Page 50 of A Curse On Black Lake (Black Lake Gothic Cowboys #1)

Chapter forty

Eliana

Birds chirp and a warm breeze caresses my hair, waking me up, tucked into Killian’s side. The Spirits become a low hum in the back of my mind. My body aches from sleeping on the ground. I know we need to get up, but I’m far too content to move.

Killian groans and rubs my back.

I sit up, and he grins. “We’re lucky no snakes decided to make a home next to us,” he grunts.

I smile and push my hair back.

“Mornin’ darlin’,” he says, voice raspy from sleep.

“Morning,” I whisper.

“We probably need to get going. I don’t know what time it is,” Killian grunts and sits up.

“Seeing as the sun is barely above the horizon, it’s likely around five.”

“Okay then, MacGyver,” he mumbles.

I giggle. “You knew what time it was.”

“I did, but I was trying to ignore it smarty-pants,” he grunts.

My heart swells, and I close my eyes, focused on the feel of his hand against my back. I wish it was touching my skin.

“When we’re done with our chores, can we go to the library?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “What are you looking for?” I lift a shoulder. “I want to know more about what happened around Cassandra and Jasper. I’m wondering if there’s any other written accounts. Maybe I can better understand why Grams never told me about it.”

“Why not let sleeping dogs lie?” he asks.

“Because I’m being nosy, and I feel like there’s something I need to know.”

I stand up, but Killian wraps his arm around my waist, tugging me back down onto the blanket. He rolls on top of me, and my legs widen to accommodate him.

“We can get to work after this,” he says and smashes his lips against mine.

He’s gentle and careful in his kiss. I want more. I grab his face as he holds himself above me. He groans into my mouth, and my heart does a little flip.

Killian has been unintentionally opening the part of my being I’ve boxed up tight.

It’s leaked over the years with my secret hope to have someone choose me, but now that he is trying to open that box, it scares me.

I might be ready to move forward, but this is all new to me, and I don’t want to disappoint him.

But I don’t want to hurt myself. Then again, if I’ve learned anything in life — it’s short.

Killian pulls back roughly, and I whimper, frustrated with the loss as he ducks his nose into my neck and I lean back exposing my throat. He presses rough, hungry kisses across my skin before coming back to my cheekbones. “I love your constellations,” he says, lingering on my freckles.

The air in my lungs stalls with the word. He didn’t mean it like that, but hearing it come from his lips makes my stomach churn. He kisses me again then freezes, realizing I’m not reciprocating.

“What?”

I shake my head and push his hair back.

“I’m overwhelmed by you,” I whisper.

The Spirits whisper so quietly I hardly hear them.

“Do we need to slow down?” he asks.

I run my finger over his beard to his lips. “I don’t know,” I whisper.

Going from sad to some level of happy, too numb, too angry is exhausting. When I’m with Killian, those feeling don’t disappear, but they don’t sting as much. They leave room for more, and I’m not sure what to do with it.

“I don’t mean to freak you out, but I have to be honest, I can’t get enough of you.”

“I don’t understand why,” I mutter.

“Because you’re an intelligent, brave, and stunning creature. Anyone is lucky to be circling your orbit, let alone be within it.”

If butterflies could have flown out of my stomach, they would have. “You’re too nice to me,” I murmur and lift my head, pecking his mouth.

He chuckles and tucks his nose underneath my ear, breathing me in. “Don’t worry, baby, I can be plenty mean,” he says, nipping my jaw.

Heat floods my sternum and pools between my legs. “I think I’d like to know what that feels like,” I say into his ear.

He groans and sits up. “Don’t say things like that Eliana, we aren’t ready for it.”

I sit up on my elbows. “When will we be ready?” I ask him, even though I already know it will simply feel right. There won’t be any hesitation, confusion, or questioning. There is no reason for me to know that, but I do. Putting all my fears and reservations aside, when we’re ready, we’ll know.

“We’re still learning each other, little witch. That takes time.” He offers me his hand and pulls me to my feet.

“Let’s get these animals fed,” he says and slaps my butt.

