Page 29 of A Curse On Black Lake (Black Lake Gothic Cowboys #1)

Chapter twenty-two

Eliana

The sun is rising while I sit on the front porch waiting for Killian to get here. I couldn’t sleep and was up before my alarm clock. Since Grams died, I’ve had stretches of days I don’t sleep, and toss and turn. Other nights I sleep so hard the exhaustion gives me no other option.

But last night, I kept thinking about the curse. I want to understand my family’s role in it. At first glance, based on what Lily wrote, the Greers were trying to help. But what came of the Radcliffes? What happened to Jasper Jr.?

Killian pulls into the drive next to my dead truck and hops out. “Mornin,” he says.

“Hi,” I whisper, and take a sip of coffee.

“I meant to ask if you knew what was wrong with the truck?”

I shrug. “Not a clue.”

He glances at it over his shoulder. “Do you need help with it?” he asks.

I smile and run a hand through my hair. “Killian, you don’t have to fix everything. I know I need to work on the house, the truck. There’s a lot to do.”

“Good thing I’m pretty handy,” he says, coming up the stairs.

“You really don’t have to,” I whisper.

He blinks a few times and opens the front door for me. “Don’t we have work to do?” he asks.

“Yes, sir,” I say and give him a fake salute.

His tongue dips out over his lips, and it makes me wonder if he liked the salute or the sir more.

The door closes behind me, and I pour him a cup of coffee. “I made some extra eggs if you want them.”

“Thanks,” he grunts, making himself at home, grabbing a fork before sitting at the table.

I lean against the counter and watch him eat while I will my heart to resume its normal rhythm.

“Oh, after we’re done here, I need to go to the library. I don’t remember much from past cases, so I’m hoping the newspapers might jog my memory. Do you want to come?”

I wince at the thought of going into town.

“You’ll be okay, Eliana. I’ll be with you.”

I bite my lower lip, thinking, trying to ignore the building anxiety. “Fine.”

When he’s done, he disappears out the front door, and a few minutes later I hear banging on the front porch.

Wondering what he’s up to, I find Killian on his knees, swinging a hammer.

“What are you doing?” I ask him.

“Fixing this,” he says and taps the nail a few more times into the deck board.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because it needed to be fixed.” He looks up at me under the brim of his hat and I shift on my feet.

“Like I said, a lot needs to be fixed around here.”

The corner of his mouth tips up. “Like I said, I can fix it for you.”

My lips tingle and my hands ache to touch him. “Thank you,” I rasp.

“My pleasure.”

After we finish up with my chores and take care of the animals.

I prep a few things to dry, and distill oils.

Smashing rose petals into a large jar full of vodka, I put the lid on and slide it into the corner.

I need to make more goat’s milk soap and lotion to take to the stores because they are likely out.

The peppermint, lavender, and chamomile drying isn’t quite there yet, and will need a few more days.

I glance at Killian sitting on the front porch in one of the rocking chairs, wondering if he’ll help me deliver soap and lotion. I sound like a wuss, but I’m tired of people trying to hurt me. I was run off the road not that long ago. Maybe I do need him.

“Are you almost ready in there?” Killian calls.

I grab my keys and double-check the back door, making sure it’s locked.

“Yep,” I sigh, closing the door behind me.

“I took a look at your truck. It looks like more than a few things need to be fixed,” he says, going down the stairs.

I groan, following behind him.

“Well, I need to pick and choose right now. And now, I need to replace some of the siding on the house, plus fix that damn shutter that doesn’t want to stay up. Grams also mentioned getting some windows replaced. Nothing really seemed to matter when she died, but I know it needs to be done.”

Killian grunts and opens his truck door for me. “One thing at a time,” he says and closes the door.

You should listen to him. He’s right.

“Yeah, what do you know? You don’t have to keep up with a house and a truck, and basic forms of survival,” I mutter.

“Are they being rude to you?” Killian asks as he backs out of the driveway.

I huff a laugh. “Always.”

Tell him you are nervous.

“Absolutely not, he doesn’t need to know that,” I spit, and mentally slap myself in the face because I said that out loud and I can feel Killian’s eyes on me every five seconds, splitting his attention between me and the road.

“Doesn’t need to know what?” he asks slowly.

I cross my arms and try to ignore the paranoia building in my body.

Killian pulls into a parking space a block down from the small library, and I take a deep breath before getting out.

He walks on the side closer to the street, and I can feel the eyes on me as we walk up to the library.

There aren’t many people in this town, so it’s not like we’re walking through crowds.

Though I think that would be preferable, maybe I’d be less noticeable.

We go past the small bakery, and a few older women stare at me from behind the glass.

Mary King and her daughter come towards us, and I swear she crosses the street because of me.

