Hunter McCormick's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Hunter McCormick drove the last roof beam home and felt the first snow land on his neck. He had built this cabin all summer, log by log, for the woman he loved. He planned to finish it, fill it with warmth, and ask her to marry him inside these walls. But the frost came a month early. Ice already crusted the water bucket. The roof was open to the sky. He climbed down and checked the sod he'd cut for the roof. Frozen stiff. He could not lay it in this cold. Without that layer, the cabin would leak heat all night. One night in an open shell, and the pipes would crack. His stove sat inside, useless without a sealed roof above it. His dog barked from the porch. The little black, white, and tan pup pawed at something under the steps. Hunter waved him off. "Not now, boy." He needed a fix, fast. He grabbed his axe and headed for the tree line to cut fresh boughs. Snow fell harder. His breath fogged. He could layer green branches over the open beams. It would not be pretty, but it might hold the heat until morning. At the tree line, a fox stood watching him. Bright eyes, red coat, calm. It did not run. It turned and trotted a few steps, then looked back. The pup shot past Hunter's legs and chased after it. "Get back here!" Hunter followed, cursing. The fox led them both around a low ridge. Then it stopped. Behind a wall of trees stood two magnolias, huge and white with bloom, though the world around them froze. Their thick leaves formed a dense green roof. Beneath them, the ground stayed dry and warm. Hunter stared. The trees blocked the wind. Their canopy would shed snow better than any boughs he could cut. He looked at the fox. It sat, watching, as if it had known. He worked fast. He hauled the stove down the ridge on a sled of planks. He dragged blankets, tools, and the water bucket. The pup ran beside him, tail high. By dark, Hunter had the stove lit under the magnolias. Heat filled the sheltered space. He would not freeze tonight. He sat by the fire and let his shoulders drop. The pup curled against his leg. The fox lay a few feet off, close enough to trust. Then Hunter looked back toward the ridge. His cabin stood dark and open, roof still bare. Everything he owned now sat out here, under two trees, far from the frame he had built for her. He had saved himself. But the cabin he meant to propose in was farther from finished than this morning. And the frost would only deepen. He fed the fire and stared at the empty shell on the hill. Tomorrow he had to find a way to close that roof. Or the cabin, and the question inside it, would wait through a whole hard winter.