JAMES
T
he sensation
of Caroline’s gaze against my back tightened my muscles, and I tried hard to ignore her intense attention. Her camera shutter sounded every few seconds, and the click was distracting considering I was wielding a very sharp knife. Butchering a deer wasn’t as easy as people tended to think, and I reached to wipe sweat from my brow with a harsh breath.
Against my skin the sun beat relentlessly, and I managed to skin the dead doe completely before I started to sizzle like bacon. Tossing the pelt to the edge of the patio carelessly, I dunked my blade in a bucket of water to wash off some of the blood.
“Are you going to turn the pelt into anything? Like a rug?” Speaking up from her chair, Caroline’s voice dribbled with curiosity even as I twisted to catch her uncovered