Killian steps in a little closer in encouragement, and it’s not so bad when he’s right next to me. My protector.

Finally, you understand.

I roll my eyes and keep walking. My neck tickles again, and I know I should ignore it, but I can’t stop myself. Glancing over my shoulder, I spot a man and do a double take … that’s not possible. He looked like Eddy.

Shaking my head, and keep moving forward. He’s been on my mind, and it’s likely the anxiety talking. Coupled with no desire to be here, and total exhaustion, my brain is playing with me, and it wouldn’t be the first time.

Killian holds the library door for me, and a blast of cool air hits, drying the sweat. We go past the front desk, and Violet Boudroue, Harper’s sixteen year old sister, glares at me in disgust.

Cool, even the kids know about me.

Well, you have made a name for yourself. The Spirits say.

“Come on, this way,” Killian says, leading me to a back corner.

He pulls out a chair at a small table in the corner, and gestures for me to sit.

“Stay right here. I’ll be back.” I nod and look around, feeling significantly out of place.

It’s been a while since I’ve been here. Looking over my shoulder at the shelf, I see Lisa Cordreaux and Betty Templeton whispering and pointing at me.

I shoot a glare at them and flip them off.

Lisa gasps, pressing her hand to her chest.

I face the table again, and my hand goes through my hair self-consciously.

Every bit of me wants to get up and storm out of here, maybe throw a fake curse at them.

But all of that feels wrong now, especially because there is a real curse over Black Lake, and for some reason I have something to do with it.

Regardless, Killian is right. I need to stop egging them on. I’m not helping myself.

Killian returns with a stack of newspapers. “I got the past two years from the dates I could remember off the top of my head. If we don’t find anything here, we might have to go back close to ten years.”

My eyes bug out. “Ten years? They aren’t going to tolerate me being here that long,” I whisper to him, while throwing my thumb behind me.

He looks up, spotting the two women, and glares at them. I don’t check behind me to see if they left, but he seems satisfied enough.

“You take these. I’ll go through these,” he says.

“Shhh!” Old man Thomas glares at both of us and especially Killian before he goes back to his book.

I purse my lips trying to keep the laugh in, but I snort anyway. Killian winks at me, and I laugh as silently as I can. But not quiet enough because Thomas is shooting fire from his eyes at me.

We go through the newspapers Killian found, and I don’t see anything of note. No articles about a woman who was killed in Black Lake like the one Killian explained. But there are many mentions of body dumps along Route 96 by the shore of the lake.

“Anything?” Killian asks.

“I’m not sure. There’s a woman they found along Route 96 who was strangled. But that’s it,” I whisper.

Killian grabs the paper and reads the small article. It doesn’t have much, but it might jog his memory. He tilts his head and rubs his beard, trying to remember.

“Did it shake anything loose?” I ask him.

He curses under his breath and folds up the newspapers. “Unfortunately, strangulation isn’t an uncommon cause of death, and I saw it too many times. Plus, it would be hard to link to the killer, but I’ll keep it in the back of my mind.”

“Don’t they have fingerprints or a way to look it up?” I ask him.

“That’s sort of a misnomer because if we were to get fingerprints and run them, the database would have to have the prints already on file. If this guy hasn’t ever been arrested, then he likely won’t be in there.”

“Oh, back to square one, I guess”.

Killian puffs out a breath and shakes his head, starting to gather the newspapers.

“I shouldn’t be surprised. We were very careful with details, especially when the Sentinel came sniffing around. Let’s get going,” he says, taking the newspapers to where they belong.

When he comes back for me, his hand slides to my lower back, leading me out of the library.

Charlotte Redding glares at me and then her features immediately soften when she sees Killian.

He doesn’t pay her a lick of attention as he looks forward, while his large hand is spread across my back.

I can’t help myself and toss her a wink as Killian holds the door open for me.

Before the door closes, she huffs, and I smile to myself.

“You’re just making it worse, little witch,” he murmurs.

“And you’re giving people something to talk about, cowboy,” I tell him.

He glances at me, and the corner of his mouth tips up. “Might as well make it good. They were going to talk anyway.”

My lips split into a smile, and he helps me back into the truck.

“I find it interesting how some people — women don’t seem to care about what you’ve done.”

Kilian shrugs.

“You’re like the bad boy of Black Lake.”

He throws his head back, laughing, and I smile as we head for the ranch.

“I don’t care about those women.” Then he grabs my hand, his face sobering.

“I knew they were mean to you, but I didn’t realize it was like that. I’m sorry,” he says, squeezing my hand before releasing it.

I wish he had kept it there.

“It’s nothing new,” I sigh and look out the window.

What I don’t say is that this time it was new.

He was with me.