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314 pages, Kindle Edition
First published October 22, 2024
The slow trickle of fear taking hold, the knowing that life is different in Woodsmoke. You can’t be sure that a gift is always left with good intent. You don’t stray from the path. And if you see someone stepping off the mountain trails, or hear a voice luring you away, never follow. Sometimes a gift is just a gift. But sometimes . . . I swallow. Sometimes it’s a warning.
I have that feeling again. Like I’m being watched. Tested. Like every move I make is being weighed and measured.
love doesn’t work that way. It can’t be forced; it can’t be tricked.
Everything around us, everything else boiling up inside me, fades away, leaving only him, only his mouth, his touch, the warmth of him wrapping around me. It’s as though I’ve been lost in a blizzard with no end and no beginning. And now suddenly I’m no longer cold.
This is the way of the mountains, the way it has always been. This is the truth we learned as children, the truth that followed us into adulthood, through whispers that bound us. A Morgan woman can cast a wish. She can scratch at the door of the mountains and ask for the world, but if they agree to help, she must give something of equal importance in return. An eye for an eye. A secret for a secret. A life for a life.
I spend the rest of the afternoon highly aware of him. Of myself. Of the air between us, crackling and heavy as we move around each other, painting the kitchen and then the lounge. And realise that you can belong with a person as much as you belong to a place.