Page 3 of Beneath the Mountain Sky (McBride Brother Lumberjacks #1)

I try to shift again, to move closer to him, to reach out and offer my touch that always seems to soothe him whenever he’s lost in his own head, suffocating with the weight of all that he carries on his broad shoulders. Just as he does for me when I need it.

But everything hurts.

Every limb.

Every muscle.

Every damn inch of my skin.

Every fiber of my being screams at me to stop moving.

That incessant beeping picks up.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

What is that?

Killian’s thumb brushes softly over my cheek. That familiar scrape of hard-earned callouses soothes some of the tension in my body. “Willow, can you hear me?”

I manage an almost imperceptible nod through the pounding in my skull and hear his sigh of relief over that horrible beeping.

What the hell is that?

Nothing on the homestead makes that sound.

Certainly nothing in the cabin.

Yet, it’s somehow familiar, even though I can’t quite place it.

“Did somebody get the doctor?” Killian again, panic rising in his voice. “Someone get her. Now!”

Panic?

No.

Killian McBride doesn’t panic.

Ever.

So strong.

So steady.

So confident in himself and everything he does.

But not now…

What did he say?

Doctor?

“What—” I only manage to get out that single word before the dryness in my throat prevents me from speaking anymore, and I cough again. A sharp stab in my side doubles me slightly, and I press my hand against it, groaning at the discomfort every little movement creates.

“Can someone get her some water?”

People shuffling.

Footsteps approaching… “Is she allowed to have it?”

Liam…

Liam’s here, too.

That’s good.

He always calms things down, especially when Killian is out of sorts.

And it sounds like he is right now.

I try to settle down into the bed that doesn’t feel quite right.

Not our bed.

Ours is soft and comfortable and smells like Killian—like the clean, crisp mountain air, leather, and freshly cut wood. This smells…sterile. Like chemicals. And the sheets are scratchy on my aching skin.

Definitely uncomfortable.

Something else brushes against my forehead.

Not his hand.

His lips, maybe?

Soft and warm.

Loving.

I groan and try to shift closer to him on the bed. My body screams in protest, a piercing pain in my ribs making me wince again.

“Here.”

Liam again.

He always takes care of everyone…

Killian’s fingers tip my head up, and something presses to my lips. “Water. Take a sip.”

I open my mouth, and a straw slips slightly into it.

Water.

Yes, that would be good.

So thirsty.

I take a short pull from it.

Cool liquid coats my desert-dry throat.

God, does that taste good…

Killian’s hand slides away from my face, and he pulls the straw back. “Not too much.” Feet shuffling again. Murmured voices I can’t quite make out. “Willow? Can you open your eyes?”

His voice wavers.

Unsure.

Unsteady.

Not at all the way he usually sounds.

That alone is enough to get me to make another attempt to see what’s wrong, what has him so upset.

I finally manage to get my lids to lift, and Killian’s face is right there, illuminated by something behind me in the relative darkness of the room.

Thick, long blond hair falls over his temples and to his shoulders, disheveled and unkempt. Rough and rugged.

Just like the man.

A muscle in his clenched jaw tics while he examines me.

Those icy eyes sweep over my face, narrowing with concern. Taking in every minute detail, as if he hasn’t looked at me every single day for the last five years and known me my entire life before that.

Almost like he’s seeing me for the first time.

Heavy lines at the corners of his eyes and dark smudges beneath them make him look somehow older. Exhausted. Almost…haunted. “Willow?”

“Hi…”

The corners of his lips twitch slightly, melting away a bit of the tension from his features. “Hi.”

He releases a long exhale that sounds like he’s been holding his breath for days and cups my cheek again, slowly grazing his thumb across it. Goosebumps break out across my skin at the soft touch coming from such a strong man, clearly filled with so much tension.

I shiver slightly, every part of me aching or stinging or screaming out in some other way.

His brow immediately furrows, distress darkening that azure gaze. “The doctor’s going to be here soon.”

Doctor?

It takes a moment for my foggy brain, still tinged with that warm, welcoming darkness, to process his words.

Oh, the beeping…

That’s why the sound is so familiar.

I peek over my shoulder at the machines lined up behind my hospital bed, monitoring my vital signs. An IV line runs to my left hand, which explains the tug on it when I moved. But nothing explains why I’m here, or why the hell it feels like my entire body is revolting against me.

My head throbs as I struggle to remember what might have put me here, but all that comes is that same pitch black that surrounded me before I woke.

I turn back to Killian, wincing at the ice pick slamming into my temples. “What happened? Why am I in the hospital?”

He glances behind him, and I follow his gaze to where Connor and Liam stand.

His brothers look just as nervous and concerned as he does, shifting on their feet and averting their gazes.

Liam runs a hand over his short, reddish hair while Connor presses his lips together, his dark brows narrowed over hard eyes that focus on the foot of my bed and not me.

Neither one of them has ever been uncomfortable around me before or afraid to speak their mind.

Confusion shifts to unease bordering on panic.

What is going on?

No one says anything, and before anyone can or I can ask again, a woman in a while lab coat enters the room and flicks on the lights. I wince, and her soft hazel eyes immediately fall on me over the rim of tortoise-shell glasses, and she offers a genuine smile. “Willow, nice to see you awake.”

I try to sit up, but Killian places a gentle hand on my shoulder, keeping me prone. “Don’t try to move too much.”

What happened to me?

He’s obviously terrified, and if I’m in the big hospital in Asheville, that means it wasn’t something Doc Broward and his nurse, Amy, could handle at the McBride Mountain Clinic.

