Chapter Three

Tim and Mark finished breakfast and were on their third cup of coffee by the time Edwin crawled out of bed to join them at the harvest style dining table that was positioned on the side of the great room near the kitchen.

“I was beginning to wonder if you were alright,” Mark said as he slid a mug of black coffee in front of Edwin.

“What time is it?” Edwin asked as he propped his elbow on the table and rested his forehead in the palm of his hand.  “I have a killer headache.”

“From that fall, no doubt,” Tim said as he slid a bottle of Ibuprophen next to the creamer and sugar bowl that were less than an arm’s reach from Edwin.

“I prefer Tylenol,” Edwin said as he grabbed the bottle of Ibuprophen and uncapped it.

“That’s not just a pain reliever. It’s also a muscle relaxer.  You need both,” Tim explained.

“We weren’t planning on hunting this morning,” Mark said. “We thought we’d just get a feel for the amount of snow and see if we can find any tracks.  I’ve never hunted under these conditions.  I want to be safe.”

“Give me a minute to down these pills and some coffee,” Edwin said.

“Why don’t you stay here and stoke the fire in the fireplace.  I checked the oil tank and it looks pretty empty. We might have to keep the furnace running at the fifty-degree mark and rely on the fireplace for comfort," Tim said apologetically.

“Crap.  Is there enough wood for a week?” Edwin asked with concern.

“I think so,” Tim said hesitantly.

“I’m telling you, man. You need to fire that shitty care taker’s ass, pronto,” Mark said with disgust.

“I agree,” Tim sighed. “Unfortunately, the decision isn’t mine to make.  I’ll definitely put a bug in my uncle’s ear about it though.”

“Okay,” Edwin said as he slowly stood and moved to the fireplace.  “You two take off and I’ll hold down the fort.  This headache can’t last forever.”

“Soak in a super-hot bath,” Tim suggested. “It always helps me after a difficult stunt.”

“I never considered the injuries you have to endure with your job. After my tumble last night, I have a newfound respect for you, my friend,” Edwin said with earnest. “Just tell me it was stunt worthy, please.”

 “You are Hollywood material for sure,” Tim said with a laugh.

“It looks like there might be another storm brewing,” Mark said as he peered out of the window over the kitchen sink.  “Can you believe it?  We’d better head out before it hits.”

“We can check to see if the plow went through the main road while we’re out,” Tim suggested.

“Do you plan on hunting from the road?” Mark teased.

“I don’t like having the roads unplowed. It makes me feel trapped,” Tim explained.  “I’m also going to call my uncle to see if his caretaker plans on plowing the drive anytime soon.  We fishtailed all the way up that drive and, now, there’s more snow’s on its way.  I don’t like it.”

Tim and Mark took off into the woods, insisting they’d return in a few hours.  After putting another log on the fire and making sure it was burning properly, Edwin took Tim’s advice and filled his deep, claw-footed tub with piping hot water.  His skin felt scalded as he sank his muscular, six-foot frame into the liquid.  Before long, the heat penetrated past his reddened skin and caressed his aching muscles in a soothing, comforting way.  He stayed in the water until it was tepid and no longer soothing.

Good fortune smiled upon him when he searched the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and found a tube of fast acting muscle rub. He held it to his nose to see if it was too old to use.  He detected no rancidness amidst the intense eucalyptus and smiled.  After eagerly spreading a liberal amount on the back of his neck and his shoulders, he gave a moan of relief and a smile.  It was already working.

By the time he looked out the window to see Mark and Tim trudging through knee high snow after scoping the terrain, he felt limber and more like himself.

He put the coffee pot on for fresh coffee and pulled a bottle of brandy from the cupboard as well.  The men were moving so slowly, he had time to brew the coffee and mix it with whiskey and a dash of cinnamon before they practically fell through the front door.

“My thighs are burning,” Mark groaned as he took off his coat and shook it out through the open door to remove the snow from it.

“I should have checked the basement for snowshoes,” Tim said apologetically as he duplicated Mark’s movements.  “We won’t be able to move from this place if we don’t find any.”

“You know, when you said we were going to a cabin, I expected some rickety log structure.  This is more like a house.  Hell, it even has a basement and I’ll bet it has a game room,” Mark mused.  “Look at the television. Who has a fifty-inch television in their hunting cabin?  Is it hooked up to cable?”

“I spotted a satellite out back,” Edwin volunteered.

“The lifestyles of the rich and famous,” Tim chuckled. “Trust me when I say that, for my uncle, this is rustic.”

“Why weren’t we ever introduced to this cabin before now?” Mark asked as he flopped down into the nearest club chair and pulled off his wet socks.

“He only recently joined the family.  He’s an uncle by marriage,” Tim explained. “We hit it off almost immediately.”

“Lucky,” Mark said as he slouched into a more comfortable position.

“Since we’re all more coffee drinkers than tea toters, let me introduce you to my version of a hot toddy,” Edwin chuckled as he handed a mug to each of his friends.

They accepted the cups gratefully while wrapping their cold hands around the steamy ceramic. Tim took a sip and smiled while Mark made a face, indicating his dislike for the taste.

“This is different,” Mark said hesitantly.

“Drink at least half a cup before you decide if you like it or not,” Edwin said firmly.

“I like it,” Tim said as he brought the cup to his lips once more.

A knock on the door immediately grabbed their attention.

“I hope that’s the caretaker,” Tim said as he set his cup down on the coffee table and eagerly headed for the door.  He pulled the door open and was greeted by an old woman, bent, and huddled, in a thick cloak.  The only thing exposed was her long, silver streaked hair. “Can I help you?”

The woman’s head slowly raised until her steel grey eyes were locked with his rich brown ones. “Are ye Edwin Jameson?” she asked in a weakened, shaky voice.

Tim had no idea how to respond to the woman who looked like she’d stepped off one of the movie sets where he was often called upon to do stunt work.  An eerie energy radiated from her that made him uncomfortable.  He wanted to slam the door in her face, but, instead, he called for Edwin in an urgent, croaked voice. “Edwin.  You better get over here.”