My Billionaire Ex- Husband’s Nemesis 의 모든 챕터: 챕터 191 - 챕터 200

THEO'S POVThe morning brought a heavy, clinging river fog that turned the bottom of the gorge into a ghost world of grey water and dripping hemlock.We broke camp at first light, dousing the hearth coals with stream water until the sandstone overhang was cold and clean. By eight o'clock, the sun began to break through the mist, turning the river into a shimmering sheet of liquid lead.Three miles south of the bluffs, the canyon narrowed sharply into the Blackwater Cut a steep, jagged gorge where the old rail line and the lower wagon road used to squeeze side by side above the rapids.Marcus stopped fifty yards ahead of the lead mule, raising his hand to halt the train. "Theo! Bring the pry-bars!"David and I hurried forward, stepping around a slide of loose slate.Where the old timber trestle bridge should have spanned the thirty-foot gap over the rushing Blackwater Creek, there was only empty air and two sheared oak pilings sticking out of the mud. The center span had been torn ou

ARIA'S POVThe mountain valley was unusually quiet without the steady clatter of the pack mules and the deep, low rumble of Theo’s voice down in the yard.Yet the silence was not hollow, it was filled with the vibrant, rhythmic hum of spring.Up on the second terrace level, the south-facing beds we had turned and planted four days ago had transformed under the warm midday sun. Tiny, emerald-green needles of early spinach and tender red-veined radish shoots were breaking through the dark, crumbly soil, standing in neat, delicate rows against the moist earth.Nora knelt on a sheepskin rug between the furrows, her wicker basket beside her as she used a small horn spatula to gently loosen the soil around a cluster of sprouted garlic. She worked with an unhurried, rhythmic care, flicking away small river stones and carefully sifting dark leaf-mold compost around the fragile stalks."Look at them, Aria," Nora whispered, a broad, radiant smile brightening her face. "Four days out of the wi

ARIA'S POVBy mid-morning, the valley was drenched in heavy, humid warmth that drew a thick, sweet mist off the freshly watered garden beds.Up on the terrace, Nora and Elizabeth were laying out woven straw mats over the young green shoots to protect them from the harsh midday sun. Down in the forge pit, the rhythmic CLANG-CLANK of Kat’s hammer had slowed to a steady, measured beat as she and Silas worked on drawn-iron hinges for the main granary doors.I was down near the orchard wall, carrying a basket of dried lavender to line the cold-storage bins, when the brass bell at the timber bridge gave two short, clear chimes.My heart took a sharp leap against my ribs. It wasn't the rapid, clattering rhythm of the pack mules returning from the south, nor was it the heavy three-chime warning for mountain storm winds. It was the simple, single-stroke signal Thomas used whenever someone stepped onto the gravel track below the orchard.I set the wicker basket on the dry stone wall and walke

THEO'S POVThe return climb was always slower, but the mules moved with a lighter, steadier cadence.The seven heavy cedar trade chests were gone, left behind at the brick kilns of Port Mercer to be unlatched, unpacked, and emptied into thirty-two eager pairs of hands. In their place on the broad leather pack-saddles were four tightly bound canvas sacks of coarse grey sea-salt, two kegs of lamp oil recovered from an old harbor vault, and a heavy bundle of seasoned copper wire David had managed to trade from Old Peter's storehouse.By ten in the morning, the heavy coastal fog that had clung to the marshy river mouth had fully burned away under the rising sun.The sky turned a hard, brilliant blue, setting the steep red sandstone walls of the Blackwater Cut a glow like massive iron furnace plates."Hold the train at the boulder shelf, David," I called back over my shoulder, pulling the brim of my oiled slouch hat down to block the blinding glare off the red rock wall.David clicked his

ARIA'S POVThe morning after the pack train's return, the valley awoke to a sky the color of crushed slate, cool and heavy with the promise of late spring rain.Instead of dampening the estate, the overcast sky brought a focused, quiet urgency to the yard. Before the sun had even cleared the eastern crags, the ring of Kat’s anvil was answered by the steady, rhythmic thud of wooden mallets and the scraping of iron spades up on the eastern slope.Three hundred yards from the main house, where the second terrace met the natural granite outcropping of the mountain, Aaron stood beside Thomas, Kat, and Silas.They were laying out the foundation lines for a new stone cottage.Aaron held a long, notched pine rod, his eyes following the taut hemp string Silas had stretched between four corner stakes. For six years, Aaron’s home had been a shifting shelter of driftwood, rusted tin, and damp canvas down by the coastal salt marshes. Here, his boots rested on solid granite, and the soil beneath