Chapter Thirteen #2
The hot wave of release towed her under, and she clung to him, tumbling through the current.
His cock surged inside her and he locked her to the table as he rocked into her hard and fast. A groan burst out of him with the first heated spurt of cum.
They came apart together, her name breaking on his lips, his groan lost against her throat.
Her eyes slipped closed as sensation hauled her into the undertow. Long minutes passed as her own body came back down to earth, and he finally released her back onto shore, breathless and boneless in his arms.
After long heartbeats, Hawk lifted his head and kissed her, a tender brush of his lips that made goose bumps break out on her skin.
She stroked her thumb over his jaw, and they shared a smile.
When he pushed off her, she lay on the table, chest heaving. She fixed her stare on the rough-hewn ceiling above her.
Her breath stopped, her lungs forgetting what to do.
“Heath…”
He smoothed his hands down her thighs. “You ready for round two already?”
“Uh. Not quite yet.” She pointed upward.
He looked up, his hands freezing on her body.
“Do you see what I see?” she finally managed.
The ceiling had carvings that, upon first glance, might appear to be gouges of a tool or the miscut of a saw, but from this angle—which they never would have discovered if not for their stolen moment—revealed so much more.
A grin spread over her face. “New rule. All future roadblocks must be solved with sex.”
He gave her a crooked smile, eyelids dipping over his smoldering green eyes. “Obviously. I should have led with that strategy days ago.”
They dressed in a hurry and snapped a dozen or so photos of the ceiling. The light inside the cabin was dim, and the space shifted with shadows as the sun moved across the sky, so they went outside to work.
She settled cross-legged on the ground in the small clearing with her phone in her lap, leaning over the screen to see the markings on the photo.
Hawk dropped to the ground next to her. He set an energy bar beside her, and she thanked him absentmindedly.
“I wish we could clean up these photos on a computer.” She zoomed in on a section and traced the carved line with her fingertip. Hawk looked over her shoulder but didn’t interrupt her stream of thought.
The longer she studied it, the more certain she became that this wasn’t decorative. It wasn’t idle whittling to pass a long winter, like some pioneer’s version of the painting in the Sistine Chapel.
Certain lines were cut deeper than others, as if deliberately placing emphasis on that portion of the carving. Small dots separated sections, deep nicks in the wood created by the point of a knife. And tiny symbols repeated at regular intervals, spaced too evenly to be accidental.
“Whoever carved this expected someone else to read it someday.” She set her phone aside and jumped up, striding to the tent to grab her pack.
When she returned with it in hand, she caught sight of Hawk from the corner of her eye.
On his feet, hand along his spine within reach of his weapon, ready to defend her.
Her heart gave a soft lurch as she returned to his side. They sank to the ground again, sitting close, and she pulled out the journal from a pocket where she tucked it for safekeeping.
She pulled up a file on her phone with photos of old survey papers of her father’s land here in Wyoming.
“Here. You need this.” Hawk passed her a small rectangle attached to a cord, offering the battery pack they’d been using to charge their phones for days.
She plugged the battery pack into her phone, providing more time to work on the newest piece of the puzzle.
She should be angry with her father for giving her so little to go on, but she was still riding the high of hot cabin sex and the new discovery of the ceiling carving.
She enlarged the first section of the carving until the pixels began to blur. The knife marks were rough in places but cleaner in others. Someone had spent hours—days, maybe—looking up to carve those beams.
She rested her fingertip over one symbol, then shifted to the right, to the same symbol. “This represents something.”
“The spacing between them is identical too.”
She looked again. He was right. Each cluster occupied nearly the same amount of space.
“That can’t be an accident.”
“No.” She opened another photo from a different angle. The same pattern, same intervals. Her heartbeat picked up, and she opened the journal. The brittle pages fluttered in the breeze, and Hawk pinned them down so she could read.
She glanced over at him and caught his stare on her, his expression tender.
She touched the back of his hand and smiled. Then she turned her attention to the entries.
Most were ordinary observations. Snow came early and the mare favored her left leg. Supplies were running low.
She frowned. “Nothing.”
“Keep going.”
She turned another page and another. Then an entry made her stop.
“Booth Ridge.” Her finger hovered over the page.
Hawk leaned closer and read aloud, “Crossed Booth Ridge before first light. Three springs cut through the ridge. In the rainy season, the water flows freely and creates three streams. At night, we navigate by the North Star.”
Her brows pinched. “It seems straightforward, but I don’t see anything on this photo that resembles what he wrote.”
Hawk took the phone from her lap and zoomed out to see the entirety of the carving. He stared at it for so long that she forgot they were supposed to be comparing her ancestor’s notes to the markings and she wasn’t here to drink in her lover’s rugged features.
He tapped one of the deeper carved lines on the photo.
She leaned so close to him that their heads almost touched. “Zoom in on that portion.” She pointed.
They studied it for a long minute, even rotating the photo. She issued a frustrated sigh. “Maybe it really is just tool marks. Eli Winthrop carried a dull ax.”
“I don’t think so, Sinead.” He rotated the image a quarter turn and her breath caught. The longest carved line suddenly matched the entry.
Three small nicks in the wood turned into wavy lines. And off to one side, crisscrossing marks in the shape of…
“A star,” she breathed.
She jerked her gaze to Hawk’s, excitement flooding her veins. “This is everything we need to find Booth Ridge.”
He turned his head, staring off to the north.
A shiver coursed down Sinead’s spine as she realized just how close they were to solving this mystery, to finding whatever was out here.
Whether it was a gold mine or another clue didn’t matter anymore, because for the first time since her father died, she wasn’t chasing his legacy alone, with Hawk only along as her bodyguard.
She was building something of her own, right here, mile by mile, alongside the one person who’d made the search feel like living instead of grieving.
“You feel it too?” Her voice wavered.
“Feels close. Real close.” He glanced back at her, his expression steady and warm. “Whatever’s up there, we’ll find it together.”
She reached for his hand, and he laced his fingers through hers without hesitation.
“You want to set off now?” Hawk asked.
She laughed. “Like you don’t already know the answer.” She tucked the journal into her pack and stood.
Together, they tore down their camp. By the time they shouldered their packs, the sun had risen over the ridge, washing the clearing—their clearing—in a warm glow.
Sinead turned in a circle, drinking in the view and committing it to memory. The cabin, the ash of their campfire where she sat in the wreath of her bodyguard’s arms and studied the journal entries, joking until the laughter turned to kisses…and then moans.
He stepped up beside her and enveloped her hand in his big, warm, rough one.
Together, they turned north, toward whatever waited for them at the end of the trail that had cost three families so much torment.
She only hoped whatever it was included more time with Hawk.