Page 2 of Beneath the Mountain Sky (McBride Brother Lumberjacks #1)
The promise I made to Mom before she died to look after them, to take care of them, to ensure they were okay, is one I intend to honor. I never broke a promise to that woman while she was alive, and I have no intention of doing it now that she’s passed on to somewhere better than this Earth.
That means staying, even when it doesn’t feel like home without Willow here, even when the place I’ve lived my entire life somehow seems foreign and all the things I once loved only seem to irritate me.
Like being out here now helping Liam.
Liam smirks, likely already anticipating the bitching and moaning that would ensue if he were to tell us it was on the other shore now, rather than back near the homestead, where we could have used the bridge to cross the river and make our way up the mountain on the proper side from the beginning. “This bank.”
Good.
Because the river up here isn’t anything I want to tangle with.
We push through another few dozen yards of trees before we reach the west bank.
Rushing waters cascade over and around giant boulders, creating bubbling and churning rapids.
Farther down, closer to town, McBride Falls tumbles down into the swimming hole so popular this time of year to cool off in the afternoons.
But this early, no one would be there, and there’s certainly no one up this far on the mountain.
This is the type of spot I would bring her, though…
Willow’s face flashes before my eyes.
What she would look like lying spread out on the thick, green grass along the shore, laughing and smiling.
Panting and gasping.
Coming undone in my arms.
My fingers twitch, imagining how wet she would be and how soft her skin would feel under my rough hands.
I clench them around the handle of the axe so hard my knuckles ache, fighting the descent of the dark cloud I’ve perpetually lived under that always surrounds me whenever I think about her.
Liam smacks me on the shoulder. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Because I would never admit to him or anyone else how bad it’s gotten in the past week since the anniversary of her flight from McBride Mountain. “Let’s go.”
We wander along the rocky bank, pushing farther north and west until Liam points to the left. “I think it’s just over there, but it could be up a little more.”
Connor scans the vast expanse of trees, taking in the landscape and the endless possibilities, then glances in Liam’s direction. “Let’s split up. Cover more ground. Signal if you find what we’re looking for.”
We all nod our agreement.
It will be the fastest way to locate this grove—and the hickory Liam has his heart set on using to build his custom chair.
If he weren’t so damn good at it and the end results weren’t so beautiful, I would have told him to cut down any of the millions of trees within easy walking distance for the project.
But knowing him and the extent he’s going to in order to get this, it must really be something.
Worth the effort to see him happy.
Connor sets off directly to the west, and Liam heads into the woods a dozen yards to the north, both disappearing between the trunks while I take a moment to scan the river as far as I can see up the mountain.
The sound of the rushing water floats through the air, and I stand absolutely still, waiting for that raging torrent of emotions that threatens to drown me when I’m alone to come like it always does.
It starts with that tightness in my chest.
A feeling of simultaneously suffocating and drowning while trying to draw in air.
But before it can completely overtake me, a splash of pale-red color catches my eye near the opposite bank, fifty yards upriver. Not a color I would usually see out here. Not natural.
Instead of stepping into the woods like Connor and Liam to continue the search, I move toward the water with slow but deliberate steps.
What the hell is that?
It wouldn’t be completely unusual for an animal carcass to end up in the river after a coyote or bobcat got to it, but the hair on the back of my neck stands on end as I move even closer.
There’s something there…
Lodged up in the roots of the tree protruding into the water…
“Fuck.”
I drop my axe onto the ground and rush into the frigid rapids.
The sharp sting of the icy swirl against my skin makes me grit my teeth, but I fight through the natural instinct to head back to dry land.
Because that isn’t a wild animal in the river.
I can just barely make out an outstretched hand, dark hair floating in the water, face turned away from me. The rest of the torso and limbs are beneath the surface or tangled in the tree that prevented it from drifting farther down the rapids.
What the hell was anyone doing up here?
There is absolutely nothing for hundreds of miles in almost every direction except one—toward our homestead, the falls, and the town. But that’s a good eight miles from where we are now, and whoever this is clearly entered the river farther up to have ended up here.