“You’re very demanding,” I snap, looking at him over my shoulder.

He groans and clasps his chest as if he was shot through it. “You’re casting spells,” he says with a smirk.

“You don’t know the half of it, cowboy.”

His raspy laugh makes me smile as we pick up the blanket and go back to the house, change, and get to work.

We’ve slowly fallen into a routine with each other.

I like it. No, I love it. Maybe it’s the change of pace, maybe it’s the validation Killian continues to give me despite his own reservations connecting to people.

We fit together so well it’s almost hard to believe, and I don’t think we’re ready to really admit what that means. I’m not.

But I like who I am with him. Sometimes being strong and tough isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. He gives me the space to be the girl I’ve always wanted to be, but never could.

“We’d better hurry up. The library is only open for a couple more hours,” Killian calls from the kitchen.

“Coming!” I yell, grabbing my boots.

The door slams, and I run out behind him and hop into the truck.

When we pull up to the library, people are staring before we even get out. “They just can’t help themselves,” I say.

“Not surprising,” he mutters. But I can see the pain, the irritation, the edge of nervousness because we know the other shoe could drop at any moment.

People stare when we’re in town because they think he did it.

If we can’t figure out a way for Killian to clear his name, then both of us will go down.

He looks at me with worried eyes, and it makes my heart shrivel up. I lean on the armrest and kiss his cheek, uncaring if anyone sees us.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper.

He turns, and I stay where I am right in his face.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you in my life, but I don’t think I could do this without you,” he says.

I smile, unable to form words, and get out of the truck.

Killian grabs my hand, keeping me further from the street going into the library.

I lift my chin, ignoring the sneers or small looks of fear at Killian, and he leads the way to the archives.

“I’m not sure where the information would be back here since anything from that time is getting close to two hundred years old.”

“Do you think they’ll let me look around?” I ask him.

“No one maintains this area to my knowledge, so I don’t see why not,” he says quietly.

Killian leads the way to a dark corner of the library. A fluorescent light flickers over one aisle, and it smells like old parchment.

“I’m pretty sure they keep them over here,” he mutters.

Be careful, child. Not all who witnessed will report the truth.

I frown. The Spirits are probably right in a lot of respects.

I trust what my Grandma Lily said, but I feel like context is really important.

The Spirits haven’t directly told me to look here, but it feels like the right thing for me to do.

And if Grams were still here, she’d tell me to look until I found answers.

The truth can be buried in plain sight, or maybe there’s nothing to find.

But if there is, then I have to wonder why it had to be buried at all?

“Here they are,” Killian says.

I look at the shelves full of organized parchment, a large-ledger sized book, topographical maps of the town, births and deaths, family trees, other small journals, and records.

Reaching for the town records first, I open the first page to where Black Lake was founded in 1854 by Thomas Black. It lists the founding families, and the Mayor and council, including the Sheriff.

The last names listed include my own, and Killian’s.

Killian clasps the back of my neck, reading over my shoulder. His strong, warm hand grounds me as we step deeper into the water of our ancestors.

The Spirts raise their volume, but I can’t make out what they're saying, and it’s forcing a dull throb at the base of my head. I wince and rub the spot, then Killian’s hand covers mine, massaging the tension from it.

I drop my hand and keep flipping through the records of who was mayor, council, and sheriff.

It includes very little documentation that isn’t pertinent to the town.

In other words, it lists that five thousand acres were purchased to encourage growth.

In 1859, the same year Grandma Lily wrote what happened, the mayor is listed as Conrad Jameson, and his wife and children are named.

Cassandra Jameson leaps out at me, but the records are like the year before it. Nothing has changed.

Snapping the book closed, I grab the population record. Starting from the beginning, the town was founded with eighty people, and in less than five years grew to almost a thousand despite fluctuations like death or moving further West.

“I don’t think you’re going to get much from that,” Killian says.

I reach for the birth and death records from 1854 to1860.

Next to it is 1861 to 1865. The book has a simple layout.

Names are listed on the left in the first column.

A birth date in the next, and then after it, a death date.

