When he could no longer comfortably stare at her, he stuck his hand out. “It was a true pleasure to make a new friend, Bébhinn O’Faolain.” He inwardly winced at the word friend, but that was what they had become. He only winced because it sounded like he was drawing a line in their relationship—a line he should have drawn but didn’t want.
She didn’t take his proffered hand.
twenty-five
THE WATCHER
He was reeling from shock.His body was shaking from exertion, having left the bunkhouse soon after the snow had stopped. He couldn’t stay there, knowing Bébhinn was alone and with him wondering if she’d found shelter to wait out the storm.
It had been dangerous and foolish to leave while it was dark, but the headlamp had provided enough light, even though he’d gotten turned around three times and had to backtrack.
He’d been cursing himself for hours. He was tired, thirsty, and sore from where he’d fallen over hidden debris.
Hours ago, he’d found tracks leading off the path and followed them to ensure she hadn’t gotten turned around in the storm.
They led to a cave. He sighed in relief. She must have stayed there. When he turned to backtrack, he noticed something he hadn’t registered in his hurry to follow the tracks. His booted tread was clear to see heading toward the cave but when he studied the tracks leaving the cave, there were two sets.
One large, one small.
Fear like he’d never felt filled him. Were the small tracks Bébhinn’s? The larger ones had to have been made by a man. They were huge compared to the smaller ones.
He blew a breath out, shaking the negative thoughts away. She probably hadn’t even stayed in the cave. Knowing her perseverance, she pushed on through the weather and slept snug in Conwy. The tracks could belong to anyone. Lucky for him, once he got back on the main trail, he was able to follow their trail.
Whoever they were, they were headed in the direction he needed to go. Knowing where to step, he’d been able to pick up his pace to a jog, even though his heart had felt like it could explode hours ago.
He stopped briefly four times, costing him time, but it couldn’t be helped. He’d almost cried in relief when Conwy came into view.
His plans could still pan out. Her transport time with the car service wasn’t for another two hours. He would find her yet and hopefully surprise her. He would admit to his feelings, and she would admit hers.
They would laugh about how scared he’d been for her safety before sharing her ride back to their vehicles in Machynlleth. They would spend the ferry ride to Dublin holding hands and talking about the future.
There was still enough snow on the ground, even at this elevation, so he kept following the tracks, noticing they were heading to a public parking area next to the town’s community information center, where most hikers parked or waited for transportation. With luck, she would be there.
He had convinced himself that the tracks he’d been following weren’t hers. She had been solo hiking for days, and as far as heknew, Bébhinn hadn’t changed her mind, but the scene in front of him told a different story.
There she was, standing way too close to a man he’d never seen before, who was looking at his girlfriend with way too much possession.
He stilled on the small path leading to the lot and watched in horror as Bébhinn smiled and laughed. Her level of comfort around the man didn’t scream friends.
Worse, her Jeep was parked and running next to the pair. She’d changed her plans and had it transported to Conwy.
No admittance of feelings.
No shared ride.
No ferry ride holding hands.
All his months of planning were ruined.
Who was the white-haired man? Not family. Not with how she was looking at him.
He spun around and ducked behind a line of trees before she noticed him. He lashed out in rage, punching the bark of the tree repeatedly until the pain in his knuckles brought tears to his eyes.
He slid down the trunk until he could spy the pair between a break in the trees.
He watched them embrace.
The man cradled the woman he loved to his chest as if she werehismost precious treasure.
