Chapter 8
RAVEN
Incessantly chirping birds slowly drag me from sleep.
My brain doesn’t want to fire…
It wants to stay in that warm, comforting place I was just floating in…
But as soon as I start to roll over, the scratch of unfamiliar material against my skin and the ungodly ache in my neck, back, and legs fully force me awake.
Fuuuuck.
I groan, reaching up and rubbing at my stiff neck as I lift it from the pillow that definitely isn’t mine. Blinking my eyes open, it takes me a few seconds in the dim light coming in from the small window to remember where I am and why.
The hunting cabin…
Connor…
I glance down at the wool blanket draped over me on the small bed and yawn, stretching my arms above my head and trying to work out the kink between my shoulder blades.
When did I fall asleep?
The fog of exhaustion still envelops my brain, and I slowly push myself up into a sitting position and release another yawn.
There isn’t any sign of Connor, but he was definitely here at some point.
I left the cast-iron skillet I ate the soup out of sitting on the table because I wasn’t sure what to do with it, but it isn’t there anymore.
It’s clean and hanging back in its place on the hook on the wall, and the chair I had been sitting in while I ate is pushed back in its place under the table, as if he tidied up while I was passed out.
But I don’t even remember coming to bed, just devouring the food as my body threatened to give out.
Apparently, it did. And I clearly needed the sleep, because the sun is barely peeking through the windows, so it must be almost dusk, which means I slept almost the whole day away.
I toss the blanket aside, then swing my legs out to find my boots already on the floor.
What the…?
No matter how hard I scour my memories, I can’t remember taking those off, let alone setting them neatly at the end of the bed beside my bags, but I must have, in some sort of exhausted haze.
Scrubbing my hands over my face, I try to force away those last vestiges of sleep that cling to my brain, hoping it will all come back, but I can’t remember anything after eating.
It’s a vast black hole.
That would be far more concerning if I hadn’t just woken at five in the morning after a sleepless night, driven to Atlanta, had an emotionally exhausting and charged interview with Barry, driven home in almost a haze, then been attacked and kidnapped by a grouchy McBride and forced to hike up a damn mountain until dawn.
With a groan at the pain in my back, I bend over to slip my feet into my boots and stumble on sore, aching legs toward the door. “Fuck. Today is going to be painful.”
I pull it open and step out to a familiar mist hanging over the mountain…
Mist that only comes in the morning.
Was I only asleep a few minutes?
It was already starting to burn off when I left Connor demolishing logs to come back to the cabin and eat, which means—
Shit.
I scan the eastern horizon to find the sun just starting to filter between the trees. “Oh, my God.”
It isn’t dusk at all.
It’s dawn.
Which means I must have slept for almost twenty-four hours…
Holy shit.
That certainly explains the sudden urgency to use the bathroom. I scan the small clearing for any sign of Connor to ask him where I’m supposed to do that, but I don’t see him anywhere.
Just mist, trees, and a pile of logs where he apparently intends to build his permanent cabin.
“Shit.”
Please, God, let there be an outhouse up here.
I swear to God, if I have to go to the bathroom in the woods, I’ll find my way down the mountain without him, back to civilization, damn the consequences or how long it would take me. At this point, I would take anything even remotely resembling a toilet.
Anything besides squatting over a damn log.
It was bad enough having to pee in the woods during the hike, knowing Connor was only a few dozen yards away and could probably hear every single thing. Now, I have no idea where that infuriating man is, which means he could walk up on me at any time, in any compromised position.
That’s precisely the kind of embarrassment I’d rather avoid when it comes to my forced stay here with my least favorite McBride.
If I were an outhouse, where would I be?
Honestly, I don’t have a fucking clue. I don’t do this—wilderness, lack of modern conveniences, living in a damn shack. Connor is well aware of my avoidance of all things rustic, too.
It wouldn’t surprise me if his insistence on bringing me up here had more to do with the torture he knew it would inflict on me than for his purported reason—to keep me safe.
Because that isn’t something Connor McBride would do for me.
If it’s about safety, then he did it to protect everyone else on the homestead, and he likely has an ulterior motive of attempting to control me and steer my story any way he can.
He may have said he will answer my questions, but I know it will be like pulling teeth from a rabid dog.
