Free Obsession Falls by Christina Dodd Page B

She pulled her clothes up from the foot of the sleeping bag—storing them there kept them warm—and scrambled out of her tent.
    The hunter’s moon was huge and orange, peeking through the trees as it set in the west.
    She didn’t exactly know what to do with this unexpected gift.
    Yes, she did. She needed supplies. Lots of them.
    Her gut tightened at the thought of breaking into another home. But she didn’t have a choice. She needed a real winter tent. She needed food. Another storm, and what would she have done?
    Starved to death.
    In the light of the setting hunter’s moon, she gathered her equipment and started down the mountain.

 
     
    CHAPTER SIXTEEN
     
    The abrupt break in the frigid weather had made the snow soft, and even in snowshoes, Taylor sank with every step. Before long, she wished she’d taken the time to eat, and by the time she spotted her next mark, a small, one-story log cabin, she had lost her reservations and hotfooted it to the front porch. The place was dark and quiet, with no outside furniture and no tracks in the driveway.
    She knocked. If anyone opened the door, she was going to tell them her car got stuck in a ditch, ask them to call the authorities, then disappear on a search for her mythical vehicle.
    But no one answered. She laughed briefly, leaned her head against the door in thankfulness, and, like a hopeful fool, tried the knob.
    It turned. The door opened.
    She stared at the five-inch vertical crack that led into a darkened room, and crazy thoughts leaped through her brain.
    Someone had already broken into the house and was inside.
    The family that owned this place had been murdered and she was going to find them.
    It was a trap. Dash was inside, waiting for her.
    She pulled her pistol and pushed the door open the rest of the way. She could see the dark shapes of furniture. She took a cautious step inside and groped for the light switch. The overhead came on.
    No ghosts, no bodies. No Dash. Just a leather couch, rustic wood coffee table with ring marks left by beer cans, elk heads, deer heads, antler curtain rods. The television filled one wall. The computer was antiquated and relegated to a spot on the floor in the corner. Every surface was covered with hunting magazines and camping gear. A full box of dried rations spilled over on the ottoman. A two-man tent was set up in the corner. It was like an episode of Hoarding for Tough Guys. Best of all, a thick layer of dust covered everything. She didn’t know where this dedicated outdoorsman was, but he was not here.
    She sidled toward the kitchen.
    More equipment: a camp stove and three lanterns on the table, bottled water and canteens in the pantry. She popped the top on a bottle and swallowed every drop of the lukewarm water. She grabbed a package of granola bars, ate one, and went back to the living room. She tiptoed toward the closed door on the other side of the room.
    She pulled her pistol from its holster, held it the way she’d seen the television police hold pistols when they searched a house: shooting hand supported by the other hand, barrel pointed straight out. “Hello?” she called, and opened the door.
    Master bedroom. No one there. No one was in the house.
    On the bedside table, she saw a scattering of broken glass; she found a photo of a handsome couple smiling at the camera.
    The picture frame was smashed. A divorce. Bitter, she’d say. That explained a lot. And this place explained the divorce.
    She shut the front door, shut the bedroom door, returned to the kitchen, and as soon as her belly was full, she looked around at all the equipment, and wondered how much she dared to take. This guy had fishing gear, lots of it, knives and axes and … it was like being lost in the sporting goods store of her dreams.
    She chose a compass, a new, sturdier one-man tent, a survival guide from its place on the back of the toilet. She almost wept with joy when she discovered four different backpacks for hiking. One fit her