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Page 23 of Beneath the Mountain Sky (McBride Brother Lumberjacks #1)

Her eyes cut over to the entrance to the animal trail where I found the scrap of fabric and her footprints, and she gasps, freezing in place.

“Willow?” I step up next to her, pulling her elbow to hold her upright as she staggers. “What is it?”

She squeezes her eyes closed and shakes her head. “I…I remember the feel of the branches cutting and scratching my arms and face, the rocks under my feet…”

I wince at the pain she describes, knowing I would do anything to have prevented it.

Fury heats my blood again.

That she had to suffer this.

That she had to endure it.

That it’s all my fault…

Her eyelids flutter open, tears brimming and threatening to spill over as her gaze stays locked on that spot in the trees. “I need to go over there.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” I tighten my grip on her. “You’re exhausted.”

She finally turns her head toward me, and the hurricane swirling in her eyes leaves no room for argument. This woman is ready to barrel through me if I stand in her way. “Please, Killian.”

I was always helpless to resist Willow. It was impossible not to give her everything she ever wanted until that day when I fucked up everything.

No matter how concerned I might be for her at this moment, this is what she needs, which means pushing away my instinct to protect her from anything that might cause her more pain and allow her to find her own limits.

“Okay…”

I release her elbow and slide the pack from my shoulders, leaving it near the river where we’ll set up camp. Willow waits for me, and I pull her hand in mine and twine our fingers together.

She doesn’t question the gesture or fight it; she simply allows me to lead her across the meadow toward the treeline and the small gap in it where various species of wildlife cuts through to make their way to the river.

Her grip on my hand tightens as we approach the trees, and she pulls to a stop, turning to scan the clearing and river again. Uncertain eyes dart back and forth between the water and the trail. “I must have run across the clearing.”

I nod. “Probably. Any footprints would have been quickly washed away by the rain.”

“But how did I end up in the water?”

Exactly what we’ve all been wondering for the past couple of weeks.

Willow knows the river can be very dangerous. Aside from fishing with Connor, Liam, or me, and occasionally swimming in the natural pool at the bottom of the falls, she rarely came near it.

I shake my head. “I don’t know. The scrap of fabric from your shirt was maybe fifty yards into the trees here, and there are several footprints deeper in where the ground must have been wetter and softer from the rain to leave an impression. But as far as how you got into the water…”

She pulls her bottom lip under her teeth, and I can feel the tension growing in her. Almost as if she’s anticipating what might await on the other end of the path, even though I know there are just more questions, not answers.

I’ve been searching almost every day for weeks and haven’t found anything that can help explain where she has been or what she was doing up here.

Unless she remembers something more specific, this may remain a mystery indefinitely.

That thought has kept me awake at night as much as my concern for her and waiting for another nightmare to come.

How can she live like this forever?

I want to believe that won’t happen, that something will spark her full memory to return, but today has left that boulder of doubt sitting in my gut.

She tilts her head slightly as she steps into the trees, allowing my hand to stay connected with hers as I trail behind her.

At this point, I couldn’t stop her even if I wanted to.

We move into the foliage, and she uses her free arm to bat away low-hanging branches, wincing slightly a few times, no doubt remembering that they might be the ones that caused the still-healing marks on her bare arms.

After a few more yards, I pull her to a stop. “This is where I found the scrap of fabric.”

A jagged branch shoots out at a forty-five-degree angle, clearly snapped by something big plowing through here rapidly.

Her gaze narrows on it. “I must have done that…”

I nod. “Yes.”

“What was I doing out here in a storm like that?”

The crack in her voice, the way her hand tightens on mine, it feels like my heart is being ripped from my chest.

“I don’t know, Honeybee.”

God, I’m so sick of saying those words.

I want to give her answers. I want to give her comfort. I want to give her exactly what she needs—the truth of what happened to her—and it’s all out of my control. Something I’m definitely not used to on McBride Mountain.

The one thing I so badly want to fix is the one thing that’s completely out of my hands.

Willow draws in a shaky breath and then pushes on. I point out the few places we found her footprints, though they’re mostly gone now, animals and the weather either washing them away or covering them. By the time we reach the clearing where her trail ends, she’s trembling.

She stops, her body tensing, and I slide behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist to hold her steady.

A tear trickles down her cheek, and I press my face into her hair, breathing her in and wishing so much I could take away her pain. “Anything else coming to you?”

It takes her a few seconds before she responds. “No. None of this looks familiar, but…”

“But what?”

She turns her head sideways until her eyes meet mine. “I feel like I’ve been here before. You and I never came up here?”

I shake my head. “Not this particular clearing. I’ve been through here a few times over the years hunting, but never with you.”

Her lip disappears beneath her teeth, and she points to the west. “Then why do I know that way will lead me up to a small canyon?”

What the hell?

I freeze as my back tenses. “You shouldn’t know that.”

Her gaze goes unfocused, like she isn’t seeing what’s right in front of us but something else entirely. “I can see it in my head.”

“What?”

“The canyon. It’s narrow, barely wide enough for a human to get through. I think the animals use it, though, as sort of a bypass instead of going up over the peak or around the mountain the long way.”

I turn her slowly in my arms and tilt her chin up. “You’re describing the gorge. Maybe you saw it on the maps. Those old ones that my dad and his dad before him drew for McBride Timber. You looked at them hundreds of times over the years in the office.”

Her lips twist. “Maybe, but I’m not visualizing a drawing of it. I’m seeing the gorge itself. High rock walls…”

Which doesn’t make any fucking sense.

The dogs never made it up that far, nor gave any indication that she had come from that way. They lost the scent right around this clearing.

So, how the hell does Willow know about the gorge?

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