Snowed In(manxman)

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Turner’s eyes flew open when something warm and wet brushed across his cheek. Beaux whined in his face and then trotted over to the door before scratching at it impatiently with his paw.

Closing his eyes again, Turner fought back a wave of nausea. His head was pounding, his eyes were burning and his throat was raw. What the hell had happened?

Very slowly he opened his eyes again. It was still dark outside and a quick glance to the clock told Turner it was four in the morning. He was lying on the floor surrounded by Peter’s things, things that hadn’t seen the outside of that hope chest in years; not since Turner had packed them all away.

Why were they out now? Turner’s body felt heavy and his senses dulled. He remembered getting into his emergency supply of whiskey out in the barn. Dammit, why did he do that? Drinking did not make him any better of a man.

He hoped he hadn’t done anything too mean to Will.

Will.

Turner had had some strange dreams in the night that he didn’t fully understand but he was clear on one thing; Will was special. Turner had known that when he’d first seen the man in that saloon so long ago and he knew it now. It was time stop pretending as if Will meant nothing to him.

Turner pushed himself to his feet, weaving side to side as dizziness assaulted his senses. He assumed that Will was asleep on the sofa, though he wondered why the lamps were still burning.

Then his confusion vanished when he saw the shattered blue lamp on the kitchen floor as well as the singed place in the rug and his fire blackened coat. The night before came flooding back him.

The whiskey, the rage at coming in and seeing Peter’s things all over his cabin, followed by throwing Will out into the night and then becoming overwhelmed with pain and memories until he’d finally collapsed and fallen asleep upon the floor.

Shit! He’d tossed Will out in the snow! Turner ran to the sofa, praying that maybe, just maybe, he had let the man back in without remembering.

The sofa was empty.

Beaux once again whimpered and scratched at the door. Turner wasted no more time. He ran for the door and jerked it open. The cold wind blasted against him, well below freezing and probably dipping down into the single digits. All Turner could do was pray he hadn’t killed the man that he had a feeling had been sent to him as his second chance at happiness.

Turner ran out into the cold, slipping and sliding as he scanned the surrounding for any sign of where Will might have gone. “Beaux, find him…” Turner whispered. “Please?” he added, his voice breaking a bit with desperation.

Beaux dashed ahead and headed straight for the barn. Turner followed closely on his heels. Beaux let out a howl at Bernice’s stall door and Turner was quick to open it.

His heart sank when he saw Will curled up in the hay. His clothes appeared damp and his entire body was shivering and shaking. Turner swallowed hard when he saw just how pale and colorless Will’s skin had become.

Pressing a hand to Will’s cheek, Turner realized he was ice cold.

“Goddammit!” Turner exclaimed.

What had he done? Shit. Had be been so blinded by anger, whiskey and sadness that he hadn’t given a single thought to this man, who he cared about a whole hell of a lot, freezing to death out here alone?

Turner scooped Will’s trembling body into his arms. The other man moaned and his eyelids fluttered but he didn’t wake up.

Turner swallowed hard, pushed aside his worry and ran to the cabin as quickly as he could without falling.