Page 61 of Beneath the Mountain Sky

I now know how that feels because he disappeared on me.

The past few days with him have been tense in a way things never were before, filled with all the unspoken things between us. And this need I have for the man who has been there for me through every dark moment of my life, including the dreams that have haunted me. Yet when I woke this morning, before the sun even came up, he was already gone from the cabin, out taking care of the animals and all the other tasks the homestead requires before he heads into McBride Timber.

He left, like he has every night after my nightmares have come.

It could be his absence.

It could be that I’m just starting to feel better.

Either way, I’m restless.

Unable to eat breakfast, pacing the cabin until I finally couldn’t take it anymore and had to come outside.

This property has always felt like home since the moment I first set foot here when I was twelve years old. Connie knew I needed a safe place to land, and she gave it to me on those days and nights it wasn’t with Mom. And today, my feet lead me to the small structure to the left of the barn that has always been one hundred percent mine.

Killian built it for me when he realized how impractical it was for me to keep using the kitchen to process the honeycomb and make my candles.

When he knew I needed my own safe space, the same way his mother did all those years ago.

The man is giving me whiplash.

Doing sweet things like this—maintaining the hives, collecting a year’s worth of honeycomb for me so if I came back, it would be here and ready. He cared enough to look after something he knew meant so much to me, yet he’s fled from the bedroom every night.

Each time I wake screaming, assaulted by another memory, he’s right there to hold me, to make me feel safe, but as soon as I’ve relaxed and calmed down, it’s like he can’t put enough distance between us.

Like he doesn’t trust himself…

I release a frustrated sigh and set to work pulling out what I’ll need to start purifying the wax to make candles.

Despite the pain in my ribs, moving feels good.

After days of just sitting around the cabin or at the bakery with Raven, I need to do something normal, something I would have done any other day before all of this happened.

I need to do something I love, and because of Killian, I still can.

Those damn tears threaten to come again, and I wipe them on my forearm as I pull out one of the large metal buckets of beeswax and light the flame on my burner to get water boiling.

I pour it in from a few reused milk jugs waiting on the floor—another thing Killian ensured would be ready for me—and wait, examining my scents, trying to figure out what I want to do today.

Lavender…

Jasmine…

Sandalwood…

But my gaze keeps drifting to one tiny bottle in particular.

Killian’s scent—the one I made to mimic what clings to him.

I release a heavy sigh and pull it out, despite really not needing a reminder of how complicated things seem to be between us right now. Fingers wrapped around the stopper, I pause and try to prepare myself for what will happen when I pull it.

But nothing could ever prepare me for Killian McBride.

I pop the cap and take a long inhale of the crisp, woodsy scent I created—and which happened to become my bestselling candle.

Different memories flood my head now than those that have plagued me through the violent flashes.

Happy ones…