Still no answer. I jammed my hand into my pocket and frantically searched for the keys. I told myself my fingers were shaking as I put the key in the door because I was worried about dealing with an investigation by the cops, as well as having to explain to Parnell how his new tenant had ended up biting the dust within less than twenty-four hours of moving into the cabin. But when I threw open the door, neither of those things were on my mind. My eyes immediately went to the table as if expecting to find the man still sitting there. The table was empty, but the kitchen looked anything but untouched. The countertops were a mess. They weren’t covered in food or dishes, but most of the appliances and knickknacks that were on the counters were askew. Not knocked over, just pushed around. Like someone had been trying to look for something behind or beneath them.
I stepped into the cabin and cursed out loud when the biting cold hit me. It had to be in the mid-forties at best. Which meant the cabin had probably lost power within hours of me leaving. I still didn't think it possible that the man could've died from exposure, but I was definitely more nervous now than I'd been when I'd arrived. "Sir?" I called as I left the kitchen and made my way to the living room. Brewer suddenly darted past me. The guy hadn't seemed overly fond of dogs the day before, but that fact seemed irrelevant at the moment. When Brewer suddenly began barking and whining a few seconds later, I quickened my pace.
I found the man on the couch in the living room. Without Brewer standing over him and letting out his distinctive call of distress, I probably wouldn't have even noticed him at first because he was buried beneath several blankets, to the point that I could only see the top of his head. There was a suitcase sitting open near the couch along with a small black cosmetics-style bag. I saw a bottle of water along with an empty bottle of scotch on the coffee table and there appeared to be a couple of food wrappers lying on the floor. A quick glance at the fireplace showed it wasn't going. There was no ash beneath the grate and the logs I’d brought in the day before were sitting untouched in the fireplace.
Why hadn't the idiot started a fire? He clearly hadn't been able to get the generator going, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to set some logs sitting in a fireplace ablaze. Even if he’d been drinking—which, from the empty liquor bottle, it looked like he had been—he still should have managed to light a fire.
It was a question that would have to wait. I hurried to the couch and sat down on the coffee table. A sick feeling landed in my belly as the man didn't move despite Brewer's continued whining. Even when the dog pressed what I knew to be his cold nose against the man's temple, he didn't react. Had the guy drunk himself to death?
I felt like I was going to puke as I reached out a hand to test his skin. There had been one time when a tenant had died in his sleep in one of the cabins, so it wouldn't be my first experience with a dead body. But that didn't make it any less creepy or disturbing.
"Sir," I said softly just before my fingers pressed against the skin of what little of his forehead was exposed.
Warmth.
Warmth met my finger. I dropped my head and sucked in a deep breath. I shouldn't have been so relieved to know he was still among the living. I didn't let myself have too much time to dwell on any of it. Instead, I carefully peeled back the layers of blankets that were covering him.
"Sir," I repeated. "It's me, Gideon," I said before realizing he'd never even given me a chance to tell him my name the day before. "The caretaker."
He didn't respond other than to let out a little grunt.
"Sir, are you all right? Was there a problem with the generator?"
Instead of answering me, the guy swatted his hand at me, though the move was so weak he didn't actually make any kind of physical connection with me.
"Sir—" I began.
"G'way," he mumbled. He tried to swat at me again.
"Sir, I just need to know if the generator isn't working. I can fix it—"
"Way!" he shouted, though his voice sounded hoarse and there was no real power behind the word. But I wasn't a glutton for punishment. The guy was alive and well and still a jerk. And on top of that, his slurred words meant he was just drunk.
The cabin, though cold, wasn't an immediate danger. If the jackass lying in front of me preferred to bundle up in blankets rather than enjoy the luxury of heat, that was up to him.
I didn't bother telling him to call me if he needed anything as I stood up. I walked away, eyeing the fireplace as I went. Every instinct in me wanted to at least get it going for him, but then I remembered how he'd tried to push me away.
Fuck him, I growled silently to myself. The dick was on his own. As wrong as it felt to just leave him there like that, that was exactly what I did. When I reached the kitchen, I realized Brewer wasn't at my side. I whistled for him, but as the seconds passed, I didn't hear his nails click-clacking along the floor. "Brewer," I called and waited. I was rewarded with a high-pitched whine followed by Brewer's distinctive howl. I called the dog again but got the same exact response.
I hurried back to the living room only to find that Brewer was pawing at the man on the couch. "Brewer," I called sharply. While Mr. Parnell had never had an issue with me having Brewer and taking him to the cabins, if the asshole on the couch complained about the dog, I’d have no choice but to leave him at home when I went to the cabins. Not only would the very social and active Brewer be devastated at being locked up at home, I’d miss having the dog by my side day in and day out. I’d gotten used to his company and wasn't sure what I’d do without him as my constant shadow.
Brewer continued to ignore me, so I went to the couch to grab him by the collar. As I began to pull him away, the dog shocked me when he turned his head and closed his teeth over my hand. He didn't press hard enough to actually bite; it was more of a gentle hold. The large animal gave me a tug and then released my hand. When I didn't move, Brewer did the same thing again. He whined deep in his throat and then seconds later started howling again. I stepped forward to grab him once more, this time determined to pull him away, when I tripped over the bag next to the couch. I was about to push the offending thing out of my path with my foot when my eyes caught on an all-too-familiar item lying on the floor.
Brewer continued to whine and howl as I bent down to open the little bag. My stomach dropped out at the sight of its contents. I snapped my eyes up to the man lying on the couch and then let out a harsh curse. This time when I moved Brewer so I could get closer to the man, the dog quickly got out of my way. I sat down on the edge of the couch and stripped the blankets down to the man's waist. I dropped my hand to his forehead to confirm that the little glistening spots I'd seen on his skin were, in fact, sweat. There was absolutely no reason for him to be sweating when the cabin was as cold as it was. Even with as many blankets as he had on him, it wouldn't have kept him so warm that he’d be perspiring.
But there was one thing that would be causing him to sweat. "Sir," I said quickly as I shook him hard to get his attention. At the same time, I reached down to swipe the bag off the floor and began rifling through it. When I found what I was looking for, I quickly grabbed for his hand. It took just seconds to prick his finger and collect the tiny amount of blood I needed to figure out what his blood sugar was. My heart felt like it was going to pound out of my chest. When I saw the number on the glucose meter, I tossed the supplies aside and stumbled to my feet. I hurried to the kitchen, praying as I went. I hadn't talked to the man upstairs in many years, but I found myself inadvertently bargaining with him.