Page 28 of A Curse On Black Lake (Black Lake Gothic Cowboys #1)

“I don’t know how he would. The only way I think that’s plausible is if he read the story of what happened somewhere else. Maybe someone else recorded it. Only Grams and I were in this room, ever.”

“Are the Spirits telling you anything?” he asks.

The tension bleeds from my shoulders, and I shake my head. I know I’m not telling him everything, but something tells me not to mention his father.

But the fact he considered me, and the Spirits I have no choice in carrying around with me, does something to my insides. And I have to ignore the fierce need to jump into his arms again. It feels like I’m meant to be there.

“I guess it’s good to know this information and the weird connection to the weed, but it seems most likely that it’s a coincidence. It’s not like we all haven’t seen them.”

“If anything, it tells you that whoever is killing these women recognizes that the flower has a short life and went to the trouble of collecting and drying it. Anyone else who isn’t from here probably wouldn’t do that.”

“How do you know if they only grow in Black Lake?” Killian asks.

“A feeling?” I offer.

He chuckles. “Though I would take that as an answer, little witch, that won’t hold up in a court of law.”

My jaw drops, and his eyes widen.

“Sorry, I—”

A burst of laughter whips out of my mouth, interrupting him, and I can’t stop. My hands grip my stomach, and I brush a tear away.

“I can’t believe you called me little witch,” I say, trying to catch my breath, and ignoring the little tickle in the back of my mind. He called me this in a dream.

“It just came out,” he grumbles.

I smile widely. “If it were anyone else, I probably would have hissed or maybe punched them in the face, but I think I like it.”

He grins and looks away. His cheeks turn a little red, and it makes the heat in my belly bloom.

“It was a joke,” he says.

“A funny one at that,” I say and throw him a wink. I have never winked a day in my life.

He chuckles, and his smile brightens the entire room. It fills every corner, cleansing it. “I know this was hard to do. But thank you for helping me,” he says.

I stand from my chair. “I’m glad I could.”

“Do you…” he trails off. His expression has sobered as if he can’t reconcile what we found with the current circumstances. “Do you think if the killer knows this information then he’s using it as justification?”

My heart pangs at the thought. So many women have died at this psycho’s hand.

“Humans have an uncanny ability to justify anything, Killian. So, no I don’t think it’s too far-fetched. But it still brings us back to the same question. How would he know this part of Black Lake history?”

Killian puffs out a breath. “Maybe you’re not the only one with a written family history.”

“You’re probably right. I don’t go out and talk to people about their family history, so I wouldn’t know.”

“Do you go anywhere in town?” he asks.

I close the journal and walk out of the room, with Killian on my heels. “I don’t go anywhere I don’t have to.”

Stopping in the kitchen, I take in the mess I’ve left myself and shrug it off. I’ll take care of it later. It’s one thing I could never do for Grams, clean up after myself. I’m a naturally messy girl, what can I say? We can’t all be perfect.

Killian grabs my arm and spins me to face him. “Are you scared?” he asks me.

I don’t answer right away, and he grabs my chin, sending a bolt of fire down my spine, and my knees wobble. We’re not like that, and I should step out of his touch, but I can’t. I want to lean in.

“I wouldn’t say scared,” I mumble, avoiding eye contact.

“Sounds like fear to me, little witch.”

I pin him with a glare, and he gives me a mischievous grin before he releases my chin, and my skin feels warm where he touched me. “Things are getting more complicated, especially with Wyatt, so I want you to know I will protect you. This won’t fall back on you. Okay?” he asks.

“I’m not worried about this falling back on me. Maybe I should be, but…”

You shouldn’t be. It is the right path, we are told it is.

“Yeah, whatever,” I mumble.

“Sorry?” Killian says.

I groan. “Not you, them.”

“Oh. But you understand what I’m saying? You were here while I was saying it, right?” he asks.

I snort. “Yes, cowboy, I was here.”

