Page 79 of A Curse On Black Lake
“Hey, I got the stalls cleaned up and their feed all loaded up.”
“Thank you,” I say with my back to him.
“Can I help in here?” he asks.
I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s past lunchtime, and we need to get out to the cattle.
“Almost done,” I mutter, pushing the mint into a jar full of jojoba oil. It will steep in the oil, and I’ll mix it later for a salve.
“I need to drop off soap too,” I tell him.
“No problem,” he grunts.
Once I get my workspace cleaned up and gather my soap into a box to deliver, I run to my closet and grab one of my other dresses and another pair of boots. On my way out the door, I stop in the study and grab my old journal with a lot of passed-down information, Grams’s journal, and something in the back of my mind says to bring my great grandma Lily’s with the curse. Part of me doesn’t want to touch it, but maybe I missed a detail. It might be worth reading cover to cover.
Putting everything in a canvas tote, I check the doors and windows one more time to make sure they’re locked before Ileave. When I’m done, I struggle to hold the box and close the door behind me.
“Here,” Killian says, taking the box from me.
“Good?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
He puts the box in the back seat of the truck, and we get the goats and chickens loaded up to head back to the ranch. My stomach won’t stop twisting and turning with so much going through my mind. I can feel Killian’s gaze constantly returning to me as he drives.
I’m not used to expressing my emotions in this way. Grams taught me to work through them because for a long time it was only frustration and anger. I wasn’t dealing only with my own thoughts. I’ve carried these Spirits for almost two decades. Everything else I either ignored or moved past. If I allowed what people say behind my back, and the mean looks to get to me, then I would have never gotten out of bed again.
But I didn’t have that choice. Gram’s wouldn’t allow it, and as she declined, someone had to take care of everything. Now that I’m on my own and I don’t have to care for Grams, a lot of things I pushed down are coming back up. Everything happening with this curse, and Killian, is stacking on top. I fear I might blow at any moment.
Killian pulls up to Cricket’s parking lot, and I hop out to take their delivery of soap in. I head straight to one of the registers and set the box on the counter. “This is a delivery from the apothecary,” I tell an older woman, Theresa. She usually glares at me most of the time.
“Here’s your check,” she says, sliding it across the counter.
I meet her eyes and force myself to say, “Thank you.”
Her eyes widen on me before I walk back out the door.
Killian would be proud.
I hop in the truck, ignoring the three people standing outside the door staring at me as Killian drives off.
“We’ll have to move them tomorrow. The other pastures are at a good place,” Killian says.
I hum and tilt my head back as the breeze blows across my face, while Winnie grazes. The air smells lighter out here. My garden at home is wonderful, but here I don’t feel so weighed down by responsibility, and I hate to think that it’s because Grams isn’t there. My interest in anything to do with our apothecary has waned. It’s purely out of obligation that I’ve accomplished anything. I’ve been trying to tell myself it’s purely because I’m grieving and everything I do reminds me of her, but I guess I could be depressed too. Maybe it’s a combination.
“Eliana? You ready?” Killian asks.
He startles me, and I open my eyes to find him right next to me on his horse.
“Yeah,” I rasp.
He stares at me with his serious brown eyes for a moment too long, then turns Daisy around. We’re still getting to know each other, and I’m still learning to read him. But every time he looks at me like that, it makes me nervous, but also curious. I want to know what’s going through his mind.
When we get back to the barns, Killian grabs his tools while I love on my goats.
Dropping onto the ground, they rush me, nuzzling and bleating, likely telling me off since they were moved and nothing is where it’s supposed to be. To my right, Tiny sits as sentry outside of the gated pen for them, watching me carefully. Killian hammers and uses his circular saw over by the barn entrance,and I can’t help but stare at the man with his tool belt hanging off his hips.
“I’m working on a shelter for the goats, but I don’t think I have enough lumber,” Killian calls, pulling a small wall behind him.
