Saving Mr. Bell

Chapter Eight

Arlo

It turned out I may have been a little overconfident in my ability to chop a tree down, a bundled-up-in-my-clothes-Rudolf laughing at my first attempt at delivering a blow to the tree’s trunk when I didn’t leave so much as a dent. “That was a practice swing,” I said.

He snorted when the second swing was no better. “What was that one?” He held his hand out. “Give it to me.”

I stared at him like he was insane. “How much are your fingers insured for?”

“A stupid amount.” He waggled the fingers in question in a gesture to hurry up. “They’ll be on the axe handle. Not on the blade.”

“I don’t think we should take the risk.”

We both tipped our faces up to stare at the sky as a couple of snowflakes drifted down. It seemed Austria still had more snow to dump on us. “How long do you want to be out here for?” Rudolf asked, his tone making it clear his vote was for not that long. It would have been a perfect moment for a wolf to have their say and emit a howl, but the surrounding area remained blissfully quiet.

I passed the axe over reluctantly. “Be careful.”

All I got in exchange for my concern was an eye roll. The first blow embedded itself in the tree trunk perfectly, Rudolf turning his head to give me a smug look.

“Luck,” I muttered. “Let’s see if you can hit the same spot twice.” Rudolf doing exactly that forced me to eat my words. “So you’re better than me at wielding an axe. Big deal.”

He hefted the axe once more, hitting the same spot for a third time. It wasn’t a thick trunk, the tree I’d chosen relatively small because it needed to fit in the cabin. Given Rudolf was already halfway through, a few more blows should do it. He smirked. “Why do you sound so upset about it, then?”

“I’m not,” I lied, wishing I’d crept out here while Rudolf was still asleep. It would have given me time to get the hang of it without him breathing down my neck and critiquing my efforts. “You’re better than me at playing the piano as well. You don’t see me getting upset about that.”

“I’m better than ninety-five percent of the population at playing the piano,” Rudolf said with an edge to his voice that sounded suspiciously like bitterness.

“Ninety-nine percent, surely,” I corrected.

His next two blows felt like he was taking something out on the poor defenseless tree trunk. It was powerful enough to topple the tree. Thankfully, it fell in the opposite direction, no heroics needed to shove Rudolf out of the way. It showered us with an avalanche of snow as it hit the ground, both of us forced to spit bits out and wipe it off our faces with coat sleeves.

Rudolf straddled the fallen tree like it was a conquest, axe resting casually against his shoulder like he wielded one regularly. “Voila! One tree.”

It turned out I could get it back to the cabin on my own if I dragged it, Rudolf happy to let me do the deed after his exertion of chopping it down. “How are you going to get it to stand up?” he asked as he trailed after me.

I pointed to the extension at the side of the cabin, the space, half storage area and half shed. “There’s stuff in there. I figure there’ll be a pot or something.”

“You figure, do you?”

“Have a little faith.”

“I had faith you could chop a tree down.”

“No, you didn’t. That’s why you insisted on coming with me.”

“And my concern proved to be justified. Who lives here?”

I shrugged. “No idea. I rented it through an agency and never asked.”

While I searched for something I could use to stand the tree up, Rudolf had spotted the chopping block. It seemed he’d gotten the bug for being destructive, immediately setting to work on the pile of logs and splitting them into smaller ones which would fit in the wood burner, with an ease that was impressive. I took a break at sifting through the junk to watch him for a moment. “You said this was my job, yesterday.”

He paused to remove his borrowed coat, sweat standing out on his brow. “That was yesterday. A man’s allowed to change his mind. If I’m stuck here, I may as well be useful. Besides, I have a vested interest in keeping the cabin warm.”

“True.”

I found a potential pot. As it was a little on the large side, I kept looking, noting anything else that might be of use during our stay. A few things I pocketed, like the string I happened across, in case it came in useful for something else. Possibly for tying the tree to something if my pot idea proved as unsuccessful as my tree chopping had.