My boots slip on the slimy rocks on the bottom, but I manage to keep my balance, arms spread wide, as I work my way across the expanse toward the opposing bank, fighting the current that threatens to drag me down.
“Fucking hell.”
Teeth chatter at the chill seeping into my bones, but I force myself to keep moving.
Each step feels like barely advancing, yet I finally make it close enough to grab the end of the log. My grip on the wet wood helps me battle the current and get a better footing.
I inch my way along the fallen tree until I can grab the hand floating in the water.
Pale, clammy skin.
But it doesn’t have the cold, stiff feel I would expect from a dead body.
The heat barely registers against my palm…but it’s there.
Holy fuck.
Whoever this is.
They’re alive—though barely.
I push forward along the log toward where the person is pinned in a V created by the massive tree roots. My feet slip on the rocks again, but I regain my balance enough to grasp the thick, dark hair and shift the head back to ensure it stays out of the water, so whoever it is can breathe.
But it’s my breath that catches at the face that tilts up at me.
Covered in cuts, scrapes, and mottled bruises…
Blood trickling from a nasty cut over one dark eyebrow…
Normally pink lips now holding a deathly blue tinge…
Lips I kissed every day for five fucking years…
“Willow?”
* * *
WILLOW
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The pitch-black abyss surrounding me ripples…
God, what is that?
Onyx shifts to gray, then returns to impenetrable black again.
I float in it for a few seconds.
Struggling to cling to it.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The noise pierces my skull.
My brain thrashes against my skull violently, desperate to escape to somewhere quiet .
Back to the darkness I’ve been floating in so beautifully.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
I try to raise my hands to press them over my ears, to drown out that infernal racket clearly sent by Satan, but something tugs on my arm.
A wave of nauseating agony rolls through me.
Lancing my side.
Slicing and stabbing at various places across my body.
What the hell is happening?
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
I attempt to swallow, but it’s so dry I can’t make it work right.
All trying does is cause more bad .
Scratchy. Awful. Pain.
Fuck.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Groaning, I roll away from that incessant sound, putting my back to it in a vain attempt to block it out. But the movement brings more agony that roils my stomach and makes acid fill my throat.
I choke on it, coughing violently, only making the throbbing in my side worse.
“Willow?” The sound of something metallic shifting across a hard floor comes from directly in front of me. Sharp. High-pitched. No better than that damn beeping. “She’s awake. Go get the doctor.”
That voice…
The familiar, deep, silky sound permeates the darkness that’s still trying to drag me into it, where I would willingly go if it stopped all this hurt.
It cuts through the thudding in my head.
Washes away the pain for a brief moment.
My heartbeat picks up, that horrible beeping sound increasing its pace in time with the thumping against my ribs.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
“Willow?”
Killian …
He’s here.
His eyes. Those crystal-blue orbs, always filled with so much love and affection, flash across my closed lids. I want to see them. Need to. My aching body yearns to feel his arms around me, to have him hold me…
But moving again is completely off the table, given what just happened.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
A warm, rough, calloused palm brushes along my cheek. Gentle. Reverent. “Willow? Can you open your eyes? Can you look at me?”
It seems like such a simple request.
And I want to.
I want to see him so damn badly .
I need to.
It feels like it’s been an eternity since I’ve laid eyes on him…
Yet when I try to lift my lids, to see his strong, handsome face, that smile that he reserves only for me, they refuse to move.
Why are they so damn heavy?
“Willow?”
The plea in his voice makes me want to try again.
I somehow get them half-open, despite them weighing a thousand pounds, but the immediate blinding lights make the stabbing headache a thousand times worse.
Wincing, I clamp my eyes shut and try to swallow again, barely managing to wet my parched throat. “Lights…”
“Someone turn off the fucking lights!”
Killian’s voice booms, filled with so much authority and tension. A command he expects to be followed by whoever else is here.
And they’ll do it.
Everyone always does what Killian asks, even if he isn’t the nicest about the way he does it.
He has always been grumpy and short with people, but they know he doesn’t really mean it. And he’s never that way with me. Certainly not like that.
He sounds angry.
Frustrated maybe?