"If the cold doesn't kill you, the wolves will."
NOT A WEREWOLF STORY
Book 1 of 2.
In which an 18-year-old girl flees to Alaska to escape being accused of murder & to uncover what happened to her uncle. Involves two gentle giants.
Completed. :)
Fea...
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Chapter 43 | ICE FISHING AND BRIDAL STYLE
My alarm, once again, doesn't wake Vaughn up. So, I opt to do my usual morning routine, starting off with getting the fire going. Then, I work on brushing through my horribly tangled hair. Following a few more routine things, I head outside to see Moose curled up on a blanket near the door on the porch.
After I feed him, I choose to head back inside and try and cook breakfast. Venison, potatoes, onions, all chopped up and fried with the woodstove, and then a piece of buttered bread.
Anyways, I find it funny that that's what wakes Vaughn up. Not the sudden acoustic guitar song, or the loud creaking of the woodstove door, but rather the smell of food being cooked.
As I butter my piece of bread, I see him sit up from the futon, appearing visibly confused before he stretching his long arms above his head.
"Mikaere?" He asks, still confused.
"Yeah."
"What are you doing?" I hear his low, tired voice question as he stands up.
"Making food."
The patter of his feet against the wood floor as he walks over to me makes me feel nervous, for some reason. He stands slightly behind me, to my left as he looks over what I'm doing.
"Looks good," he comments, surprising me, before walking away to go put on his boots and jacket.
When he comes back inside, I'm already eating my share, so I merely point to his plate.
"Thank you."
I nod, too hungry to talk.
By 9:45, we're getting ready to head to the lake.
I'm actually quite excited about trying something new for once. However, I hope that I don't somehow mess it up.
After I've taken a bag and put water bottles, food, and a book inside of it, I follow him outside, over to the shed behind the cabin. He opens it, taking out multiple items.
He sets a cube-shaped red and tan item with a white handle on the ground, "A tackle box."
Vaughn then places a large, daunting looking, bright-red, giant cork-screw type of thing down, too. "An auger."
Subsequently, he holds up a black rod with a silver spool, then proceeds to hand it to me. "A fishing pole."
"Well, I know what that is."
He doesn't say anything as he takes out a large bucket, and then he hands me a bright yellow ergonomic snow shovel.
"Um. I have a question," I state as I take it from Vaughn.
"You wouldn't be you if you didn't," he says lowly, but I notice the side of his mouth lift slightly.
