Into The Light (Three Rivers #1)

Chapter 9

Nine

BEAR

W e pull into Noelle’s parents' driveway and she shifts into Park. She shuts off the engine, opens her door, and slings one long, ivory leg out, but stops when she sees I haven’t even unbuckled yet.

“Knew I shoulda dressed up more,” I mutter.

She huffs, shaking her head. "You're fine."

I gesture at the house. "Look at the place. Fuckin' mansion."

Noelle frowns at me and then sinks back into her seat, pulling her leg back in as she looks at the house she grew up in, perhaps trying to see it through my eyes.

Two stories, it began life sometime in the first few decades of the nineteen hundreds as a simple Craftsman. Over the intervening century or so, it looks like it has been added onto, renovated, added onto again, and re-renovated. Now, it looks—to my eyes, at least—to be over five thousand square feet and sits on a five-acre lot at the end of a cul-de-sac, with state-owned forest on two sides. Sided in gray, weathered cedar shakes with a green metal roof, it has a deep front porch held up by a pair of river stone pillars, a white bench swing hanging from the ceiling on the left side, and a pair of antique rocking chairs on the right. The driveway extends past the house on the right side a good fifty yards, ending at a big red pole barn. Twenty or so hens run around the backyard, clucking and scratching, while a huge rooster watches, tail feathers arched proudly, cockle-doodle-doing noisily every few seconds.

I frown. "I thought roosters only do that at dawn?"

She laughs. "God, no. That's Boggle. He never shuts up." She pats my knee, smiling encouragingly at me. "It’s just a house, Bear. I promise you're fine. My brothers haven't worn anything but joggers and hoodies for like five years."

I blow out a breath. "I'm nervous."

"It's okay. You’re okay. Just be yourself."

I snort. "Still figuring out who that is."

"A sweet, smart, strong man who's working incredibly hard to overcome a very difficult past. And succeeding admirably, I might add." She squeezes my thigh. "C'mon, time to go in."

I sigh and reluctantly, nervously unfold from the CR-V, and open the rear door for Panzer, who hops down and stretches forward and backward, yawning prodigiously, shakes off violently, and then waits for my next move.

Noelle heads for the porch as I gather the bags containing the groceries from the trunk and joins me at the door. As soon as my feet hit the top step, the front door opens and Noelle’s mother bustles out, arms open.

"No-No! Thanks for coming early, sweetie." Her arms wrap around Noelle, who returns the hug with similar exuberance.

"Of course, Mom." She turns as I lumber up the steps, Panzer at my left heel. "Mom, this is Bear. Bear, this is my mom, Nina."

Her mom's eyes bug out of her head as she sees me—and then she sees Panzer.

She screams, ducking behind Noelle.

Noelle whirls, grabbing her mom’s arms and staring at her in shock. “ Mom ! What the heck?”

Noelle’s father appears in the doorway, concern on his face. "What in the world is going on?"

Noelle shakes her head. “Mom saw Bear's dog and screamed. I know he looks scary, but he's the sweetest dog you’ll ever meet. Relax."

Mom is shaking like a leaf, white as a sheet, still hiding behind her daughter.

Her dad pulls his wife against his side. "She got attacked by a dog the other day. She's still shaken up."

I set the bags down and go back down the steps to where Panzer is waiting, panting, tongue lolling. "Panzer, komm." I lead the dog across the front yard to the huge spreading oak tree. "Platz. Bleib."

Panzer settles onto his belly, licking my hand as I scruff the dog's ears.

"Sorry about that," I say, coming back up the steps. "Didn’t know."

Noelle frowns at her mom, who has a hand on her chest, her breathing finally starting to slow down. "You were attacked? By whose dog?”

Nina nods, swallowing hard. "I was taking a walk like I do every day. Two miles to the Cromwell farm and back. I passed by the Hendersons like always, and their dog jumped the fence and chased me, barking like crazy. He bit me. See?” She tugs the sleeve of her cardigan up to reveal a nasty set of healing bite marks. “I’ve known that dog since he was a pup. I have no idea what happened. I felt horrible, though. They had to call animal control."

Her dad huffs. "Never trusted that dog. Always thought he had a bit of pit bull in ‘im."

I frown at this but hold my tongue; pitties have a bad reputation, which most of them don’t deserve.