That fun activity will have to wait until later, though, because if I don’t find a bathroom soon, things will get very embarrassing for me.
Hustling around the side of the shack, I scan the treeline behind it and spot an even smaller building only a few hundred yards away that can only be for one purpose…
Thank God.
I rush over there and take care of my business, relieved that someone—whether it was Killian’s grandfather, father, or Connor—had the good sense not to want to forgo this convenience.
And I send up a silent prayer that there is actual toilet paper in here and not just a stack of leaves like I was anticipating.
This wilderness stuff just isn’t for me.
If that isn’t motivation to get this story done quickly, nothing is.
All I want to do when I step from the outhouse is get clean. Ditch these filthy clothes that I just slept in for almost an entire day after hiking in them and wash my hands, my body, and mess of hair that was coated in sweat and dirt and everything else gross on the way up here.
That shack doesn’t even have a sink let alone running water…
Where the hell does he get clean?
Something rustles in the trees to my left, and I spin toward it, eyes wide and hands up, even though I don’t have a goddamn weapon or any idea how to protect myself with just my fists if I needed to. After Connor’s warning on the hike up here, my heart leaps in my chest.
If it is a bear, coyote, or a bobcat, I won’t have any way to defend myself…
But something far more dangerous stalks through the trees.
Six-foot-five of heavy muscle, bad attitude, and a dark look that can slice right through you like an obsidian blade.
Connor approaches with his usual strong-set jaw and hard eyes locked on me. “You’re alive.”
“Apparently.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d ever wake up. You were out cold.”
“For how long?”
He offers a shrug, making his heavily muscled shoulders and bulging biceps look even bigger.
With the cut-off shirt exposing his entire chest and rippling abs, the scruff covering his face thickened without shaving for days, and that damn axe so casually draped across his shoulder, he looks every bit the wild mountain man he’s becoming.
That intense gaze of his roams over me, as if he’s taking in every inch and cataloguing me for signs of injury or distress when the only distressing thing is being trapped up here with him against my will…
and the thought that I don’t remember removing my boots or getting into that bed yesterday because I didn’t do either.
“Did you…put me in the bed?”
Connor averts his focus to something behind me and clears his throat. “You were passed out at the table when I came in.”
“Oh…”
Shit.
The last thing I ever want to do around this man is appear weak and helpless.
It was bad enough having to hike for so many hours being unable to hide how out of shape I am while he traipsed along without even breathing heavily or needing a break.
“I figured you’d be more comfortable there than slumped over onto that hard piece of wood.”
Damn him.
Connor McBride is not supposed to do something selfless and sweet.
And despite how angry I am at him for this entire situation, the good manners instilled in me prevent me from pretending it didn’t happen.
“Well…” I can’t believe I’m going to say this to Connor McBride. “Thank you.”
He grunts and stalks past me, tipping his head back toward a barely visible trail through the trees he just came down. “That path will take you over to the river. The water’s pristine up here. You can go wash down there.”
I glance down at myself, at my filthy clothes that have been hiked and slept in, and even though I was well aware of how disgusting I was when I woke, the fact that he noticed it too somehow makes it worse. “I could definitely use a bath.”
The corner of his lips twitches into an almost grin—the first sign of any remaining humor Connor has shown in months. “Yes, you could.”
Though the fact that he seems to be relishing my discomfort only confirms he’s a sadistic asshole.
I scowl at him, then march past him over to the shack to grab clean clothes from my bag. He wanders over and stands just outside, waiting for me when I come back out. His eyes follow me as I move toward the trail, as if he’s waiting expectantly for something.
I’m mid-step when I figure it out.
Shit.
I pause for a second and glance back at him. “What about a towel?”
He shrugs. “I air dry.”
A sudden, very vivid image of Connor McBride walking around nude up on this mountain flashes before my eyes, and I squeeze them closed to try to wash it away, but after seeing his exposed chest and stomach, it’s a lot harder than it should be.
When I reopen them again, his hard gaze remains locked on me. “You can take one of my clean shirts to use, if you would like.”
He doesn’t wait for my reply, just disappears into the shack and returns, holding a red and black long-sleeve plaid shirt.
“You’re not…coming to the river with me, are you?”
His lips twist down into a frown. “Of course not.”
The question lingers in his gaze—why would I ever want to do that?