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Page 29 of Beneath the Mountain Sky (McBride Brother Lumberjacks #1)

KILLIAN

T he sound of the cabin door clicking closed and Willow throwing the lock, safely securing herself inside, finally sets me in motion.

I back away from the fire slowly, keeping my eyes on the trees where the sound came from while sinking into the shadows toward the barn. Willow has my shotgun to protect herself, and I taught her how to use it. But I need a weapon, and there’s only one that will do.

My axe…

It leans against the wall inside the barn where I left it when I unpacked our gear after coming down the mountain earlier this evening.

I just have to get to it before whatever is in the woods gets to me.

Another twig snaps in the thick foliage, and I freeze, tilting my head to listen better. Taking in all the sounds of McBride Mountain at night.

Darkness has fully descended.

Only the moon overhead casts any light onto the homestead, but I keep to the shadows, working my way across the clearing toward my favorite weapon.

Because something tells me I’m going to need it.

It wouldn’t be unusual for one of the black bears to get near the homestead, but they’re typically bedded down for the night by now. Rarely seen after dusk. And a coyote or bobcat wouldn’t have been big enough to make that sound, plus they move far too stealthily to alert anyone that they’re near.

Which leaves one other predator I can think of that exists on McBride Mountain that could be in the trees…

The worst kind.

And the hardest to best.

The closer I move to the barn, the harder my heart thunders under my ribcage.

Thud. Thud.

Thud. Thud.

Thud. Thud.

I step backward through the still-open doors and snag my axe from where it leans against the wall, then cautiously make my way toward the fire pit and the direction of the noise.

Step by deliberately slow step.

Circling to the east along the treeline to remain in the deepest shadows and away from where the moonlight might reveal my location.

Something rustles in the darkest part of the forest.

The easiest place to conceal your presence if you were trying.

But whatever is back there, it doesn’t sound big enough to be a bear.

They lumber.

They often crash through things.

This is more deliberate.

Intentional.

Almost as if something wants us to know it is there while remaining hidden.

Come out and play.

My hand flexes on the axe handle, the familiar weight helping to calm my heart rate and smooth out my breathing.

But it can’t prevent the churning in my gut, the feeling I’ve had that there’s something worse than black bears on McBride Mountain.

Something far more dangerous. Something that could hurt her and take her away from me again. Something we have to be prepared for.

I freeze and listen, waiting again for any sound that doesn’t fit the normal nightly chorus on the homestead.

Only dead silence greets me, as if whatever is there has frozen in place, too, waiting for me to make a move.

Time ticks by as I loosen and tighten my grip on the axe in anticipation.

The worn shaft and heavy head comfort me with the knowledge that I can decimate anything that comes at me with one swing.

Seconds become minutes.

I don’t know how long I stand staring into the trees, scanning, watching, and listening. Long enough that it seems as though the shadows stretch differently in the moonlight as it makes its way across the sky.

Shit.

And Willow’s in the cabin alone, probably terrified with me out here.

The longer I stand still, listening and waiting, the more it becomes clear that whatever is in the trees has no intention of being caught tonight.

If it weren’t for Willow, I could stay out here until sunrise, waiting for whatever—or whoever—it is to make a move, to make one wrong decision so I can act.

A single sound could guide me into the woods without hesitation, but I can’t wait forever.

I’m not going to let her suffer any longer. I’m not going to let her worry when there’s any way I can prevent it and make it better for her. And after what has already happened, the conversation that got interrupted, she’s already in an emotional place.

Staying here to wait out the enemy in the dark will only make it worse.

I slowly ease away from the treeline and move back toward the cabin, continuing to listen and watch, though the night remains eerily silent.

Not even the usual chirping of crickets to break up the monotony.

They know something is there, too.

Not good.

And if I try to make it to Connor or Liam’s place across the homestead to warn them of what might be happening, it would leave Willow alone even longer.

Once I’m inside with her, we’ll be safe.

Nothing will get through that door or through me.

I finally make it to the porch, rush up the stairs, and knock, still scanning the property and taking in every detail visible in the moonlight. “Willow, it’s me.”

The click of the lock opening is quickly followed by the door flying open. I push inside and nudge it closed behind me, throwing the deadbolt back into place before turning to face the main cabin.

