Chapter Twenty-Six
Nora
Firebrook Valley
Present Day
The cabin was a disappointment, which was probably the point.
For a woman the valley spoke of in hushed, superstitious tones, Evie’s home didn’t look like the lair of an oracle.
It looked like a tired little house that had been tucked into the side of the mountain and forgotten by time.
Smoke curled lazily from a stone chimney, and a wooden fence, silvered by years of mountain winters, leaned drunkenly around a garden that had long ago traded neat rows for a wild, sprawling independence.
Untouchable came to a halt a few yards from the porch, her ears forward, waiting.
“Well,” I whispered, the sound of my own voice feeling small against the vast silence of the pines. “Either we’re about to receive life-altering wisdom, or we rode three hours to annoy a woman who probably only wants to be left alone.”
The door creaked open before I could dismount. An older woman stood in the threshold, one eyebrow arched toward her graying hairline. She didn’t look like a mystic. She looked like a woman who had seen everything and found most of it slightly irritating.
Her voice was as dry as seasoned kindling, “Untouchable, did you bring her here thinking it’s watermelon season? You’re too early.”
Untouchable whinnied in disappointment.
“I—” I blinked and started over. “I’m Nora.”
“I know.” When my eyebrows rose in surprise, she added, “You look like your mother.”
When I sat there, unsure of what to do, she added, “Get down. I’ll make you some calming tea. Your stomach is in knots.”
I froze with one foot in the stirrup. “How could you possibly—”
“You’re pale, you’re riding the horse your mother rode the day she died, and your jaw is set so tight I’m surprised your teeth haven’t shattered,” she countered. “I’m guessing at the state of your nerves, but am I right?”
“Yes,” I admitted, sliding out of the saddle. My legs felt like lead as they hit the dirt.
“Tie the mare. Come in.”
Inside, the cabin was a sensory ambush. It smelled of dried sage, cedar smoke, and a sharp, bright burst of citrus.
A roll-top desk sat open against the far wall, its surface scattered with papers and a loose stack of photographs.
My gaze snagged on them for a second. One was the unmistakable shape of two children mid-laugh. Drew and me.
Before I could find a chair, Evie pressed a heavy ceramic mug into my hands. “Drink.”
I looked at the murky liquid. “What is it?”
“A tonic. Or a poison, depending on how much you trust a stranger in the woods.”
“That isn’t exactly a ringing endorsement.”
“You rode alone up a mountain to find a woman who only wants to be left alone,” she said, pulling out a chair for herself. “I promise the tea is the safest choice you’ve made all day.”
She had me there. I took a cautious sip. The heat hit my throat first, followed by the zing of ginger and the mellow sweetness of honey. It was simple, grounded, and almost instantly, the cold lump of anxiety in my gut began to thaw.
“That’s actually incredible,” I said, staring into the mug. “What’s in this? Some mountain root? Magic?”
Evie shrugged, looking bored. “Lemon. Ginger. Honey. Steeped long enough to bite back.”
I stared at her. “That’s it? No ancient herbs? No powdered moonstone?”
“I’ve told people for thirty years I am not a healer,” she said, her voice flat.
“And the oracle thing?”
“I don’t see the future, Nora. I just have the benefit of distance. Things look a lot clearer when you aren’t standing in the middle of the wreckage.”
“Well, that’s disappointing,” I muttered, though a part of me felt a strange sense of relief. I wasn’t looking for witchcraft. What I needed was something more concrete.
She sat across from me, her hands, spotted with age but steady as stone, folded on the scarred wooden table. She didn’t prompt me. She didn’t offer a platitude. She just sat there, her silence acting like a vacuum, pulling the truth right out of my chest.
And once I started talking, I couldn’t stop.
The words poured out—the financial trap my father was setting, the crushing weight of the Burke name, the way the air seemed to hum whenever Evan was in the room.
I told her about the kiss, about all of our near misses, the confusion when everyone thought I was dating Brady, and then Evan’s return and the fear that followed it like a shadow. Evie listened without interrupting.
When I finally ran out of breath, she leaned back, the chair groaning under her. “That’s a great deal of baggage for one horse to carry up a trail.”
“Now do you see why I was hoping for an oracle?”
“I’m still just a woman in a cabin, Nora.”
“Fine,” I snapped, the frustration bubbling back up. “Then as a woman in a cabin, what would you do?”
