Page 24 of Beneath the Mountain Sky
Sitting on the site of the original cabin that occupied this space, this one, almost a hundred and fifty years old, and has housed generations of McBrides, was our home.
Where we lived.
Where we were so happy.
I could have built something bigger and more modern, the way Connor and Liam have deeper onto the property to have their own spaces, but there was always something about this old place—the history, knowing my ancestors hand-hewed all the logs and built it with their bare hands.
Leaving it would be nearly impossible for me.
And Willow understood that.
She understood me.
If only I could have trusted that…
Instead of parking the truck in the safety of the barn, where it would be protected from the storms that like to pop up in the afternoons this time of year, I pull up in front of the small, one-story structure held together by chinking, pride, and the sheer will of the men who built it.
It’s more important to make things easier for Willow than to keep this truck dry, and being closer means less of a walk for her—which seems wise, given her condition.
As soon as I put it into park and turn it off, Willow jerks awake, her hands flying out around her. Startled, she presses her palm to her chest, as if she can’t catch her breath.
“We’re home.”
Her head whips in my direction, and her sleep-hazed eyes meet mine, a relieved exhale rushing from her lungs. “Did I fall asleep?”
I nod. “The whole way.”
She rubs her eyes, yawning so hard it makes me wince, afraid she’ll split open the healing cut on her lip. “I’m so sorry. I’m just?—”
“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Honeybee. You’re exhausted. Stay there, I’ll help you out.”
I climb from the truck, agitated even more than I was a few seconds ago.
The old Willow would have argued.
She would have insisted she could do it on her own because she could.
The woman I’ve been in love with for what feels like my entire life has always been so fiercely independent. Even up here, which isn’t necessarily true of all the women on McBride Mountain. Some men here still have a very antiquated idea of what a woman’s role should be—keeping the house and raising the children…and that’s about it.
But not me.
Not after seeing the way Mom stepped up after Dad died.
I may have only been five, but watching her take over McBride Timber, adopt Connor and Liam as a single mom, and become the matriarch of the mountain in her own right demonstrated how strong and resilient people say “the weaker sex” really is.
Willow is no different.
At least, she wasn’t.
Through all her mother’s issues with alcohol and addiction, Willow found safety here with us, but she never once asked for help or admitted she needed it.
She’s too proud.
Too fucking strong.
When this was her home with me, she never hesitated to help with anything on the homestead: caring for the animals, handling the chores so they could get done quicker, even setting up her own organic candle-making operation that became so popular with the locals and the tourists before she left that she couldn’t keep up with demand.
And she never once asked for anything from me except to assist in building her workshop—though, that was more of me insisting when I caught her trying to lay out where she was planning to pour a concrete slab and realized what she was up to.
