Shortage (Best Laid Plans Book 2) Read Online Free PDF

those trips they'd heard all about fishing in cold weather from the older man, gleaning the experience and skills he'd acquired over the years.
    The most important things to be aware of were that trout were cold-blooded and their metabolism slowed down in the cold. They still had to eat, but it could be harder to get them to take the bait and you had to search for the right conditions.
    Trev followed all his uncle's advice today, waiting until the hottest part of the day, finding a place where the river ran slower and deeper so the fish didn't have to expend as much energy going after the bait, and moving his line very slowly to make an easy target they might go after.
    Lucas had been a good teacher and Trev's listening seemed to pay off, because after only a few hours of patient effort, moving from one good spot to another but always aware of the highway on the other side of the river, he caught five trout that were quite a bit bigger than he was used to seeing in the summer. Maybe it was the extra months of growing and the fact that there was nobody around to fish them, but he almost never had success like this. After Lucas's warnings about cold weather fishing being more challenging he had to wonder if he was lucky, or if the high price of fuel before the Gulf refineries attack keeping tourists and regulars away all summer had more to do with it.
    Either way he wasn't complaining as he gutted and scaled his catch and packed them in snow in the bucket to take back up to the hideout. Then, after cautiously looking around just to be safe, he picked his way up the treacherous bank to where the path began and started up. At this time of day it was warm enough that the exertion made him start to sweat, but removing his coat and carrying it would've just made the climb even more awkward so he kept on.
    Trev had just made it to the cliffs and was doing his best to scale the gap one-handed when a sharp crack reached his ears. In that odd way in the mountains it echoed and reverberated confusingly, making it hard to trace exactly where it had come from, but Trev was pretty sure it was from above, near the hideout.
    He immediately dropped his bucket of fish and unslung his .223, then wedged himself farther back into the gap facing outward and began panning the lower slope and the parts of the highway he could see with his scope, just to be safe. To his relief a few moments later he heard Lewis's famous piercing whistle, letting him know that not only was it his cousin who'd fired the shot but that it was safe to keep coming without getting his head blown off.
    He retrieved his bucket and rushed the rest of the way up the gap to the gentle meadowy slope leading to their hideout. A year ago the exertion combined with the thinner air at this elevation would've left him heavily winded by the sprint, but in his current shape he just needed a few seconds to steady his breathing as he looked around warily.
    Lewis was entering the clearing from the south when he arrived, to the left of the path Trev had taken and farther down the meadow to where it curved down past the cliffs in a gentler but still steep slope to the river below. His cousin looked like he was in a good mood, and from his forced nonchalance as he cut across the meadow to meet Trev he had a feeling it was big news.
    “Hey, how'd the fishing go?”
    Trev grinned at his own good news. “Five big ones,” he said, lifting the bucket.
    Lewis grinned. “In this cold? That's awesome! We'll have to take advantage of the fact that the fish are biting like that with however many warm days we've got left.” He paused and significantly hefted his bulky .308 on his shoulder. “Of course first we should be thinking about big game.”
    It was Trev's turn to be delighted. “That shot earlier?”
    “An 8 point buck, pretty impressive size,” his cousin confirmed, finally letting his exuberance show. “Just standing there at the edge of the meadow a stone's throw away like he'd never