“I’d make another pot of tea,” she said simply. “You came here looking for a magic wand to wave over your father. I don’t have one. Nobody does.”
The hope that had sustained me on the ride up began to leak away, leaving me hollow. I looked around the room, seeing the small, handmade touches—a knitted throw, a collection of smooth river stones.
“You and my mother were friends.”
Evie’s expression shifted. The sharpness didn’t leave her eyes, but a layer of grief settled over them. “She came here often.”
“What did she ask you? What advice did you give her? She always came home looking more at ease.”
Evie snorted softly, a sound of weary recognition. “She asked impossible questions.”
“That you answered?”
“That I listened to.”
I looked down at the dregs of my tea. “My mother wasn’t happy, was she? Not with her life.”
“No,” Evie said, the word landing with the weight of a final judgment. “But she loved you. She didn’t want the empire your father was building. She didn’t want the pedigree or the social standing or the fancy barn. She wanted the one thing your father couldn’t figure out how to give her.”
“Peace,” I whispered.
“Presence,” Evie corrected.
I gripped the mug, my knuckles white. “She must have told you things about him. I need something I can use to stop him before he destroys the Hollistons. Before he destroys what’s left of us.”
Evie sighed, looking out the window toward the darkening tree line. “What looks like anger,” she said slowly, “is almost always fear wearing a suit of armor.”
I frowned. “You think my father is afraid?”
“I think if you stop looking at his temper and start looking at what he’s terrified of losing, you’ll find the string that unspools the whole mess.”
I sat with that for a moment. It wasn’t a prophecy, but it was a key. “I think I understand. And this was helpful.”
Evie blinked, looking almost offended. “Please don’t go back down that mountain and tell people I gave you advice. I prefer to be alone.”
A genuine laugh broke through the tension in my chest. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell them you spoke in riddles and threw bones at me.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
I stayed long enough to see Evie spoil Untouchable with carrots and molasses treats.
Their bond was strong and I was tempted to ask Evie if she knew how to ride, but Evie was old enough that I doubted she wanted the responsibility of a horse.
Still, watching her with Untouchable and seeing the affection they had for each other, made me hope my mother had been as welcome here.
The descent felt different. The air was cooling, turning the pine scent crisp and sharp against my skin. I followed the narrow path, the same one my mother had traveled on her final day. It had been winter and colder. I wondered if she’d felt this same strange quiet after leaving Evie.
The sun was a dying ember behind the peaks, throwing long, gold-and-purple shadows across the clearing. Untouchable moved with a steady, rhythmic gait, her warmth a constant comfort against my leg.
What is my father afraid of losing?
The answer was so simple it hurt. Us. He was afraid of losing the only things he had left that mattered.
Had he been equally afraid he might lose my mother?
He saw the Hollistons not just as rivals, but as thieves who had already stolen his son’s loyalty and were now coming for his daughter’s heart.
Had he somehow tangled that up with my mother’s death?
I exhaled, watching my breath plume in the chill.
“Were you afraid?” I whispered into the darkening woods, the question I’d been carrying for years finally finding its way out. “Did it hurt, Mom?”
The silence of the forest was absolute.
Untouchable shifted beneath me, her ears suddenly pinning back. Before I could tighten the reins, she startled—a sharp, violent flinch as if she’d seen a ghost in the trees. Her hoof hit a hidden root, slipping into a narrow crevice with a sickening thud.
“Hey—easy!” I grabbed for the horn, but she jerked back, a sharp, pained wheeze escaping her.
I slid off instantly, my heart hammering against my ribs. She was favoring her front leg, her head drooping. “Damn it. Damn it, girl.”
I ran my hands down her leg, feeling the heat rising. It wasn’t broken, but she wasn’t walking home. I reached for my pocket, my fingers searching for the familiar weight of my phone, only to find nothing but denim.
“Of course,” I muttered, looking up at the canopy. No phone. No light. Just the encroaching dark.
Untouchable leaned her heavy head against my shoulder, a soft nicker vibrating through my jacket.
And in that moment, the realization hit me like a physical blow.
My mother hadn’t been alone when she died.
She’d had Untouchable. This mare had stood watch over her in the silence, just like she was doing now.
I rubbed the velvet of her nose, blinking back a sudden prick of tears. “I’m here,” I whispered. “And if I’m right, my mother is here too. We’re going to get you home.”