Noelle takes my hand and gestures from her father to me with her other hand. “Dad, this is Bear; Bear, this is my dad, Nicholas."

I shake Nicholas’ hand. "Sir." I offer Nina my hand, and when she takes it, I shake gently. “Ma’am. Sorry to have scared you. Panzer won't hurt a soul, I promise."

She looks at Panzer, who is dozing beneath the old oak with his chin on his paws. "I've always loved dogs. I'm just a bit…shaken up, like Nick said. Will he be okay there? He won't run away?"

I shake my head. "No ma'am. He's a very highly trained guard dog. Tell him to stay, he stays till I say otherwise."

"Was that German?" she asks.

I nod. "They get trained in German. Don't respond to English commands at all."

She watches as a squirrel darts across the yard a few feet from Panzer, oblivious to his presence. Panzer's head lifts from his paws and his ears perk up, his tail tapping, watching the critter scamper around the yard, but he doesn't otherwise move as the squirrel ascends another tree farther away.

"Would you look at that?" Nicholas marvels. "Never known a dog that didn't chase a squirrel."

"Did you train him?" Nina asks.

I shake my head. "No ma'am. Rescued him. His owner died, and animal control didn't realize he didn't know English commands. I guess I sorta bonded with him. We're a lot alike."

"Well, come on in,” Nicholas says, gathering the grocery bags. "No sense standing around letting all the cold air out."

Inside, white ceilings and walls are juxtaposed with dark wood trim and dark floors. A staircase greets you as you enter, leading up to the second floor, the banister squared off and thick and worn smooth, with a dark green carpet running up the center of the stairs. Right off the stairs is the library/office. A set of glass double doors stand open, revealing floor-to-ceiling built-in bookshelves lining the walls, with a heavy antique desk occupying the center of the room, littered with papers, stacks of books, a coffee mug full of pens, and a large iMac in one corner. A Tiffany lamp sits in the other corner, with a small glass terrarium next to it. A pair of black leather wingback chairs face the desk at angles to each other.

A narrow, low-ceilinged hallway runs past the library, leading to the sprawling, open-concept kitchen, dining room, and den. The kitchen is on the left, a round, eight-seat antique table in the middle, and a sunken living room on the right, carpeted with a thick, high-piled white carpet; a massive white leather sectional takes up most of the den, with two matching ottomans, a low, glass-topped coffee table and matching side tables. Throw pillows and knitted throw blankets are draped artfully here and there across the back of the couch, and stacks of books lay scattered on the coffee table and side tables. A breakfast nook occupies a rounded bump-out next to the sliding glass doors leading to the expansive deck overlooking the backyard. A huge griddle grill smolders on the deck, waiting for the meat.

In the far rear of the property, a pair of mini donkeys graze their fenced-off acre of pasture.

I feel Noelle watching me as I take it all in, eyes wide.

"This place is amazing," I say. "Peaceful."

Nicholas pulls the steaks and burgers out of the bags, rips open the packages, places the meat on a large platter, and then goes to town seasoning them with salt, pepper, and garlic. That done, he pulls a platter of chicken breasts from the fridge, and another of corn on the cob.

I watch as Noelle wafts around the kitchen, moving with seamless grace around her parents as they prepare the food. Nina washes a head of romaine and then sets about chopping it while Noelle peels carrots and chops them into small rounds and then moves on to celery. Nicholas grabs two of the platters and heads for the sliding doors. "Mind grabbing the door for me, big fella? You could bring those other platters out, too, if you’re so inclined."

"Yes sir,” I say, and tug the door open for him and then follow him out with the rest.

Nicholas deftly tosses the steaks onto the left side of the griddle and then uses tongs to lay the chicken breasts on the back, the burgers in neat rows in the middle, and the corn along the right.

That done, he hangs the tongs from a hook on the side of the griddle, opens a long white Yeti cooler, and produces a pair of long-neck beers.

He twists the tops off and hands one to me. "Cheers."

I take it, tap the neck against his, and take a small sip. "Thank you."

He nods, eying me. "So."

I can tell he's about to ask questions; I brace.

"Where'd you meet Noelle?"

"Animal Shelter. I volunteer there after work."

A nod, a sip. "Where do you work? What do you do?"

"Demolitions. I work for Riley Crowe." I take another tiny sip, pretending to take a longer one.

