Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
That was exactly what I did, carefully driving my car into the spot hers had been, so there were no tracks to worry about.
The cabin wasn’t much to write home about. It looked like something an amateur had built, with no bells or whistles.
With a gloved hand, I reached for the knob, anticipating Storm’s barks, but when I pushed the door open, I found the space abandoned.
She must have taken the dog with her.
The inside of the cabin was even more depressing than the outside. Just the absolute bare minimum for survival. No luxury items around.
Save for, of course, the shit that was still in bags, or the stuff she’d clearly brought with her.
Something was niggling at me as I looked around, seeing store bags stuffed into each other, hanging from a hook on the wall, and items still boasting tags stacked about, but it wasn’t until I was parked back in my hiding spot on the side of the road that it struck me.
Someone who was planning a trip to the woods, for whatever fucking reasons someone might find to do that kind of thing, would bring luggage. Bags stuffed with shit from home.
They didn’t go to the store and buy everything new.
No.
Whoever this woman was, she’d come here in a hurry.
Like she was on the run from something.
Two thoughts hit me at once.
One, the obvious. Had she actually seen what I’d done? Did she not report it because she was in some sort of trouble with the law herself?
Two, the less obvious, the more fucked up.
I wanted to protect her from whatever was after her.
What the fuck was that about?
CHAPTER FOUR
Millie
“This was overkill, huh?” I asked as I carried the bags with me toward the car, Storm bouncing along beside me with a giant stuffed duck in his mouth.
Clearly, if I was keeping the puppy—and I couldn’t seem to force myself to bring him to the shelter—I needed supplies.
Dog food. Toys. A proper leash and collar. Shampoo. A good brush. Treats. Cleaners to get me through the housebreaking period.
Should I be spending what was left of the money that I was going to need to feed myself, and now Storm, with? No. But I wasn’t going to half-ass this dog ownership thing after waiting my whole life for this opportunity.
If this hiding out thing went on for any length of time, I figured I might be able to find some off-the-books jobs, so my name didn’t show up anywhere that could be searched.
Dog walking.
Yard work.
House cleaning.
I don’t know… something.
Just to give me enough to feed us with.
I wouldn’t have any bills if this went on for any length of time. It would just be essentials I had to worry about. And possible vet bills.
As insane as it was, that realization actually had my shoulders relaxing.
I hadn’t realized just how much I worried about things like bills until, suddenly, I didn’t have to think about them anymore.
Though if I had the choice between bill worry and the current concerns I had, I would take the bills every time.
Storm was surprisingly good in the car, just watching the sights as I drove us back toward the little cabin we were calling home.
The closer we got to the cabin, the more I felt my mood start to shift.
It had been relatively easy to keep my swirling thoughts and emotions in check when I had things to focus on.
But now that the puppies were buried and I had everything I needed for Storm, it was proving difficult to keep it all in check.
It was all rushing back, and each step toward the cabin got harder, like gravity was pressing more firmly down on me than before.
Storm was oblivious, running inside to run around the little home with his new toy as I dropped all the bags on the table, then collapsed down onto one of the chairs.
Grief was surprisingly mercurial, it seemed. Tolerable one moment, completely debilitating the next.
I lifted my hands, burying my face in them, and let it out, knowing it was only going to feel worse if I tried to keep beating it back.
It seemed to go on forever, the sobs and the flood of tears. It wasn’t like I had anything else to do with my time, so I didn’t even try to rein it in.
It wasn’t until I felt a wet nose poke my arm, followed by a whine, that I wiped my tear-burnt cheeks, and reached for some tissues to blow my nose.
“I’m sorry, buddy,” I told him. “You’re going to need to tolerate me being a mess for a while,” I said as I moved to stand, attaching his leash to his collar, and taking him outside.
It would help having him, I knew.
But I couldn’t shake some guilt I felt at forcing him to live this existence with me. No way to socialize him, with funds being tight, and not to mention having to go through a miserable summer with no air conditioning when the time came.