THE COUPLE IN CABIN 14

  NANCY SAVAGE

  Copyright © 2024 Nancy Savage

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  The right of Nancy Savage to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

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  First published in 2024 by Bloodhound Books.

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  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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  www.bloodhoundbooks.com

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  Print ISBN: 978-1-917214-30-8

  CONTENTS

  Newsletter sign-up

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Epilogue

  You will also enjoy:

  Newsletter sign-up

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  A note from the publisher

  To my six Rs.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Amber watches her husband as he holds on to the steering wheel with one hand, while blindly feeling around the dash of their car with the other, trying to keep his eyes on the road. He mumbles under his breath that he’s sure he had left his sunglasses up there, then lets out a theatrical huff to indicate he’s given up searching.

  Amber opens the glove compartment and pulls out a packet of mints, choosing not to mention the sunglasses case she has to move aside to reach them. Dean has been nothing but short with her since they picked up on the second half of their journey this morning and she doesn’t feel like helping him out right now, even with something as petty as finding his sunglasses. It’s not even bright enough to warrant sunglasses, although it is much warmer than she had expected Oregon to be in early May. Amber has packed mostly warm layers and jeans for their week away, expecting it to be cold here at this time of year, but now she’s wondering if she should have packed some shorts and T-shirts, too.

  The journey from their home in Sacramento to the rental cabin they’ll be spending the next week in at Spring River Resort is just under nine hours by car, and they had decided it was better to drive it over two days. Amber had been hoping that the first night of their trip would start with a romantic evening, stopping off halfway at a hotel, maybe enjoying some dinner and drinks. But after a delayed set-off—due to lost car keys and a premature turn-off that took them thirty minutes in the wrong direction before they had to make a U-turn and drive back again, all the while arguing over whose fault it was—the trip had felt doomed before it had barely begun. They had checked in late and hardly said a word to each other before going straight to sleep.

  Fortunately, Amber had woken up this morning after a surprisingly restful night, feeling a lot better than she had the previous evening. Usually, she had a hard time getting any sleep in an unfamiliar bed, especially in a stopover hotel where intrusive thoughts would keep her awake. What would show up on these sheets under a blue light? Would I hear if a stranger opened up the door with an extra key card and crept around? But somehow she had slept a solid eight hours last night and woke up feeling optimistic about the next part of their trip.

  Judging by Dean’s current mood, he mustn’t have had such a good night’s sleep. Although, if the snoring that had served as Amber’s wake-up call this morning was anything to judge by, he had been sleeping soundly enough. She had even let him lie in for an extra hour while she fetched herself a coffee from the hotel lobby’s vending machine. The coffee wasn’t great, but it was strong and hot, and it had just about hit the spot as she’d stood out on the balcony of their room, taking in the crisp morning air. She had leaned on the rail, pretending to scroll through her phone while watching two very rough-looking middle-aged men, both in work overalls, open up the auto repair shop across from the hotel. She hadn’t seen them utter so much as a word of acknowledgment to each other from the moment they’d arrived until they had finished their (seemingly perfectly choreographed) morning setup routine.

  Amber loves to people-watch. She’s mastered the art of pretending to be engrossed in her own tasks as she studiously examines the everyday affairs of other human beings. A lot can be learned observing people living out the most mundane parts of their lives.

  Although Amber couldn’t say she had learned much from watching these two men work, it had served as a reminder to ask Dean when their car’s tires had last been pumped up. Though that was probably thanks to the rusted sign they had hanging up on the wall outside, advertising their services.

  Apparently, that extra hour of sleep had done nothing for Dean’s mood, because by the time he had showered, shaved, had his own vending machine coffee and they’d gotten back on the road, he still had a sour look on his face and seemed generally uninterested in making conversation. He even seemed annoyed at her asking if he had checked the tire pressure before they’d left home. Of course he had.

  Now they are on the last hour-stretch of their drive, and Amber is wondering how this week is going to play out if Dean’s attitude doesn’t pick up.

  There has been more strain on their relationship this past year than they’ve ever experienced before, and Amber really wants this trip to act as a reset button. Maybe to even feel like the good old days, when they were twenty-somethings: carefree and going out at midnight to sit on the beach, talking for hours by moonlight; or staying in on a Friday night and playing Strip-Twister while giggling, tipsy on cheap wine.

