken to plowing the main access road that ran through town along with a few of the smaller roads that led to Fisher Lake.
Since the asshole in Birch Cabin wasn’t going anywhere, I drove into town and began clearing the street as well as the various business parking lots. Because the storm had started with a mix of sleet and rain before turning over to snow, it took me a while to plow and salt everything.
Not to mention every resident I saw insisted on stopping me to complain about the weather as if it was something they hadn’t been dealing with every single year they’d lived in Fisher Cove.
By the time I reached the cabin known as Birch Cabin, it was nearing lunchtime. I'd already checked on the other two cabins on the adjoining lots. Both had lost power overnight. Since the cabins were unoccupied, I hadn't bothered starting the generator because the temperature during the day wasn't expected to stay below freezing. That meant the pipes weren't at risk.
Although all of the cabins were on the same power grid, I was expecting the scene at Birch Cabin to be different. While I didn't necessarily think it strange that there weren't any lights on, the fact that there was no exhaust coming from the duct on the side of the structure and no smoke rising from the chimney was unusual. While it hadn't been cold enough overnight to cause the interior of the cabin to near the freezing mark, it most definitely would've gotten very uncomfortable for Mr. Asshole. Even if the man had slept through the storm and the loss of power, surely when he'd woken up this morning, he would've noticed how cold it was.
I sighed as I reminded myself I was giving the man too much credit. Hell, for all I knew, he could've already turned tail and run. I hadn't seen a car outside the previous day, but Richie Rich most certainly could have been dropped off.
I silently cursed the asshole for leaving without the courtesy of a phone call to let me know so I could've taken my time getting out to the cabin to clear the road…
My condemnation instantly stopped at the same time that I put my foot on the brake and stared at the fresh powder in front of me. There was no sign of tire tracks. Even if the guy had been picked up the night before, there would've been some kind of proof of tires having traveled over the driveway.
As I put my foot back on the gas, my belly dropped out just a little bit. Logically, I knew that even if the guy was still here, he wasn't in any real danger. If anything, he'd just be spitting mad that he’d had to suffer through a few hours without heat. But something about the sight of the lifeless cabin had me accelerating just a little bit faster. I couldn't help but think about the guy who'd been slightly hunched over the kitchen table staring at the phone in his hands. There had been something painfully familiar about his frame. No, I hadn't recognized him or anything, but in those few seconds before he’d opened his mouth to tell me to get lost, I’d felt a strange sense of kinship with him. After all, there’d been many nights when I’d sat at my own kitchen table staring at nothing in particular.
I told myself I was reading way too much into the situation and the man himself, but that didn't stop me from jumping out of the truck and trotting up to the side door. Not caring about the asshole's insistence on privacy the day before, I began knocking heavily on the door. "Mister—" I began before realizing I'd never bothered to look at the man's name on the contract that Parnell had sent me. If I’d been forced to interact with the man, I would've made the effort to know his name. But he'd made that unnecessary the day before. "Mister," I called as I knocked again. "It's the caretaker. It looks like you might have had some trouble with the generator. Would you like me to get it started for you?"
My question was met with stark silence. Even the woods around me were quiet and I wondered if that was a bad sign. Jesus, what if the guy had up and died on me? I shouldn't have been bothered by that since I didn't know the guy from Adam, but I found myself pounding heavily on the door, rattling it in its frame. "Sir, please open the door or I'll need to let myself in!" I shouted.