Page 115 of Beneath the Mountain Sky
I can’t help but smile at the photo of the woman who was like a mother to me when mine couldn’t be—and the woman who did become one to Connor. It hangs right next to the picture of young Killian and his father. “Are you ever sad that you never met him?”
Connor looks over at me. “Who?”
“Killian’s father. I mean, he would have been your dad, too.”
The normally stoic middle McBride brother flinches slightly and then clears his throat. “Of course, but…” He shrugs. “I missed him by a couple of years.”
He gives me a sad smile and walks away, effectively ending the line of questioning, and I can’t say I blame him. His history must be as painful for him as my unknown year has become for me.
While only two years old when he was brought to Constance McBride, he was old enough that he might have memories of his biological parents. The young couple knew they couldn’t care for him anymore and begged Connie to adopt him. The moment she laid eyes on Connor, she couldn’t say no, and she never treated him any differently than she did Killian, her own blood.
Connor is a McBride, through and through, but it has to be a sore spot for him.
I shouldn’t have mentioned it.
The air thickens with tension between us, and Connor returns to his desk, absently flipping through a stack of papers on the top that he already spent hours going over earlier today.
I sit on the edge of Killian’s desk and swing my feet back and forth, examining the maps of the mountain that line the walls, created by various members of the McBride family over the years.
So much history.
So much tradition.
Something I never had. Something I always envied and wanted. Something I always thought I’d be a part of when Killian and I got married.
Our children would have inherited McBride Timber, along with any kids Connor or Liam ever have. But given Connor’s countenance, it seems lifelong bachelorhood would be more likely.
There’s only one person I’ve ever seen him react to in any way with any form of passion. And even though it isn’t the good kind of passion, since my return, it’s left me wondering what I missed when it comes to the two of them.
I glance over at Connor, debating whether I should even bring it up, but if I’m going to be stuck in here with him for a while, I can’t handle the awkward silence. “What’s your deal with Raven?”
Connor coughs, choking on the swig of coffee he just took, and pounds his chest to clear it. “What do you mean?”
“Why do you hate her so much?”
A dark brow wings up. “You’re joking, right?”
“No.”
“You said you read her articles…”
There wasn’t much else to do all those days I spent with her, just sitting in the bakery while she worked.
“Yeah, and?”
“They weren’t exactly very complimentary, were they?”
I bark out a laugh that carries through the small office. “I mean, no, but were any of them not true?”
He scowls at me.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. She’s just doing her civic duty. Keeping people informed.”
“Yeah, well, it feels more like stabbing everyone in the fucking back.”
Animosity taints each of his words.
He really hates her, and by the sounds of it, that is unlikely to change anytime soon.
