His lips twist down into a frown. “Of course not.”
The question lingers in his gaze—why would I ever want to do that?
And I shouldn’t care, but somewhere deep down, something twists in my gut…
That old feeling I long ago burned and buried.
Ignoring it, I grab the shirt from him, turn away, and set off down the trail, already shivering as I imagine climbing into what must be the frigid waters of the river just to scrub off the filth.
Still, being cold will be better than feeling disgusting.
The trees crowd in around me on my walk, a canopy of thick green foliage hanging over me, blocking out the morning sun. Birds chirp and small animals scurry across the forest floor, but the relative quiet is almost peaceful.
Everything moves slow in McBride Mountain. It’s the kind of small town where no part of life is ever rushed. People enjoy every minute of every day in the beauty of the Blue Ride Mountains. But up here, this, is different.
I can see why Connor likes it.
Not just because it isn’t the homestead, but because he is truly alone here, enveloped by nature in a way that can’t even happen on the land his family settled so many generations ago.
Sounds of rushing water hit me before I can see the river, but only a few steps bring me from inside the woods and out into another small clearing beside it.
My breath catches…but not at the sight of the flowing water.
An old, cast-iron bathtub sits several yards back from the river bank, a small fire beneath it that must be heating the water that fills it almost to the brim, given the way steam rises from it. A pipe runs from the drain out into the trees, probably to ensure the used water doesn’t go into the river.
I move closer and spot an overturned bucket he must have used to move the water, and sitting on top of it, is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen—a bar of soap.
Connor Fucking McBride…
CONNOR
I tighten my grip on the draw knife and drag it across the surface of the log, slowly stripping away the thick bark.
Piece by piece.
Strip by strip.
It tumbles to the grass beneath my feet as I work my way down the length of the massive tree that once stood proudly on the edge of this clearing.
The sun beats down on my bare back now that I’ve removed my shirt, sweat beading on my skin and dripping down my temples. My muscles ache and burn, especially after the hike and work I’ve done the entire time Raven was dead to the world.
But I relish the pain, the sweat, the discomfort born from hours and hours of hard manual labor in the sun.
This is what I needed.
I didn’t even last a week back in civilization before the itch to return to this little slice of Heaven was almost too much to bear.
The solitude—being up here where nothing and no one can reach me—has become the balm I need to ease the agony in my soul.
I can lose myself in this work, in this tiny spot on the mountain that anyone else might walk right past and never know is only a few feet away through the trees.
It’s the only place I’ve been able to think about anything but what happened on the homestead. It’s the only place I’ve been able to breathe in months.
Until I was forced to bring Blondie up here…
Any momentary reprieve is shattered by the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the trail from the river.
Apparently, my suggestion that she tread lighter must have slipped her mind during her lengthy slumber.
