Page 7 of When the Sky Breaks

She leaned in, and my chest tightened. I clenched my fists so hard I thought my nails would draw blood. All to keep from reaching out for her. This wasn’t the time—I knew that much—but every instinct screamed otherwise.

“I don’t think I could do this without you,” Sorcha said softly, leaning closer still. “You know that right?”

And suddenly I knew if I didn’t stop this now it would escalate. I’d kiss her here in the starlight. I’d coax her up to bed and sleep with her in my arms—soft and warm and perfect. I’d hold her when the inevitable grief caught up and she finally let herself cry.

And there’d be no turning back.

I stood abruptly, pulse pounding in my ears. I couldn’t trust myself to stay.

“Did I say something wrong?” Sorcha asked, hurt and confusion flickering across her face.

“It’s time we both went to bed,” I said, adjusting my jacket, trying to ignore the heat creeping through my body and pretending I hadn’t just jumped away from her like a hare fleeing a bobcat.

“Of course,” Sorcha agreed, downcast. “I’ll be in shortly. Don’t let me keep you up.”

I woke before the sun and made for Sorcha’s office. There were three keys—one she kept on a chain at her waist, one for the housekeeper, and one for me. The space was a disaster. Cormac—I knew from Da—was notoriously disorganized. Sorcha had been so busy with the transition that she hadn’t yet set it to rights. And so I thought I could organize it for her. Do something, anything, to make up for last night.

I spent the better part of two hours filing papers, stacking crates of documents, and—as an additional peace offering—putting a row of boxes along the edge of her desk, for her cats.

I was trying to coax one of the ranch’s orange tabbies to sit in the box when she arrived.

“What on earth did you do to my office?” she asked, irate, the moment she walked in.

“I thought you’d be pleased,” I said as the big orange tabby immediately ran for Sorcha, nuzzling against her legs as though it was tattling on me.

“How am I supposed to find anything now!” Sorcha exclaimed. “It’s all put away! You hid my own paperwork from me!”

“It’s a filing system,” I said, opening one of the boxes. “All clearly labeled.”

“But I don’t know what we even have here! So how am I supposed to look for it in a filing system?” she asked, voice going frantic now. “This’ll set me back days! And I’m already trying to play catch-up! I had a system!”

Sorcha crossed her arms and paced back and forth, glaring at the desk, then glaring at me.

Two more of the ranch’s cats slipped in through the open back window, hissing at me all the while. A rock dove cooed outside, and somehow it too sounded disapproving and judgmental.

“Your system was a tower of papers on every flat surface, and don’t get me started on the abandoned teacups,” I said.

“It was a pile of papers on most flat surfaces and at maximum five abandoned teacups at any one time.” Sorcha cracked a smile.

“And I thought if I gave the cats a place to sit they wouldn’t bother you,” I offered, glad she was softening at least a bit.

“It would be cute if they sat in there . . .” Sorcha trailed off. She glanced down at the cats, then gestured at the boxes. And suddenly all three went and settled in, purring loudly.

“How did you do that?” I asked.

“You don’t know about my magic?”

My eyes widened for a fraction of a second. I’d heard about it. Everyone had heard about it. But I’d assumed it was overblown. Healing and foresight were infinitesimally rare—let alone other gifts.

“So, it’s not just all talk, then?” I asked.

Sorcha raised an eyebrow.

“Of course not,” I said hurriedly. “I can see that. Clearly . . .”

I gestured at the cats.

“It’s not like being a healer or a seer,” Sorcha said. “I mostly just play with the cats and the birds. But I can get the snakes and scorpions to give me a wide berth. The bears listen to me. Usually. The bobcats and mountain lions will listen too, there just aren’t many of them around. Maybe someday I’ll make something real of it.”