All I see when I try to remember how I got here is a vast, empty black hole.

The doctor approaches the bed on the side opposite where Killian sits and takes a look at the monitors and something on the tablet in her hand. “I’m Dr. Sommers. How are you feeling?”

I attempt to process the question and take stock of my body. The aches. The stabbing pains when I move. The throbbing in my head. “Like shit.”

She chuckles softly. “I would imagine so, given your injuries.”

“Injuries?”

Killian squeezes my shoulder. “You’re okay. Right, Doc?”

Dr. Sommers presses her lips together and meets my gaze after giving him a reproachful look. “You have quite a few bumps and bruises, lots of scratches and scrapes, and the cut above your eye needed stitches, but you were lucky that the only things broken were a few cracked ribs.”

“What?” Panic seizes my chest, wrapping around it and tightening until my breaths feel more like a slow trickle of air instead of filling my lungs. “Wh-what happened? Was I…in a car accident?”

She exchanges another look with Killian that I can’t quite decipher.

He cups my face, turning it back toward him. “What do you remember?”

“I…” I try again, but there’s still an empty abyss where my memory of whatever got me here should be.

“I don’t…I can’t…the last thing I remember is being at the Memorial Day Festival, watching you do the carving demonstration.

I was with Raven.” Darkness encroaches again, and I shake my head to try to keep it at bay, but I immediately regret the move when it makes those daggers stab into my brain again. “And that’s it. I don’t…”

Killian’s eyes widen, and he glances at his brothers.

Their earlier nervousness has shifted into something else.

Fear .

My lips tremble along with my body. “What is it?”

Killian’s throat works, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he peeks up at the doctor. “Um…Willow, that was a year ago.”

No…

I try to push myself up, but the doctor gently presses on my shoulder, keeping me down.

Killian pulls his hand from my cheek to shove it through his long, unruly hair, pushing out of his chair to his feet. “We just had the festival again last week, Willow. And you weren’t there. That was a year ago that you watched me…”

“What?” No. No. No. No. No. No. “That can’t…that can’t be right.”

That can’t have been a year ago.

Connor and Liam exchange a look, as if neither particularly wants to intervene, but Liam steps forward, giving me the kind, reassuring smile he typically sports that always makes people feel at ease.

He rests his hand on mine on the bed and squeezes gently. “I’m sorry, Willow, it is. That was last summer.”

Last.

Summer.

“Oh, my God.”

Dr. Sommers types something on her tablet. “You don’t remember anything from the past year?”

“I…”

No.

No.

No.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t get past this solid wall of nothing .

The memories of the festival and everything before are crystal clear.

I can picture the way Killian’s tan work pants hung low off his trim hips that day.

How those delicious abs and sinfully perfect Adonis belt tempted me to look even lower.

The sculpted muscles of his back and chest bunching and flexing as he demonstrated wood carving for the excited crowd of locals and tourists that packed Main Street that afternoon.

The way his eyes drifted over to meet mine, and he gave me that lecherous grin that promised as soon as we got home, he was going to get cleaned up and then get very dirty all over again.

But after that…

Absolutely.

Nothing.

“There’s like…this black hole.” I squeeze my eyes closed, wincing at the thumping of my brain against my skull. “I can’t see anything there. Not after the festival.” Releasing a frustrated groan, I force my eyes open. “It feels like that just happened yesterday…”

Killian’s gaze softens as he stares down at me the way he always has—like I’m his entire world. Like the sun revolves around me instead of us around it. I remember that.

Why can’t I remember anything else?

God, that was a year ago?

The fact that I can’t remember anything and they’re all looking at me expectantly makes me bristle. Something is very wrong. Full-blown panic threatens to choke me. “How-how did I get here?”

Killian retakes his place in the chair next to the bed and pulls my hand into his. It feels the same, but it trembles now in a way I’ve never felt from this man. “I found you in the river, Willow.”

“The river?”

An image of the main waterway that cuts a path across McBride Mountain flashes through my head.

The lifeline for the wildlife in the area.

But also incredibly dangerous in places.

Definitely not anywhere I would venture on my own.

Killian nods.

“But…how did I…?”

He shakes his head. “We don’t know. You were hypothermic. I don’t know how long you’d been in the water, but I pulled you out and we got you into Asheville to the ER as quickly as we could.”

What?

That’s something I should remember.

How I got into the water.

Being swept downriver.

Killian’s pulling me out.

But there is nothing.

I glance up at the doctor. “Why can’t I remember?”

She offers me a soft smile. “The good news is, we did an MRI, and there doesn’t appear to be any damage to your brain, and your bloodwork has all come back normal.

Given how you were found in the water and that gash on your head, you likely have a concussion, though.

Your body shows that you were battered pretty badly on your way downriver.

You’ve obviously suffered trauma, and with a traumatic injury, it’s not uncommon for some parts of the brain to shut down so it can focus on healing.

The memories should return. Eventually. You just have to give it some time and give your body a chance to heal. ”

Time to heal.

But apparently, a lot of time has passed.

An entire year just gone .

So much must have happened in that time.

We had so many plans ? —

My gaze immediately drops to my left hand, where my engagement ring has sat on that all-important finger since Killian proposed, searching for the wedding band that would be with it if Killian and I had finally gotten married like we had planned last July.

A few cuts and scrapes mar the otherwise bare finger where it rests on top of the hospital blanket.

No wedding band.

Not even my engagement ring.

As empty as my memory of why it’s gone.