“Sorry I asked,” he grumbles. “But wait, is that the best you can come up with?” he asks with a glint in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, is that not what you are?” I ask him, moving to the sink to start filling it with water.

He chuckles. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

Yeah, it is because the things I would like to call you are far too indecent for friends.

“Do you want to stay for supper?” I ask him.

“I’ll never say no to that. You cook, I’ll clean.”

I spin around with a smile on my face. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

His eyes trail up my body, and I can feel the blush covering my chest. “You don’t like doing dishes, do you?” he asks, glancing at the mess behind me.

“Nope. Grams would always complain about how messy I am. I don’t love cooking much either, but gotta eat, and I’m not terrible at it so it’s whatever,” I say as a spear of grief goes through my stomach.

“Well, I’m happy to do it,” he says, coming to stand next to me at the sink. “Go ahead, I can do this.”

I smile, biting my lower lip, and open the fridge to figure out what I can make us for supper. It feels good to have someone here with me. This small house suddenly felt massive without Grams in it. No one talks about if you’re the only one left behind.

The sudden singularity is like falling into a grave with no bottom. It’s so deep, so lonely in a solitude that wasn’t asked for, it’s hard not to grasp for anyone willing to stick their hand out and stay.

Killian and I may have been pushed together by a plan that’s much bigger and darker than either of us understand, but he’s here. And of all people, he understands what I’m going through.

After dinner, Killian finishes the dishes, and we find ourselves in the living room. I laugh at myself because now I don’t want him to go.

Killian flips through Wuthering Heights and snaps it closed. Grams finished it not long before she died.

“Do you mind if I borrow this?” he asks.

“Sure,” I sigh and pick up one of my own. Jane Eyre, it was one of Grams’s favorites. I’ve never read it, but I’m still grasping at ways to be close to her, so I picked it up.

“What are you reading?” he asks.

“Jane Eyre.”

He hums. “I liked that, well written. Then again, it’s a classic. It was compelling, though.”

“You read a lot, don’t you?” I ask him.

He shrugs. “I do because there’s not much else to do before bed. It’s not like our three channels in this town work well. I don’t remember the last time I turned the TV on.”

I glance at my own box television. There are a few people who have the flat screens now. I don’t know why. I guess it’s an excuse to see the snow on the TV better. Or maybe they use them for DVDs

“I don’t either.”

“Welp, I’m going to head out. Early start. I’ll be here in the morning,” he says

I stand with him, following him to the front door.

He reaches for the knob and stops.

My heart leaps out of my fragile chest, and I find a little bit of hope there.

Maybe he will force me over the boundary between us, and I’ll let him because a part of me wants him to.

Regardless of the real consequences. But then again, I’m not sure I’m not prepared to dance over that line. Not yet.

“Thank you for dinner. Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks.

“Why do you ask?”

“You’ve had a rough day,” he says.

I hug myself and study my bare feet. “I’ve had a lot of rough days, cowboy, what’s one more?” I ask him.

His booted feet shift in front of me, and I look up. His coffee-colored eyes stare back, and I see so many things in them. I want to ask him what he’s really thinking.

Be honest with him. You are allowed to do that. You can trust him. The Spirits say.

I ignore them, unable to move from my spot.

“Call me if you need anything,” he rasps.

My fingers tingle, grateful that he cares even if I’m still a stranger to him for the most part.

You are no stranger, child. His soul knows yours as if they were born together.

Stop listening to my thoughts. I grit out to them.

You’re the one who let it through. But the truth still stands.

I mentally roll my eyes and nod to Killian. He walks down the front sidewalk and hops into his truck.

When I can’t see him anymore, I close the door and lock it behind me. Being honest with Killian about my growing feelings will make this harder. My boundaries need to remain firmly in place despite his vines crawling over the thick walls of my being. I can barely get up every day.

Grief and romance don’t mix. Nor should they.

Oh, child. You should know by now, life is never that black and white.