A/N: Thanks for reading my story. You can call me EJ. I do like twilight but I haven't read the books. I thought I would give writing a shot and see what happens. A big thank you to my wife, JandMsMommy for being a wonderful beta and not changing my story. This is a story about what I know best--hunting and being a cowboy.
This story is all from Edward POV, and he is a human in this fic.
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.
I woke up at three a.m. to a dark morning, the clouds hanging low to the ground. The drizzling rain had not stopped in almost two days. I sighed, knowing it would be hard to maneuver my junky 1963 Chevy pickup through the muddy roads. I bought it from a junk yard in Abilene, TX, and very quickly I realized that mechanics was not a talent I possessed in life. The floor was rusted through. It was missing an inner bed, and it spent most of the time in my driveway, broke down. The only decent thing about the pickup was the sound system that I installed myself. Of course, it was only decent when it was working. Nevertheless, the truck got me where I wanted to go.
This morning was going to be the beginning of a three week hunting trip alone in Colorado. So needless to say, I was pretty worried about getting there safely without a 'crappy truck induced financial fiasco'. The day before the trip was spent researching and packing all the necessary supplies that I would need. I was very lucky to find a decently priced hiking pack at the last minute that would accommodate much of my clothes and my sleeping bag along with a small pillow. I grabbed my favorite Texas Rangers baseball hat, my Marlin 30/30 rifle, and the rest of my belongings and supplies then loaded them all into my truck.
My goal was to leave the ranch and be on the highway by four a.m. I grabbed the last of my gear, threw it in the truck, and began making my way down the winding dirt roads. I lived on one of the three ranches that my parents, Carlisle and Esme Cullen, owned. They gave me the job of managing this particular one. I took care of the wildlife, the horses, and the five hundred head of cattle. The house sat on a hill about ten miles from the highway, so I made sure to leave earlier than usual. Poorly paved dirt roads and rain did not mix well and made driving a slow, tedious ordeal. After avoiding any major catastrophe, I made it to the highway and turned right on Hwy 351 to Abilene. I settled back in my seat, preparing for the long drive ahead to White River National Forest. Most people would say that a drive like that would be very arduous but not me. I was looking forward to the relaxing, extended hunting trip. This was my chance to break away from life and the everyday responsibilities that a cowboy has to endure.
I drove a good eighteen hours with the occasional stop to grab a bite to eat, use the restroom, and fill up with gas. But for the most part, I just kept driving, enjoying the freedom, even in the small confines of my pickup. This was an adventure for me, a chance to see new surroundings and get into the open wild. I wanted to make the most of my time away. And so far, my truck was still running. I decided to stop in Georgetown, Colorado for the night at a flimsy motel. It was cheap, and that was priority. The ceiling was stained with mold from a leaky roof, and although the bed seemed clean, I decided it would be a better idea to sleep on top of the comforter in my sleeping bag. I pulled on an old high school t-shirt and shorts then settled in for the night. The bed was surprisingly comfortable, and as soon as I laid down, I fell fast asleep.
The next morning, I had my customary cup of coffee and smoked one of my favorite Backwoods Cigars while I watched the sun rise over the mountains. Even though I was in a crowded town, it was still a relaxing and amazing view. I finished my cigar and coffee then loaded all my stuff into the truck. I continued with the last leg of the trip to White River National Forest. The way the road roughly wound up and around the mountains did not deter my excitement to reach the forest.
I stopped outside of a town by the name of Wolcott to pick up the massive, sorrel horse named Chester and the pack mule I had rented that would take me and my gear through the mountainous terrain. Most importantly, I needed to be sure that my rifle would be within easy reach. My biggest concern while being here would be the many Black Bears that roamed throughout the area.
Once I reached the campsite, my first priority was to put up my tent so I could set out at dusk to hunt for some deer meat. I picked a spot in a valley at the base of the mountain that sat alongside a flowing river which fed from the surrounding mountains. I hung my food provisions up high from a tree, in case any hungry bears found their way to my camp. I placed my rifle in the holster that hung by my thigh below the saddle and hobbled the pack mule so she would not run off.
Chester was uncharacteristically alert this evening which seemed odd for a horse that was no stranger to being in the mountains. Nevertheless, we set out of the valley floor, traveling three miles away from camp. The horse worked its way through the mountains and trees effortlessly as we climbed to a ledge above the valley floor in order to get a better view of the terrain and any deer. I tied the horse to a tree ten yards away and moved into position on a rock ledge that provided a good view even though it was covered by massive trees.
After an hour went by with no luck, I decided it would be better to navigate through the terrain, searching for more deer. I enjoyed stalking game much more than sitting in a fixed location, just waiting. I worked my way through the trees and bushes then came upon a small clearing fifty yards from my original position. Grazing in the middle of the clearing another sixty yards ahead was a Mule deer. It wasn't anything grand, but it was food and that was what I needed.
I crept a little closer and found a low lying branch to rest my rifle upon. This was a kill that I was not going to risk missing. I stood there completely hidden from the animal's view and got the cross hairs of my scope centered right behind the left shoulder. I was comfortable with the shot and began to grip the trigger. The thunderous noise of the shot rang out, and, in an instant, the deer fell limply to the ground.
It was then that I saw something out of the corner of my eye, running away from the same deer. I couldn't be sure as the form disappeared at lightening speed, but I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a red, flowing dress.
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