Willow stands merely a foot away, clutching my grandfather’s shotgun tightly, her knuckles white. The blanket that had been wrapped around her now lies on the floor, discarded in haste as she ran into the cabin. “Are you okay?”

I nod and set my axe next to the door, then slowly step forward, holding out my hand. “Give me the gun.”

Her bottom lip quivers as she stares at me, almost as if she doesn’t understand the request. “What was it?”

Bad.

“I don’t know.”

Not true.

I know exactly what was out there tonight, but I refuse to scare her more. We’re safe in the cabin, and I would never let anything happen to her. She has to believe that if she’s ever going to feel secure again.

Her dark brows draw low over her eyes, her hands trembling. “A bear?”

“Maybe.”

It isn’t a complete lie.

It could have been, and I could simply be overreacting, reading far too much into a simple sound because I’m paranoid now, but after everything that’s happened, I don’t know that I have the luxury of believing that.

“Likely just a bear. Maybe a coyote.” I motion again for her to hand me the weapon. “Please give me the gun.”

Willow may know how to use it, but the way she’s shaking right now, I don’t want it in her hands.

She presses her lips together firmly, like she’s about to argue, before she finally steps forward and passes it to me.

I unload the cartridges and slowly set them and the weapon beside the door next to my axe, where they will be easy to get to, should I actually need them.

But something tells me the intruder on the homestead doesn’t want a confrontation right now.

If they did, it would have happened while I was out there, unarmed and vulnerable, not while I’m safely in the cabin where everyone knows I have a gun.

We’re missing something.

Something crucial.

Some piece in a game she’s a part of.

I need to fill in Connor and Liam, then call Tony on the sat phone and tell him to get up here at first daylight so we can investigate whoever was on the homestead, but all that can wait.

All that matters now is Willow.

She trembles in front of me. Her eyes remain unfocused, like she’s having trouble processing everything that’s happened tonight.

“Willow, look at me.”

Tears start to stream down her cheeks…

Shit.

“Willow…”

“I thought…I thought something was going to happen to you?—”

“I’m okay.”

She shakes her head, and I can see the second she switches from concerned to downright frantic. A sob slips from her lips, her body shaking violently. “What if it attacked you? What if?—”

“I’m fine.” I step forward and pull her toward me, knowing damn well that only a few minutes ago she wanted nothing to do with me.

With one arm firmly wrapped around her waist, I tilt her face up until she’s forced to look at me.

“Listen to me, Willow. I’ve lived on this mountain my entire life, and nothing has gotten me yet. You’re safe. I’ve got you .”

“Do you?”

The way she asks it slices through my heart.

After what I just revealed to her, she has every right to want to push me away, to want to rail and scream against the person who hurt her the most, the person who sent her running from this place, from her home.

But she doesn’t.

Either because she doesn’t want to or because she lacks the strength to do it at this moment.

She collapses against me, and I bury my face in her hair, pressing her close. All the tension that’s permeated the air between us since what happened in the tent seems to boil over as she stares up with tear-stained cheeks. “I need to know something.”

I brush my finger across her skin softly, wiping away the tear that trickles from the corner of her eye. “Anything.”

“Do you really believe that? What you said to me that day?”

Wincing, I immediately shake my head. “Of course not.”

I’ve regretted saying those words since the moment they left my mouth, not merely because they hurt her but because they were categorically untrue.

Willow is the most caring, compassionate, loving person I’ve ever met. She’ll be an incredible mother one day—and hopefully make up for my inadequacies.

Every second of every day she was gone, I contemplated what would have happened if I hadn’t said them.

How different life would have been if I hadn’t completely lost all sense of myself and gone for the jugular because I didn’t want her to see my flaws.

Her eyes shimmer with tears as she stares up at me, clutching the front of my shirt tightly in her hands. “Do you really believe you’d be a bad father?”

Hearing those words out of her mouth feels like having my own axe driven straight through my heart.

The very few memories I have of Dad flash through my head. Him showing me how to swing an axe. Cuddling with him on the chair that still sits near the fireplace. Going to the timber yard with him and spinning in his office chair until I felt dizzy.

They’ve faded over the years, but I know deep in my gut that he was a great father.

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