Dominic
Five hours patrolling the mountain, and I’m turning into an icicle by the time I head back to my cabin on the north side of the mountain.
The only print marking the snow besides mine belongs to the elk herd.
I’d normally stay out for a few more hours, but no one’s hiking or hunting in this weather.
Not with the storm of the century brewing on the horizon.
It’s been snowing all day. First in little flakes that frosted the railing of my porch when I left this morning and now as I hike back home, they come down fat and heavy, settling into drifts that already reach my knee. By tomorrow they’ll be waist high.
It’ll be days before I can make a trip to town, which is perfect. My cabin is fully stocked, the generator is ready, and I even have firewood stacked on the back porch. It’s the perfect time to be snowed in for a few days.
The woods are quiet as I step into the clearing where my cabin is located. It’s more rustic than most. Plain oak boards that look more weathered than they should, and nothing decorating the old hunter’s cabin to make it more aesthetically appealing.
“Should’ve put the stew on,” I mutter to myself as my stomach begins to growl.
“Should’ve packed a snack,” I add when I find all the ingredients for said stew still in my fridge and unprepared. “A sandwich. A protein bar. Something.”
I’m chopping bell peppers, onions, and carrots into neat little chunks when the radio on my desk crackles to life.
“Dominic! Come in Dominic!”
The voice is feminine, haughty, and just a little raspy. It’s not any of the rangers from the national park or the boys from fire and rescue down in town. I’d recognize it anywhere.
“Abuela, this is for emergency personnel only,” I radio back.
“You didn’t answer your cell,” she replies in a short tone.
My eyes drift to the cell phone I haven’t bothered to charge in a week. It’s definitely dead. I’m not going to tell her though.
“Reception’s been spotty lately.”
“I’m sending someone up to meet you and I want you to be nice.”
The radio’s microphone only picks up voices, but I swear I hear my grandmother’s bracelets clinking as she talks with her hands.
“When?” I ask, already giving up on arguing with the stubborn woman. We’ve fought a hundred battles, and I’ve lost every single one.
“She’s already on her way.”
Polite agreeance goes straight out the window. I thought she was sending a man. Someone’s grandson who wants to learn how to track the elk or even a solar panel salesman. I didn’t think she was going to send a woman.
I thought she gave up on setting me up years ago.
“Have you looked outside recently?”
“Yes?”
“Abuela, there’s a blizzard brewing.”
“Oh, no. What a shame. Well, I would try to stop her but cell reception on the ridge is spotty at best.” My grandmother doesn’t sound remotely remorseful.
“This is the last time,” I growl into my mic.
“Yes,” she replies. “I think it will be.”
She says a curt goodbye after warning me once again to be nice.
Too damn bad Abuela. I don’t do nice. Not for stranded hikers too dumb to read the trail markers.
Not for hunters I catch poaching when the season is long over.
And not for women that think they can waltz into my cabin and treat it and me like a fixer upper just because my grandmother wants a great-grandchild.
Hell no.
When the snow stops and the roads clear, this woman will be gone, and my life will be back to normal. I just have to suffer her presence until then. Completely manageable. I’ve survived worse in the army. How much trouble can one woman be anyway?