Page 9 of CowSex
The snow, which has been falling heavier, has settled. The ground, the driveway, tree line, and the roof of the cabin are all covered in white. With the orange glow of the lanterns lining the drive and the two stagecoach style lights either side of the front door, the scene looks like something from a Christmas card, and I’m suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, wishing that Reggie were here to share the moment with me. Or maybe it’s just that I wishsomeonewere here to share the moment. Anyone. I just wish I wasn’t alone.
I pay the taxi driver, and the only tip I give him is never to eat yellow snow! Despite the sound advice, the arsehole dumps my bags at the bottom of the steps that lead up to the wrap-around porch, which they called a veranda on the website. I bounce them up to the front door one at a time, and once again, I use the torch app on my phone to search for the key coded security box where the front door key should be located.
Despite the light from the porch lamps, my phone, and a couple of lights blazing along the drive, I can’t find it and begin to panic.
It’s beyond cold, I’m almost delirious with lack of sleep, and I’m running on pure adrenalin. I quickly scroll through my emails until I find the one from Alma-May that lists the location of the box, as well as the code. I’d meant to screenshot the details before I left but forgot.
The last thing I want to do is trudge through the snow, but it doesn’t look as though I have a lot of choice. Heaving a sigh, I head back down the steps, and as my foot hits the second one, my boot slides out from underneath me. I land on my arse, hard, my spine scraping down the step immediately behind me. Even though I haven’t hit my head, I see stars and a blinding headache kicks in instantly.
I sit completely still for a few seconds, trying to focus on the snow-covered landscape laid out before me and not the tingling in my nose.
I fail.
The tingling turns to tears, and once again, I begin to cry.
I don’t have the alcohol to blame this time, just lack of sleep and petulance. I’m angry at myself for being a wishy-washy whiny female. That’s not me. It’s not who I am. I was raised by a strong woman to be a strong woman. I’ve gotten too used to always having either Reggie or an assistant with me when I travel. Everything is always planned and arranged by someone else ahead of time. All I do is turn up.
I give myself a few more minutes to cry before the cold starts to seep through my skinny combat-style jeans and into my bum cheeks. Reaching for the handrail, I haul myself back up, careful this time not to go arse over tit down the rest of the steps. I find the box hidden in the corner under the stairs. It takes me two tries before my shaking fingers hit the right buttons and I get the keys, which are thankfully all labelled.
Not giving a shit about germs, or whose hands they may have passed through, I kiss them.
“Please, please let there be enough hot water for a shower.” I stare at the sky and beg to the hot water gods.
Carefully, and very slowly, I make my way back up the stairs to the front door, letting out what sounds like a groan of ecstasy when the key slides into the lock, and the door opens.
All I want is a hot shower and a warm bed. Everything else can wait till morning.
With what is probably my first almost-smile of the day, I step inside the cabin.
THE FIRST THING THAT HITSme is the number of lights that are on. I stand in the large hallway, noting the timber floors and the large, wide staircase directly in front of me. There is an enormous light fitting that looks as if it’s made of antlers overhead and another one hanging from the vaulted ceiling of the stairwell. Both are glowing brightly. There’s a hall table to my left before a wide opening leads through to a kitchen—that’s when the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck start to stand on end.
It’s as if the wind has been knocked out of me, and I become rooted to the spot. My brain is telling me to move, to get out, but I continue to take in the scene before me in the well-lit kitchen. There’s an empty bottle of bourbon lying on its side. It’s surrounded by beer bottles, some empty, some still full. There are three takeaway pizza boxes on the worktop, one open, two closed.
All of my spidey senses are screaming at me to run. Instinctually, I know that I’m not alone in this house and I need to get out. The house doesn’t even smell like it’s empty. There’s an underlining aroma of a house that’s being lived in; a hint of food, alcohol, smoke, and maybe something like aftershave. Whoever else is here is male, I know it.
I’m in the middle of nowhere on a freezing cold night. I have no method of transport and no clue as to what I should do—other than getting the fuck out of there.
I back out of the front door and close it behind me as quietly as I can. Thankful for the almost one thousand pounds that I’d spent on my three new lightweight suitcases, I wheel them as quietly as I can along the veranda and around to the side of the house, just in case anyone steps out of the front door and sees them.
My heart is pounding so hard that I can hear it in my ears, the fastthump,thump,thumpresounding in my head. Despite the cold, I feel hot, as if my skin is on fire, but my blood feels like ice in my veins.
I know that it’s fear that I’m feeling. Maybe even a little bit of shock. I felt it when the doctor told us that my mum had cancer. I felt it the moment she took her last breath, and I felt it when the hearse pulled up outside our house with her body resting inside the casket that we’d chosen together.
I knew fear, and I knew the early signs of going into shock, and I also knew that I had to keep my shit together. I was here alone. If I am in danger, then I’m the only one who can get myself out of it.
I find a set of steps at the side of the house, which I walk down, and then I attempt to hide behind the nearest tree. The snow, which is again falling in thick, fat flakes that catch on my eyelashes and settle on my scorching skin, obscures my view of the house slightly.
I dial 9-1-1 and take a few deep breaths before I hear a woman’s voice ask, “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”
My leg jerks, I don’t know why, but it jerks, and then both my knees feel as if they’re going to give way. I panic, and my mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
“Hello, do you need assistance?”
“My name’s Grace Elliott, I’ve arrived alone at a cabin I’m renting, and I think someone has broken in and is still inside.”
“Okay, Grace. Are you safely able to leave the building and find somewhere you can talk to me without putting yourself in danger?”
“I’m outside and hiding behind a tree.”
