Page 95 of Beneath the Mountain Sky
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.
