Snowed In(manxman)

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Turner woke the next morning while Will was still sleeping peacefully. He stared down at the man’s face and marveled at the innocence he saw there.

He smiled as he shifted against the blanket that was wedged between them. Will had nearly jumped out of his skin when Turner had tried to snuggle against his backside and had turned around instantly and put that blanket between them.

Turner was dying to hold the man against him; feel that lean, small body held tight against his much larger frame, but he’d have patience…. Or at least the most patience he was capable of.

Turner ran his knuckle against Will’s cheek and held his breath as he leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to his brow. Will mumbled in his sleep but didn’t awaken.

With a sigh, Turner climbed gingerly from the bed, careful not to wake the sleeping beauty. He wished he could stay in that bed the entire day but he had animals that needed fed and a cow that needed milked. They wouldn’t take him being too enthralled with his bed partner as a decent excuse for neglecting his duties.

After dressing, Turner took Beaux outside. Already the morning air felt a bit warmer and Turner knew that if the warming trend continued the pass would clear up enough to be passable within a week or so. He didn’t like the thought of Will leaving him and said a little prayer for more snow.

Both Turner and Beaux stopped when they saw the sofa laying three feet deep in a snow bank. Beaux tilted his head, sniffed at the sofa and then grunted before taking off through the snow.

Turner rubbed the back of his neck and grinned sheepishly. He couldn’t quite believe that he’d tossed his only sofa out into the snow just to get his way…

Perhaps he wasn’t as patient as he liked to tell himself he was.

It took Turner over an hour to complete his chores and he had his arms full of wood when he came back to the cabin door. He was about to dump the wood, open the door and then pick it all back up to take in when he remembered he now had someone who could open the door for him.

Turner kicked at the door and waited with Beaux standing beside him. It took several moments but finally the door opened and Turner found himself looking at a Will that looked much different from the Will he’d been just yesterday.

Will’s skin was pale and slicked with sweat, his eyes were surrounded by blackened circles and his full lips were nearly colorless.

“Will, are you feeling okay?” Turner demanded as he came inside and kicked the door closed behind him.

“No…” Will broke down into a fit of coughing and Turner could hear the tightness in his chest.

Fear gripped him.

Held him paralyzed.

It froze him in time for a full minute as he stared at Will who made his way back to the bed and flopped down on his stomach looking completely exhausted.

Coughs, paleness, exhaustion; those things made Turner’s blood run cold and brought back memories of Peter wasting away for a full year in that bed before death had claimed him.

Turner dropped the wood quickly into the box, stoked up the fire to ward off any chill that was lingering in the air and joined Will at the bed. Will grumbled and tried to move away when Turner dropped his lips to his brow again.

Turner winched. Will had a fever. He hadn’t had a fever just a short time before but he had one now. It wasn’t raging just yet but Turner knew it was probably heading that way.

This was his fault. He had tossed Will out in the snow and now the man was sick because of it.

Without a word, Turner strode back out of the cabin. He went to the chicken coop, picked out a fat hen and quickly wrung her neck, ending her life painlessly. He then went about gutting her and skinned her instead of taking the time to pluck each and every feather.

When he entered the house, Will was sitting on the bed with Beaux’s head on his leg as he petted the old hound, “What are you doing with that chicken?” Will questioned.

“Gonna make you some soup. You need soup and rest.”

Will smiled. The damn man actually smiled at him and Turner nearly combusted right there on the spot, “Thanks, Turner.”

Another coughing fit gripped Will and Turner’s pleasure over that smile quickly evaporated.

“Just rest, Will. I’ll take care of you.”

***

It only took a couple of hours for Turner to realize that Will needed medicine. He needed cough medicine for his lungs as well as something to help bring down his fever. Turner had never been sick a day in his life and so he didn’t have either one.

It would take him a good three hours to get to Caudilltown with all this snow and another three to return, if Bernice didn’t fall and break her leg on the slipper mountain paths, but Turner just didn’t see any other options. Will had slept all day, the fever was worse and Turner couldn’t keep it down with cool compresses.

He cursed himself for being so unprepared for this!

“I’ll be back, Will,” Turner whispered as he crouched beside the bed.

Will opened his glossy green eyes and swallowed. When he winced Turner knew his throat must be hurting him as well. He had only sipped at the soup Turner had made, “Where are you going?” Will questioned.

“Town. I’m going to get you some medicine. I probably won’t make it back until dark. I’m going to leave Beaux and my revolver here with you just in case there’s trouble.”

Will shook his head, “What if you run into trouble?”

Will began coughing and Turner stroked his sweaty blond hair soothingly until he finally settled back down, “I’ll have my rifle and my knife, Will. I’ll be just fine so don’t worry about me. I know how to take care of myself.”

Will’s head collapsed back against his pillow as his eyes slid closed, “Be careful,” he whispered. “Love…you.”

Turner’s breath caught in his chest. He knew it was only the fever talking but it renewed his determination to get to town, no matter the weather, and bring back medicine for the man. He wanted to hear Will say those words to him when there wasn’t a fever clouding his mind.

He rose to his full height and walked to the door. Pulling his revolver from the gun belt hanging beside the door, Turner checked to ensure the .45 was loaded and then placed it on the beside table. He turned his gaze to Beaux who was laying on the bed with his head resting on Will’s stomach, “You stay here, Beaux. Look after Will.”

Turner pulled on a warm hat, coat and gloves. He grabbed his Winchester rifle from beside the door and made his way back out into the snow. He made short work of saddling Bernice and patted her cheek gently, “It’s gonna be a rough ride, Bernice, but we gotta get some medicine for Will. He’s real sick.”

Bernice tossed her head as if in agreement and Turner slid his rifle into the scabbard attached to her rigging before he climbed on the old mare’s back. He knew it would take somewhere around seven hours to get to town, get the medicine and then return home and he could only hope that Will would be okay until he managed to make it back.

A/N: A little short, I know, but hopefully it was still worth reading!