Chapter 4 Nightmares and Cat Hairs
NIGHTMARES AND CAT HAIRS
Hazel should have known the day would be anything but ordinary the moment the spice jar threw itself from the shelf, shattering against the old plank floor.
She’d been scrubbing furiously at the soot-stained hearthstones in one of their unoccupied rooms, alone with her thoughts while Pa skewered the day’s meat onto the spits out back.
The inn’s patrons were still asleep, and the tavern below was peaceful.
It was her favorite time of day, and she didn’t mind spending it on dirty work.
Today, though, Hazel couldn’t pull her thoughts from the nightmares plaguing her.
They’d began rather recently but with an intensity and frequency she couldn’t ignore.
Last night, her mind replayed the most recent nightmare it couldn’t seem to let go of; the one where she was running through a dark castle corridor, never knowing from whom she fled or why.
Despite knowing the long hallway led to a blood-spattered torture chamber deep within some clandestine dungeon, her feet—which she was almost certain were someone else’s—always carried her forward of their own volition.
Her sigh evolved into a full-fledged yawn as she willed the memory of the nightmare to leave her alone.
If Hazel bothered to care about her looks, she might have cared about the impact of these Helish dreams on her beauty rest. She snorted to herself at the idea.
Hazel the Nobody. And I wouldn’t change a thing, she thought.
Somewhere between the sloshing strokes of her stiff-bristled brush, a clatter arose downstairs, ending with the undeniable sound of breaking glass.
She jumped, hand clasping at the locket dangling around her neck.
In doing so, she elbowed the bucket of dirty, gray water, causing it to spill over the side, soaking her apron as she attempted to keep it from dumping its contents onto the floor.
Hazel blew out a breath and glanced at the soapy mess streaking down her apron.
She didn’t move otherwise, listening for any movement that might indicate she wasn’t alone.
But all was quiet. The guests were, gods willing, still asleep.
In the distance, she could just barely make out the song Pa was whistling to himself outside.
No one else should be milling about Briar his warm, firm embrace akin to hugging a bear—just without the claws. “No need, Pa. Just overslept is all. Was upstairs for a bit scrubbing the hearth.” Before a spice jar filled with black powder shattered on the kitchen floor.
He eyed her curiously. “Again with the oversleeping? Listen, it’s of no matter to me, but that’s not like you at all. Are you sure you’re alright?”
She shrugged him off, removing herself from the hug and moving toward the stairwell.
“I’m fine, Pa. Just not sleeping well. The roof sprung a leak again, and I haven’t had a chance to fix it.” It wasn’t a lie. Not entirely. The thatch above her bed leaked when it rained.
But the real reason? She wasn’t ready for that conversation. She hadn’t told him about the nightmares or how she’d been waking up in the middle of the night in a pool of sweat, because he was the kind of father who would drop everything to fix his daughter’s problems.
And she wasn’t sure this one could be fixed.
“Why didn’t you say so? I could have had one of the boys from town over to fix it if you’d have told me.” She knew he’d do it himself if his old injuries would allow it. Connall Callahan was not prone to outsourcing work, but for his daughter, he’d set his pride aside.
“No need. You’ve raised me well, and I am sure I can manage it myself.” She gave him a wink and nudged past him toward the stairs.
But Pa being Pa, he had to get one last word in. “What about that Ezekiel fella? I can send for him?” She could hear the ridiculous smile in his voice.
Hazel froze at the bottom step and rolled her eyes. “Really, Pa? Zeke might as well be a brother to me. You ought to know better.” And he did know better. He also knew just what to say to get under her skin.
Ezekiel Bertram was Hazel’s longest-standing friendship, and if she was honest with herself, the only real friend she had. Sure, there’d been a handful of female friends when she was a child, but none of them stuck to her quite like Zeke.
He was like a brother to her now, but it wasn’t always that way. As teenagers, they’d grown a bit too close and wound up chasing feelings neither of them could quite sort out. A wild and intimate relationship developed between them, but like a flame, it burned out quickly.
They’d both moved on amicably, with the unspoken agreement that they wouldn’t test those waters again. Even so, Hazel sometimes suspected Zeke did want to give it another shot. There were signs, albeit small ones; an “accidental” brush of her hand, a hug or stare lingering too long.
Connall was never privy to the details of their relationship, but he wasn’t oblivious either.
Hazel shook her head.
“Can you blame an old man for trying?” he questioned through a smirk that stressed the lines around his eyes, scrunching his time-worn skin.
“Trying to what? Get rid of your only daughter?” She scowled.
Though she knew it wasn’t true. If Pa had wanted to pawn her off on someone else, he would have by now.
Hazel knew she was in a rare situation, one where her father would cling to his only daughter, his only child, as long as he could.
He would never force her to marry if she didn’t want to, which left her as the oldest eligible woman in Larksridge.
“Never. I just don’t want you to be stuck here with me forever. It’s no life for someone like you. You deserve to see the world.” He meant it.