THE CARETAKER'S SON
PROLOGUE
In a secluded area of the Rocky Mountains, there are a series of expensive homes and retreats for the very wealthy. On the subject property of this story, 120 acres of pristine forest which backs up to a National Forest, there is a large, beautiful, well-cared for home; and below it, at the entrance to the property, is a caretaker's cabin. These days, that's home for me.
I am Nicholas. I'm 6'-3" and 220 pounds. I have a solid build and am well-muscled -- the result of hard work, not exercise. I wear my slightly wavy, medium-blond hair a little long -- just over my ears, and over the collar. I am clean shaven, and people say I have a handsome face. I'm 34 now and divorced -- no children.
Over the last few years, I've had some turmoil and upheaval in my life. In the present, I'm just kind of existing, day to day. As far as my future goes, I'm not looking that far ahead, but it's not looking great, anyway -- at least in the happiness department.
I'm live alone now. With my father's passing, I have no family left. Currently, I'm trying to tie up some loose ends and move on with my life, though I don't know where to.
DAY ONE -- A RICH OLD BIDDY
I was driving back to the caretaker's cabin in an old work truck which had been on the property as long as I could remember. It was a 58 Chevy half-ton with a flatbed. The steering wallowed and you had to rock the steering wheel back and forth to keep it going straight. The seat springs were worn out at the driver's and passenger's spots, and you sat in a hole at both positions. But the engine, which had been overhauled several times, was strong, and the drivetrain had been kept up, including the old four-speed manual transmission with its floor-mounted, stick shift. Also, it had oversized tires with aggressive tread that gave it extra traction. I was currently driving up the mountain in six inches of snow with one-foot drifts every so often. The tire chains on the rear wheels beat out a steady, jangling rhythm which filled the otherwise silent landscape around me. The property was only about ten miles ahead and I had made my last run of the day, and probably for at least another week. More snow was coming in and it was unlikely I would be able to get off the mountain anytime, soon.
I had hauled off most of the stuff I needed to. Anything left could be picked up in one more load when the weather cleared. About five miles from the cabin, snow started coming down again in big, fluffy flakes. It would take me a while to get there but I figured I had time, so I relaxed and kept my speed at a steady 18 miles an hour, which was in the sweet spot of second gear for the old truck, and which assured me good traction and control on the steep grade.
The snow had come several days earlier than the weather-guessers predicted, and they had upgraded their original forecast of 'up to twelve inches' of total accumulation to 'up to three feet'! But they were close...Not. It caught a lot of people by surprise, and the rich and privileged had been scrambling to leave their multimillion-dollar mountain retreats in droves over the last couple days. Besides the few permanent residents, I was likely the last person up here at this point, which was fine with me. Lately, I enjoyed the solitude.
About three miles from the cabin, I came upon a car off the shoulder and in a ditch. Judging by the snow accumulation, it had been sitting there for close to an hour. I had come down the mountain about two hours ago, and it wasn't there then. There was a cloud of steam and exhaust coming out the back, so the car was running and there was undoubtedly someone inside. I pulled up beside the forest-green Jaguar XJ6 sedan, probably a late 80's model -- a very sweet ride and a true classic. The windows were fogged over and I couldn't see inside. I expected somebody to get out and say they needed help, or at least lower a window. But nothing.
I honked my horn a couple times, reached across the seat and cranked the passenger window down. Over the chugging, rumbling sound of the old straight-six, truck engine, I hollered across at the person in the car. "Hey, can you hear me, lower your window." There was no response. I could see the shadowy figure of a person through the fogged driver's window. Maybe they were dead. That would simplify things...
But I could see slight movement -- bummer. I was going to have to get out and check on them. I worked my way around the back of the truck and up to the driver's door and rapped on the window. It appeared to be a woman inside and she jerked with a start.
"Ma'am, lower your window so I can talk to you. You can't stay here. More snow is coming."
I was freezing my balls off and this rich, old biddy was sitting in her warm Jag, shining me on. I almost said "To hell with her, let her freeze," but I knew I couldn't.
I tried again, "Ma'am, you can't sit here. Your car is going to run out of fuel, then you'll freeze to death."
Finally, the window came down a couple inches. I could just see the woman's eyes, and could see fear in them. She was scared to death -- afraid because of her situation, or maybe afraid of me.
"Can you call a tow truck for me, please? My cellphone isn't working," the shaky voice on the other side of window pleaded.
"Ma'am, there's no cell service up here -- cell tower's on the fritz. And I don't have phone service at the cabin. Besides, a tow truck couldn't get to you before this road becomes impassable. Look, you're going to have to leave your car, but we have to go now, while I can still get up the hill and get you to shelter."
"No, I'll just wait it out here," she replied, obviously not understanding the seriousness of the situation.
I tried once more, "I can help you, but we have to leave now or I will be stuck here and we'll both freeze to death. You can't wait it out. In a few hours, there will be close to three feet of snow and it'll be at least a week before a road-clearing crew gets to this road; and that's only if another storm doesn't come through. Tonight, it's going to be in the teens or lower. You have to come with me."
No response.
"Ma'am, I'm freezing. I can't stand out here any longer. Get out of your damn car, get in the truck and I will take you to a warm cabin which is just three miles further up. But I'm leaving now, with you or without you."
She close the damn window.
"Fuck it," I said to myself, then heard her engine go silent. She cracked her door open and peered out at me. I was taken aback. She wasn't an old biddy, she was young, late 20's, near as I could tell, and she was beautiful, at least her face was. I couldn't make out anything else. She was bundled in a heavy coat.
As we made eye contact, her voice still shaky, she asked, "Can I trust you? You're not going to, um..."
"No, no. I'm not an axe murderer, lady," I interrupted her, a little peeved, but then realized I probably didn't look all that great. I was probably dirty and disheveled-looking. I was wearing dirty, worn jeans and an old, paint and grease-stained coat.
"Sorry, ma'am, I've been hauling junk today and these are just old, work clothes. Please don't be put off by my appearance. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm trying to help you."
I quickly glanced up the road. Shit, it was getting deep, fast.
"We have to go now or I won't be able to make it," I repeated, pleading with my eyes.
"Okay, I, I'm sorry. I'm just scared," she replied as she finally opened her door and stood. Her feet started to go out from under her and I grabbed her, almost falling, too. She gasped. As soon as I steadied her, I directed her to my passenger door.
"My luggage," she started to turn.
"No, I'll get it. You get in. Where is it?"
"The trunk."
"Where's the release?"
"On the dash," she pointed.
As she reluctantly climbed into the truck, I popped the jag's trunk, grabbed her suitcase and travel case and threw them on the back of the truck, then made it back to my side as quickly as I could.
As soon as my butt hit the seat, I put the old truck in gear and slowly let out on the clutch pedal. The chains grabbed and we lurched forward. The snow was already close to ten inches deep. Pretty soon I would be high-centering and we'd be screwed. I was going to be pushing some soft snow, as it was. It felt like it took forever to make the last three miles to the cabin, but it finally came into sight, and I was able to relax.
We hadn't spoken the whole way up. I guess she was too scared to talk and I was too busy trying to keep on the road and out of the ditch to chat her up. It was getting impossible to tell where the road was. Fortunately, I knew the roads twists and turns like the back of my hand.
The snow was coming down heavy now and you could only see 20 feet in front of you.