  Well … Amber doesn’t want to do exactly that anymore, but she does miss the spontaneity of their younger days.

  She decides if she wants this trip to have any memories worth holding on to, she needs to extend an olive branch.

  She pops another mint, then opens the glove compartment again to place them back inside and picks up Dean’s sunglasses case. “Hey, I just found your sunglasses, they were in here.”

  “I didn’t leave them there,” he says, glancing over with a doubtful look.

  Not a thank-you.

  Amber feels a flash of annoyance but pushes it down. She really wants to get along with her husband for the next week, even if it takes her doing all the heavy lifting.

  She takes his sunglasses out of their case and breathes on the lenses, then uses the bottom of her sweater to wipe them clean—a gesture she hopes he notices. Once they’re smear free, she reaches out to pass them to him but pulls them back at the last second, before he has a chance to take them—leaving his arm outstretched expectantly.

  Amber looks over at him and smiles. “Hey.”

  “What?” says Dean, his eyebrows bunching in confusion.

  “Can we just try to forget about last night and start out our stay at the cabin on the right foot?” she pleads. “We’ve got one week away together, and I just want to enjoy ourselves. Relax, have some fun. Like we used to.”

  Dean glances at her, then turns his eyes back to the road. “Sure,” he says flatly, an unreadable look on his face.

  That wasn’t the reaction Amber was hoping for.

  She passes him his sunglasses and he takes them, placing them down on his lap. After a few moments he takes one hand off the wheel and rubs both his eyes briefly with his thumb and forefinger. He lets out a deep sigh and tips his head back on the headrest, keeping his eyes on the road. He doesn’t even look annoyed anymore. He just looks defeated.

  “Yeah, Amber, I’m sorry.” He sighs. “I just have a lot going on right now with work and Mom, and everything feels like it’s piling up on me at the moment. I don’t want it to take away from this trip. I know how much you’ve been looking forward to it.” His face softens as he reaches over and takes Amber’s hand in his. He squeezes it firmly before letting go, then reaches down to pick up his sunglasses and slides them on. “When we booked this trip, Mom seemed to be doing okay, for the most part. But in the l
ast few weeks I’ve seen her slipping more and more. I feel bad now, leaving her like this for a whole week,” he admits.

  At the mention of Dean’s mother, Gloria, Amber’s nerves are immediately set on edge.

  CHAPTER TWO

  If Amber had to choose just one word to describe Gloria, Dean’s mother, it would have to be ‘difficult.’

  She feels guilty, thinking of her that way—not only because she is her mother-in-law who she longs to have a loving relationship with—because Gloria suffers from Alzheimer’s disease. The qualities that make her difficult, though, do not stem from this affliction completely. Before her symptoms began, she had always been fiercely independent, never one to accept help or tolerate other people’s input in her life. But it’s been four years since her diagnosis and as time has gone by, it’s become increasingly obvious that it’s not safe for her to live alone anymore.

  As Dean’s job as a software engineer allowed for the option to work from home, he’d set up a makeshift office in one of his mom’s spare bedrooms to be close to her while working each day. But it’s been six months since he started that arrangement and with each passing week, he has had to spend more and more of his working hours helping his ever-resistant mother with daily tasks. It’s gotten to the point where he arrives back home to Amber in the evenings and barely has the energy to make conversation anymore, let alone spend any quality time with her.

  His older sister, Melanie, takes over every weekend as well as making the occasional trip out with Gloria during the week, but there is nobody else their mother will allow to supervise her (‘supervise’ being a word they are all very careful not to use around her).

  Amber is certainly not on the list of people Gloria wants hanging around her or helping out. Not that Amber’s work hours as a teacher’s assistant at a local high school would allow her time to.

  She now thinks of the weight Dean has been carrying around on his shoulders these past few months. All of the annoyance she had felt at his earlier mood dissipates, and she feels a wave of compassion flow over her as she looks at a man who is doing his best to just keep it together.

  “Hey, your mom is in good hands,” she assures him gently. “Melanie will be there with her all week long. Day and night. You have no reason to feel bad about getting away for a while. You need time to unwind.”

