Cold Hearted by Heather Guerre EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Heather Guerre
- Language: English
- Genre: Paranormal Werewolves & Shifters Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
I GRIPPED THE EDGE OF MY SEAT AS THE PLANE TOUCHED DOWN.
Normally, I wasn’t afraid of flying. But in this instance, I was strapped into
a four-seater plane, whose wingspan nearly clipped the pine trees growing
tight on one side of the gravel—yes, gravel—runway. A frozen river snaked
alongside the other side. At the end of the runway, a corrugated metal shed
served as Longtooth, Alaska’s airport.
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When the tiny plane had bumped and lurched its way to an idling stop,
the pilot flicked switches across the instrument panel. He killed the engine
and pulled his headset off. The sudden silence pressed on my ears, thick and
cottony. I pulled my headset off and looked over at the door handle beside
me. It seemed very wrong that an airplane door should look like a car door
from 1989, but I reached for the handle anyway, and let myself out.
It was only four in the afternoon and already pitch dark.
The
surrounding mountains formed jagged silhouettes against the night sky. The
air was bitingly cold, but I was prepared for it. Sure, I was from the lower48, but I’d grown up in northern Wisconsin and had been living in Chicago
for the last four years. My blood was good and thick from decades of lakeeffect snow, winter winds out of the Canadian prairies, and polar vortexes.
I
already owned good winter gear, and knew how truly dangerous the cold
could be. I wasn’t going to embarrass myself on that front.
The pilot came around the body of the plane and opened the belly hatch
where my bags had been stowed. He was a large man—tall and broad—
with dark eyes, a perpetually furrowed brow, and a thick beard that hid his
mouth. Despite the fact that he’d said less than a dozen words to me, I was
certain he didn’t like me. And yet, I just didn’t care. The part of me that
used to care about other people’s opinions had shriveled to a rattling husk.
Over the course of our three-hour flight, he’d only spoken twice to me.
First, to order me to buckle in and put on my headset. And then, a second
time, when I’d asked him how long he’d been flying, and he’d tersely
answered, “Long enough.” I’d taken the hint and stopped trying to make
conversation.
“Thanks,” I told him as he hauled my massive, wheeled suitcase from
the hatch. I moved to take it from him, but he held on, and with his other
hand, pulled out my other bag—a large canvas duffel. Turning away from
me, he carried both of my bags towards the metal pole building.
I followed awkwardly behind him. “You don’t have to—”
“Get the door,” he ordered.
I felt a flare of annoyance so strong, it froze me for a second. I hadn’t
felt anything strongly for such a long time
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