Saddle Up by CJ Bishop
CHAPTER 9
“The Cabin”
Struggling with Garland had gotten Heff’s blood circulating, vanquishing the deadly warmth that was seeping through his body. Heff felt the cold again—down to the marrow of his bones. He clung to Garland, teeth chattering, and breath labored as the arctic air froze his lungs. He feared the hound would freeze to death before it found the way home… if it even knew the way back through the blizzard. The continual tug of the lead rope alerted Heff the animal was still moving forward—but in which direction? Did the hound know… or was it traveling blindly?
The rope abruptly went slack, and the gelding halted. Heff could see nothing through the wind and snow, though he thought he heard the heavy swoosh of the massive evergreens swaying in the storm, their thick limbs whipping in the wind. He was close to the tree line. Was it safer in the woods? Greater shelter from the storm?
Heff feared the slack lead rope meant the dog had gotten loose. He tugged on the rope—and felt resistance. What if he couldn’t take the cold anymore… and collapsed? Heff loosened one arm from around Garland and patted his numb thigh with a numb hand. “B-Boy? What is-is it?” Heff stuttered as his teeth continued to chatter, the tendons in his throat quivering. “Y-You okay, b-boy?”
The hound whined… then let out a short bay—and the rope tugged forward. Heff nudged the gelding with his heels and the horse followed after the dog. They’d hardly gone ten feet or so when the rope slackened again, and the gelding stopped. What was up with the hound?
Making sure Garland was secure in the saddle, Heff carefully slid off the gelding’s back—again collapsing on the ground as his numb legs gave out beneath his weight. Using the rope as his guide, he crawled toward the dog. The hound stood still, shaking with cold, and bayed a second time.
What if it’s a bear?
Heff suddenly felt vulnerable on the ground. The wild animals would take shelter in the trees… wouldn’t they? He didn’t know much about the behavior of predatory animals but it seemed an instinctual strategy.
A fresh fear invading him, Heff looked up, following the hound’s focus. Just into the trees a few yards, a huge shadow loomed—much larger than a bear. Heff squinted as snow flung into his eyes. What was he looking at…?
The hound darted forward and Heff staggered to his feet, stumbling after the dog, tripping and falling every few paces… until finally collapsing before a door.
A cabin.
The hunting cabin. He’d forgotten it was out here. Heff grabbed the hound, who stood pawing at the door, and hugged the animal, kissing its head, choking back sobs. “You did it, boy.”
Heff crawled to his feet, renewed hope keeping him upright, and hurried back to the horse. He led the gelding forward, bringing it as close to the cabin door as possible. The hound raced inside the cabin as soon Heff unlatched the door and pulled it open. A quick glance through the one-room cabin revealed one cot, a fireplace, a small, kitchen-type area, and not much else. It was enough.
Unhooking Garland’s feet from the stirrups, Heff wasn’t sure how to hoist him off the horse with the man unconscious, but he had to get him out of the weather and warmed up. Reaching up, Heff wrapped his arms around Garland’s waist and gently slid him out of the saddle. The weight of his slack body was too much for Heff and he tumbled down on top of the young man, taking them both to the ground. Heff gasped and spit out snow and rolled Garland off him.
Half crying, half cursing, Heff grabbed him beneath the arms and dragged him toward the cabin door, inch by inch. Heff collapsed at the doorway with Garland partly in his lap, panting and sobbing. He was so heavy… like dead weight.
He’s not going to die! Death had fucked Heff twice—invading his life to steal his parents, and then Mandy and Frank—it wasn’t fucking taking Garland too!
With a fierce grunt, Heff backed through the door on his knees, hauling Garland in with him. Snow blew into the cabin and the wind smacked the door against the outside wall. Gasping for breath, Heff stumbled to his feet and reached out, grabbing at the door. The wind ripped it from his grip, and he took hold with both hands, using what little strength he had left to yank it closed. He latched it on the inside and fell against the door, chest heaving, lungs constricting so tightly his breath wheezed in and out of his throat.
Garland lay deathly still, snow scattered on the wood floor all around him, his clothes caked with the freezing powder… a trickle of fresh blood seeping out of his hair. Panic weakened Heff further, but he fought it off and found the blankets stored beneath the bunk. He spread one on the bunk and returned to Garland.
“I have to get you out of these wet clothes,” he whispered, voice quavering. He stripped off his gloves, numb fingers fumbling with the buttons of Garland’s jacket, then his shirt. When he had him down to his briefs, Heff took a few deep breaths and, huffing and puffing, finally got him onto the bunk and covered him with more blankets. Heff sagged to the floor beside the bed, eyes heavy and head clogged. “I… I have to build a fire,” he mumbled. “Get some heat in here.”
Heff scooted to the hearth, thankful for Frank and Garland’s foresight in keeping the cabin stocked with firewood and kindling. He found some newspapers stuffed in the wood box and matches on the narrow, crude mantle above the rock fireplace. In minutes, he had a roaring fire going, thanks to the chunks of dried cedar added to the wood box. The cedar snapped and popped… a soothing sound that had a strangely calming effect on Heff, though it didn’t vanquish his fear for Garland.
Heating some water over the fire until it was warm but not hot, Heff sat on the edge of the bunk and washed Garland’s face, carefully parting his hair to check the wound. It was shallow and the blood flow minor, though Heff still worried about a concussion. A person wasn’t supposed to go to sleep if they’d hit their head, but it was too late for that. Heff found a small tin first-aid box and bandaged the wound as best he could.
