AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I eye the cabin warily as we approach, my brow furrowing. "What is this place?"
"Old friend's place," Tucker grunts, not breaking stride.
The battered wooden door swings open with a groan, and a grizzled man appears, leveling a wicked-looking hunting rifle in our direction. For a split second, my heart stutters in panic before the stranger's eyes narrow, sweeping over us in recognition.
"Rhodes," he rumbles in a voice as rough-hewn as the cabin itself. "The hell you up to out here?"
"Zane," Tucker replies with a subtle nod. "Got ourselves in a bit of a situation. You still have that shortwave radio?”
The burly man grunts, stepping back to allow us entry with a jerk of his whiskered chin. I trail close on Tucker's heels, peering around the modest interior with open curiosity. Dusty mounted animal heads leer down from the knotted pine walls, a cheerfully crackling fire roaring in the stone hearth. It's like something ripped straight from an old mountain man's fever dream.
As Tucker and his friend retreat to the tiny kitchen, their voices dropping to hushed murmurs, I can't resist exploring further. My fingertips trail over a rickety bookshelf packed with dog-eared paperbacks and well-thumbed survivalist manuals. A faded photograph tucked into the corner catches my eye—a cluster of grinning kids posing in front of a wooden Camp Silverpine sign. I smile at the unexpected glimpse of nostalgia amidst this rugged dwelling.
The sound of the kitchen door swinging shut has me whirling, my breath catching as I realize Tucker has stepped outside alone. I rush over and fling open the cabin door.
"Wait, where are you going?" I demand.
He pauses, those broad shoulders rising and falling on a deep inhale. His chiseled features are etched in grim resolve when he turns to face me.
"I'm going to draw the poacher out of hiding," he states in a tone that brooks no argument. "Give the authorities a chance to move in."
"Well, wait up," I sputter. "I'm going with you."
"Like hell you are," he growls, raking an agitated hand through his hair as he closes the distance between us with a few long strides. "I’m not about to put you in harm's way again."
I open my mouth to protest further, but he silences me with a shake of his head.
"This isn’t a debate, Doc," he rumbles in that low, commanding tone. "You're staying put here with Zane until it's safe. That's an order."
With that, he turns on his heel and strides off into the thickening dusk until he vanishes completely from sight. I'm left gaping after him, my hands curling into impotent fists at my sides.
"Don't let that stubborn ass get to you too much," a gruff voice speaks up from behind. "Man's got his reasons, twisted as they may be."
I spin to face the hulking form of Zane leaning in the doorway, those flinty eyes studying me with surprising perception.
"And what reasons would those be?" I challenge, arching one eyebrow.
The burly mountain man shrugs one broad shoulder, pushing off from the doorframe to amble further into the cabin's dimly lit interior. "Why don't you come and have a seat? I'll tell you a bit about our boy Tucker. Man's had it tougher than you'd ever guess behind that loner act."
Curiosity momentarily overrides my lingering frustration, and I trail after Zane, dropping onto a battered armchair across from him as the fire crackles merrily. He settles back with a grunt, absently scratching at the grizzled scruff covering his craggy jawline.
"Way back when we were just snot-nosed brats, Tucker had it pretty rough growin' up out here..." he begins, his voice taking on a contemplative rasp.
He lapses into a thoughtful silence, and I resist the urge to prod him, sensing the delicate weight of whatever memories swirl behind those flinty eyes.
"You know his daddy was one hell of a legendary mountain man, right?" Zane continues at last, his voice taking on a wistful rasp. "Lived off this land like it was still the 1800s—hunting, trapping, surviving on nothing but his wits and what Mother Nature provided. He taught Tucker all the tricks from the day that boy could walk."
He snorts, shaking his grizzled head. "Probably why Tucker turned out so damned feral if you ask me. Spent more time in the wild as a youngster than any civilized place."
"But I'm guessing that doesn't explain the lone wolf act," I murmur, tilting my head. "Or why he seems so hellbent on pushing me away when things get dangerous."
Zane's expression grows somber, a muscle ticking in his weathered jaw. "Well, see, his mom left when he was little. She didn't care for this life. But then his dad... went out hunting one day and never came back.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Just that. We were just teenagers." His eyes dart to the picture I saw earlier, and I resist the urge to study it again, to search for Tucker's face among the boys there. “Hunter spent months searching for him, tracking him through these hills. But he was just… gone. Just like his mama. Just like everyone he’s ever loved.”
It's no wonder Tucker harbors such deep reservations about letting people get too close. No wonder he clings so fiercely to his independence, fearing it could all be ripped away without warning, just like before.
