Page 82 of A Curse On Black Lake
“Can I, uh—”
We speak at the same time, and I don’t know what to do. My hands are still on her shoulders, and my heart is pounding so hard it feels like it’s about to rip through my chest.
I lift my hands from her warm skin and bend down to pick up her towel without looking at her.
“Thanks,” she rasps
“Yeah, no problem. I’ll uh, go … away.” I bumble for words and scurry out of the laundry room as fast as I can.
I sounded like anidiot, and now my jeans are a little too tight.
Puffing out a breath, I down the rest of my coffee and hightail it out of the house. I’ll wait for her somewhere else.
By the time Eliana comes outside, my body has calmed down, but she won’t make eye contact with me. I’m not so sure she feels the same way.
“Ready to go?” I ask her.
Should we talk about this? I mean, we’re both adults. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Granted, it was a long time ago, and no woman I’ve ever been with has ever looked like her. She’s like Aphrodite with a cowgirl hat on. She didn’t have a haton at that moment, but — shut it down right now, Killian. Stop thinking. JustSTOP.
Eliana hurries down the steps to the truck without a word, and waits for me to catch up.
I wordlessly get in the truck and head for Livingston’s.
She has stared out her window the entire ride to the lumber store. I want to ask her what’s on her mind, though I’m not sure she would tell me. Then again, maybe she wants to pretend nothing happened.
“Do we need to stop at your place before we go back to the ranch?” I ask her.
She doesn’t answer, and I peek over, and I’m not sure she heard me. “Little witch?” I call, hoping it makes her smile.
Maybe the Spirits are talking to her. How is a man supposed to compete with Spirits that live in her head? How do I keep her attention?
My chest gets warm. Am I jealousofSpirits? I push the thought out of my mind,though I could think of a few ways to keep her attention solely on mine.
But that will never happen, even if I want it to.
But it can’t.
It feels unfair, or wrong, to seek solace or peace in someone else who’s struggling with their own grief.
I reach for her hand, hoping I can gently bring her attention to mine. She jumps with my touch and blinks rapidly as she focuses on me.
“Hmm?” she says.
I squeeze her hand. “I wanted to know if we need to go to your place before the lumberyard?”
“No, I’ve done everything I can do and I haven’t thought about my hours yet. Plus we need to move cattle today,” she says.
“You sure? I don’t mind.”
She nods, and I continue into town still holding her hand.
“Do you want to …”
“Nope, I’m good,” she squeaks. Her cheeks are pink, and I force my hand to stay where it is instead of rubbing my thumb over herrosy skin.
There isn’t anything else for miles in so downtown Black Lake stays as busy as small towns with a population of less than two thousand people can be.
Livingston’s is at the end of the block next to the Black Lake Sentinel newspaper. Since it’s so hard to get television in this town, people heavily rely on the paper for any kind of information going on in the outside world.