“I reckon I could be a lumberjack,” Rudolf said as he cleaved another log in two with perfect precision.

I smiled. “I reckon you could do anything you put your mind to.”

“Really?”

Something about my answer seemed to matter to him. Enough that I straightened to look at him. There was something wild and abandoned about a Rudolf who’d gone to town with an axe. He was sweaty, his hair all over the place, and his cheeks flushed. This was probably what Rudolf looked like after fucking. I quickly tamped down on the errant thought, refusing to go there. “Yeah.” My voice was softer than I’d intended. I cleared my throat and held up the pot. “Do you reckon we could make this work?”

Rudolf studied it for a moment. “What are you planning to fill it with?”

“Rocks?”

“And the rocks would be…?”

“Under the snow.” This thread of practicality that I’d never expected a world class pianist to have was really starting to grate. I pointed to the far corner of the shed. “There’s a shovel.”

“Do you need me to dig for you as well?”

“I think I can manage that.” Thankfully, I did manage it, digging something I’d done before. Finding rocks under snow was like the world’s most disappointing treasure hunt, but I got there in the end, filling the pot almost to the brim because it was better to have too many than not enough.

It took a long time, a considerable amount of energy, and Rudolf’s help to maneuver the tree through the doorway of the cabin, quite a few pine needles sacrificing their lives before we were successful. But finally we had the tree upright in a corner of the cabin, the pot full of stones doing its job adequately. Once I’d removed my outer gear, I collapsed back on the sofa, breathing hard. “Decorating it can wait till tomorrow.”

Rudolf eyed me with amusement. “Are you okay, old man?”

“I’m only six years older than you.”

“And what a tough six years it must have been for an aborted attempt at chopping a tree down, and a bit of digging to leave you such a physical wreck.”

I closed my eyes and enjoyed the darkness behind my eyelids. “And you’re what, Mr. Physical?”

“More than you, apparently. At least I don’t need a nap.”

“Shhh… I’m trying to sleep.” A sound had me opening my eyes after less than a minute to find Rudolf stripping off his borrowed T-shirt. He stood side on, meaning I could study him from beneath my eyelids without him being aware of it. The Mr. Physical comment had been a joke, but there was nothing wrong with Rudolf’s physique, his chiseled torso not conjuring up the image of someone who sat behind a piano for hours on end. Which, me and his millions of fans already knew, because part of his rock star who played classical music persona were his stage outfits being sleeveless or sheer enough to have you believe you could see straight through them.

Seeing something on TV and having it just a couple of meters away were very different things, though. Should I want to, I was close enough to touch. I’d just need to sit up, lean forward, and stretch out my arm. And then Rudolf could call me a lecherous old man instead of just an old man.

“You’re not really going to sleep, are you?” Rudolf turned my way as he asked the question. Worried I’d get caught checking him out, I closed my eyes before he completed the turn. And then in a performance not even worthy of an amateur dramatics society, I feigned rubbing my eyes before opening them and sitting up, keeping my gaze focused on his face and not letting it drift downwards. “Huh?”

He checked his watch. “It’s two in the afternoon. I asked if you were really going to sleep?”

“No. Is it really that time? We haven’t had lunch.”

Rudolf disappeared into the bedroom. When he came back, I couldn’t work out whether I was relieved or disappointed he’d donned another of my T-shirts. “How many of my T-shirts are you going to wear in one day?”

He gave an exaggerated eye roll. “You said to help myself to your clothes.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t realize it was going to be like stage outfits. You know, one for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

“I was sweaty. I thought you’d appreciate me not making the cabin stink. Proper axe work makes a man work up a sweat.”

“Proper?”

Rudolf’s grin confirmed my suspicions that the word had been the provocation I’d taken it as. He wandered over to the kitchen area, opened up the cupboard, and peered at its contents. “Don’t worry. I’ll sort out lunch. I wouldn’t want you to strain something.”