Scanning through the other columns, it either has notes as to the cause of death, meaning old age, childbirth, or other more obscure reasons, like hangings.

Some birth or death boxes are empty either because they weren’t born or died here.

Starting at the top, it looks like there was a baby born not long after the town was founded in 1854. More deaths than births follow, then there’s a flood of births, which coincides with the growth in population.

I trail my finger down the line, and Killian points to one. “Look at that, my great grandfather,” he says, pointing to Thomas Lennox. His death is listed, December 20th, 1881.

Going back up the line, we skipped a few years. I spot Jasper Radcliffe, and his death on June 17, 1859. Cause of death is listed as a gunshot to the chest.

Right below it is a birth, Jasper Radcliffe II, mother is listed as Cassandra Radcliffe.

Exactly as my grandma Lily said. Following that same year of Jasper II birth, are many deaths, and very few births.

Causes are listed as unknown, strange circumstances, or even murder.

Very few are from simply old age like they were prior to Jasper’s death.

Words can be as powerful as actions. The Spirits say.

“Looks like a lot of people died in 1859. What we’re you hoping to get out of this?” Killian asks.

“I don’t know. Are there any old newspaper or letter accounts?” I ask him.

“I’m not sure. There are family trees you could check out,” Killian suggests.

“Why not,” I mutter and set the birth and death records back on the shelf and open the large family tree book.

“Set it down. It’s too big.”

I sit down in the middle of the aisle and open the large book, and Killian squeezes in behind me.

The first page has the foundation of the town written, and all the families listed at the time.

I spot Greer, Lennox, Jameson, Sawyer, and Radcliffe, along with many others, some I recognize, most I don’t, likely because they died off or moved on.

Following the Jameson line, Cassandra is listed with her siblings. Following the line of Cassandra, it looks like it was cut off, as in she was considered not part of the family anymore. “I realize her family cut her off, like Grandma Lily said, but that wouldn’t change lineage,” I mumble.

“Can you grab the birth and death records?” I ask Killian.

Still sitting, he reaches up and pulls it down. His strong bicep is in my face, and I catch myself staring for a moment before he hands it to me. Flipping through it again, I don’t see a death date listed for Cassandra, confirming she left Black Lake with the baby.

Going back to the family tree on the next page, the Radcliffes are listed, and I find Jasper.

Off to the side in small print, and it’s so old it’s hard to see, but a line between Jasper and Cassandra Radcliffe connects them.

Under Jasper’s name is the year of his death, and a child connecting both of them.

“This all tracks with what Grandma Lily said.”

Killian nods. “Flip the page. I want to trace the Lennox family.”

I do as he says, and we find it, tracing it down the lines until we get to his grandparents a few generations removed.

Killian gets up and grabs the other family tree books.

“I didn’t realize they were still tracking things like this,” I say.

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” he says and flips the page from behind me. I lean back into his chest, with his legs on either side of me.

There aren’t many of these family tree books because this town is small, and its population continues to decline.

I’m amazed they haven’t tried to put all of this on a computer, but then again, they don’t seem to work well here.

Scanning these and putting them into a system would probably be a nightmare.

The internet is borderline nonexistent in Black Lake, and most people aren’t willing to pay what they would need to get it.

We go through each book, tracing his lineage and subsequently find his father, Gideon Lennox.

“That’s weird, why aren’t my mom and dad’s names connected with me below it?”

I shrug, not sure. Then the Spirits get louder, making me jump.

“Are you okay?”

“It’s the Spirits. They’re freaking out,” I mutter and rub my temples.

Flipping the page is Gideon and Robin Lennox, showing that they were married, and then a line is drawn to a Vesper Radcliffe. Radcliffe. Right below Vesper Radcliffe is a child listed as Killian Lennox (ne. Radcliffe), and a date with her death.

Oh shit.

I peek up at Killian, and his face is twisted in utter confusion.

If we’re reading this right, Killian is … adopted. His birth mother is a Radcliffe. His many times over great-grandmother is the one who put the curse on this town, and potentially the cause of his mom’s death.