  “Yeah,” Dean replies, biting his lower lip—something he does when he has something he’s trying not to say.

  “Unless … is there something else bothering you?” she asks.

  “No, there’s nothing else. I’m just tired.”

  Amber has known her husband long enough to know when he’s lying to her.

  He signals and takes an exit that leads onto a smaller road. There are large pine trees looming over them on each side now and as they pass, Amber catches a glimmer of water playing peek-a-boo behind the scattered trees to her left.

  She tries to take in and enjoy the impressive scenery, but she’s distracted by the nagging feeling that her husband is keeping something from her.

  They pass over a bridge and arrive at a huge wooden archway with the words ‘Welcome to Spring River Resort’ engraved in elegant script.

  Amber has been waiting for this trip for months. She’s never been to Spring River Resort before, but after reading hundreds of reviews for the place online, scouring through photos and maps of the resort, and downloading the guides on the many activities Spring River has to offer, she already feels as though she has intimate knowledge of the area.

  They’re almost at their rental cabin, thankfully—her legs are nearly dead from sitting in the car for the last three hours. She’s looking forward to settling in and maybe taking a warm bath this evening to unwind from the long, tense journey. Dean could do to unwind too, that’s clear to see.

  Amber gazes over at her husband, who is now jabbing in frustration at the satnav with one finger, trying to recenter the display. In this light she can clearly see some new wiry gray strands weaved into his dark curls.

  When they’d first met, many years ago, it was his big mop of curly hair that made him stand out. It offset his strong jawline and deep-brown eyes with an almost goofy look. Amber was taken by him straight away, with his playful charm and his ability to laugh at himself. Nowadays, Dean wears his curls short for minimal upkeep, and it’s been far too long since Amber has seen him laugh at either himself or anything else, come to think of it.

  They drive past a ranch-style restaurant, outside of which a sign reads ‘Annie K’s Bar & Grill.’ Amber’s stomach growls, and it dawns on her that other than a couple of mints, all she’s had to eat today is a glazed donut she picked up at their last coffee stop.

  It’s now just after three o’clock. Dean hasn’t eaten much more than she has, and must be hungry too, although he hasn’t mentioned it. There won’t be any food at the cabin when they arrive, so they will need to find a store around here tomorrow and stock up on some groceries.

  She points her thumb over her shoulder toward the restaurant. “Maybe we can head back there and get some food after we’ve found the cabin. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

  “Sure,” Dean replies, his eyes not moving from the road ahead of him.

  Amber can see her husband is still caught up in his thoughts.

  “Dean, stop worrying. Your mom is with Melanie, she’s going to be fine. Plus … she’s got Phil there to keep her company.” She smiles.

  Phil is Dean and Amber’s dog. He’s a lab-hound rescue, whose name comes from an ongoing private joke between them. It started when they’d first moved in together and had soon gotten into their first real argument, after Dean had made a passing remark to Amber about there being a ‘better way to cut onions’ while she was preparing a salad. They had bickered back and forth for a few minutes about what Amber had seen as Dean’s habit of micromanaging in the kitchen, and what Dean had seen as sharing tricks he’d learned during his brief time working at an Italian restaurant while in college.

  “Maybe my way is ‘less efficient,’ but I find it easier to do it like this,” Amber had ended up growling through gritted teeth.

  “Amber, you can put feathers on a dog but it don’t make it a chicken,” Dean had replied in a strange southern accent.

  Amber had put down the knife and stood there looking at Dean, bewildered.

  “Yeah.” He’d shrugged. “I don’t know what that means either. I just heard Dr. Phil say it to someone on his show this morning.”

  They had both burst out laughing and the argument was immediately defused. Since then, whenever they argue and one of them wants to wave a white flag, they will come out with a made-up Dr. Phil-ism to lighten the mood. It works about eighty percent of the time.

  Dean’s face now softens at the mention of Phil the dog. “Yeah, Mom does love that mutt,” he says, fondly.

  Amber seizes her chance to get him excited about their stay. “What do you say we forget about everything back home, and just be selfish for one week. We’ll eat some good food, see what this resort has to offer, maybe get drunk and go skinny-dipping at the lake … are you up for it?”