Heff trailed his fingertips along the man’s cold cheek and over his lips, blue from the cold. His eyes swam as he stared at the only person he had left in the world. He didn’t know if Garland was safe now… or if he could still die. The most he knew was that Garland needed to be warm. And so did Heff. He was frozen to the bone and shaking. He was more worried about Garland, but he needed to get out of his wet clothes.
The men had been wise enough to store extra clothing in the cabin as well. Heff stripped out of his clothes, including his damp underwear, and pulled on a thick, dry flannel shirt that hung to mid-thigh. The cabin was well insulated and held the heat wafting from the fireplace.
Heff returned to the end of the bunk and reached under the blankets and began massaging Garland’s ice-cold feet. He’d learned from Frank that frostbite was quickest to invade the smaller extremities; fingers, toes. Maybe Garland hadn’t been out in the snow long enough to get frostbite, but Heff wasn’t taking any chances. He didn’t know if massaging his feet and hands would ward it off—maybe once it was set in, there was no reversing it—but he had to try.
His hands began to ache and throb as the numbness faded, the massage bringing feeling and circulation back to his own fingers as well. Heff ignored the pain settling into his hands and worked his way up Garland’s chilled calves, kneading the muscles. He moved to Garland’s hands and arms, massaging until his fingers cramped so badly they would no longer function.
God, he’s still so cold.
Garland hadn’t responded to Heff’s touch—not a flicker of his eyelids, not a twitch of his fingers. Heff pressed the man’s cold palm to his face, his chin trembling. “We made it to the cabin,” he whispered shakily. “You have to fight. You have to. You can’t leave me, too—you can’t.”
The storm pummeled the small cabin, howling and shrieking like the hounds of hell. The other hound lay in front of the fire, head on its paws, eyes closed. He had done his job—and done it damn well. Heff remembered the gelding and a surge of guilt rushed through him—the horse had played its own heroic part, staying calm and staying with them. Heff went to the one window that looked out front. He didn’t see the gelding. Had it run off into the storm… or taken cover deeper into the trees? Heff prayed for the latter… but he couldn’t do anything for the animal now and felt terrible that he couldn’t.
Heff went and stood before the fire until the heat soaked into his body—then stepped quickly to the bunk and crawled beneath the blankets with Garland, cuddling up close to his chilled body. He commenced rubbing the man’s muscles, chest, stomach, trying desperately to draw heat back into him. Heff even considered more… intimate… acts, just to get his blood flowing again, but didn’t really think it would work with Garland so out of it. Plus, he had serious qualms about “molesting” an unconscious man. Somehow, it just didn’t feel right.
Laying his head on Garland’s shoulder and pressing closer, Heff wrapped his arms and legs around the man. “I’m not letting you go,” Heff whispered with a tremor. “So, don’t even think about leaving me. This isn’t up for discussion—you’re gonna fucking wake up and be okay.”
Heff turned his face into Garland’s throat, shivering from the cold trapped beneath his skin… and from so much more. He closed his eyes and held the man tighter. It was like holding a block of ice.
You’re gonna be okay… you are… you are.
………………………………
Garland emerged from the auto parts store and placed the new parts for the tractor in the pickup. He climbed in behind the wheel and stared down the street, a heaviness in his chest.
I can’t wait to tell Heff.
Though excited for his brother and sister-in-law, Garland didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to be there when she called Heff… didn’t want to hear her regale how happy Heff was for her and Frank. What he wanted was to fucking forget the boy. And it seemed an impossible task while living in the same house with Heff’s sister who adored him and, though she didn’t talk about him all the time, still mentioned him enough to keep his memory fresh in Garland’s mind. And it had been that way for the last five years. He was no closer to forgetting him now than he was when Heff first left the ranch.
A smack on his window made him jump and curse loudly. Terry Dawson stood outside the truck and motioned with a gloved hand for him to roll down the window.
“Didn’t mean to scare you.” Terry chuckled. He was a couple of years younger than Garland and pleasant on the eyes—though straight as an arrow. As far as Garland knew. Of course, as far as Terry knew—so was Garland.
“It’s okay,” Garland said. “What’re you up to?”
“Besides freezing my ass off?” Terry grinned. “There’s a party at the tavern, about to start. Ole Buck Johnson is turning sixty. You should come.”
Buck Johnson had owned the tavern at the edge of town for as long as Garland could remember. He didn’t hold much affection for the old bastard—the man tended to make slurs that didn’t set well with Garland—but maybe some drinking and loud music was just what he needed to distract his thoughts from Heff Wilder.
Garland nodded. “Maybe I will.”
“All right.” Terry smacked the door of the pickup. “See you there.”
“See ya.” Garland rolled up the window and watched the younger man saunter down the sidewalk to his car. Maybe if Terry Dawson was more open-minded… Garland could’ve suggested a more effective method of distraction. But he hadn’t engaged in that type of distraction since… too fucking long.
The bitter chill outside invaded the cab of the pickup and Garland started the engine, cranking on the heater. Even as the cab grew toasty… the chill inside Garland remained… and he began to shiver.
• ••
Garland trembled, engulfed by a cold so formidable it seemed like a living entity taking over his body. He floated somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness, unaware of his surroundings… where he was… or why he was so fucking cold.
He sensed movement nearby and… a presence of warmth. Garland reached for it, craved for it to chase the deathly chill from his body, and grabbed onto it. There was something familiar about the heat… something comforting and soothing… and he held on tighter, drawing it to him, against him, savoring the warmth and the sense of safety and security it brought with it.