His eyes narrow immediately. "Crowe Demolitions. He runs that convict program."

My heart pounds. “Yes sir."

"You part of that?" His gaze is sharp.

I swallow a lump of nerves—or, try to. The lump stays in my throat, hot and hard. "Yes sir. I am."

Noelle arrives then, a glass of wine in her hand. "Dad, stop. No interrogating my friend."

Nicholas takes a long sip. "Just making conversation, honey."

"It's okay," I tell her.

Nicholas glances from me to Noelle, who's standing quite close to my side—closer than one would expect just a friend to stand. "What happened? What'd you do?"

"Dad. Stop," Noelle snaps.

I touch her shoulder. "Noelle, it's okay. I don't mind." I direct my gaze at her father. "I was involved in an armed robbery that went wrong. Someone was killed."

Nicholas's gaze narrows. "You kill him?"

I shake my head. "No sir. It was an accident. I got charged and convicted for it, though."

"But you were there. You were part of it." The judgment is clear in his voice.

I nod. “Yes sir, I was."

He looks at his daughter. Then at me again. "How long were you in prison for?"

"Ten years, almost eleven. Out on parole, working for Riley."

He nods slowly. "I see." A long pause, his gaze thoughtful. "Learn anything?”

"I did."

"Such as?"

Noelle touches my forearm to hold back my reply, glaring at her father. "Dad, please. He doesn’t need to be interrogated."

"Noelle." My voice is firm. "Let him ask his questions. You're his daughter. He has the right to know who you're hanging out with."

Nicholas looks from me to her, waiting for Noelle's answer.

"I'm an adult. I choose who I spend time with," she says. "I know all about Bear's past."

"It is your past, though, isn't it?" he asks me.

I nod. "Yes sir, it is. I live here in Three Rivers. I work for Riley. I volunteer at the shelter. I got nothin’ to do with anyone or anything from that part of my life anymore. I did some bad things, even if I didn’t do what I was accused of. I did do other stuff. I was given a second chance, and I plan on doing things right this time around."

Nicholas nods, setting his beer aside to check the food on the griddle. He notices that I've set my bottle down after only a few sips. "Not a drinker?"

"Not much of one, sir, no," I answer.

"Problems with it?"

I shake my head. "No. But I'm on parole. Doing my best to keep out of trouble." I frown at Noelle. "I forgot to give them the things I got."

She laughs. "Oh! All the excitement with my mom and Panzer. I'll be right back."

A moment or two later, her mother comes out onto the deck with the flowers I got her, already cut and in a vase. "These are lovely, Bear. Thank you very much."

I offer her a small smile. "You're welcome."

Noelle hands me the bottle, and I pass it to her dad. "For you, sir."

He accepts it, examining it. "Balvenie Twelve. Very nice. Unnecessary, but I appreciate the gesture." He sets it aside and gestures with his bottle at mine. "If you're not expected to pass any kind of test, I don't think one beer will harm anything, do you?"

I tip my head to one side, considering. "Probably not. Just trying to err on the side of caution."

He nods. "Wise man. Finish that and we'll switch you to soda, then. I appreciate your being forthcoming."

Noelle leans into my side and looks up at me. "You're okay out here?" When I nod, she lets go. "I should go back in and finish helping Mom."

"Go for it. I'm good."

After she disappears back inside, Nicholas spends a few moments flipping and rolling the food on the griddle and then turns back to me.

"So you and my daughter."

"We're friends, sir."

He looks past me through the glass, watching his wife and daughter work together. "She's always been very innocent. Perhaps a little naive. I don't know what she's told you about our beliefs, but we used to be quite...strict. We've loosened up a good bit over the past few years, though.” Here, he lifts his bottle. "Once upon a time, I'd never have allowed myself this, not even one.”

"She's talked about it some. Told me about Brennan."

His expression darkens. "That was very rough on her. She's not the same. That whole business really shook her."

I haven't seen that, myself. His assessment of his daughter doesn't exactly align with the woman I know. "I'm not sure about that, sir. I think she's better off."

He frowns. "Perhaps. She's wandered from the faith, however."

"Can't speak on that, sir. Not a church-going man, myself."

"Are you against it?"

I shrug, shake my head. "Not against it, no. Had some long talks with a chaplain, on the inside."

"So, then, what do you believe?"

I consider his question for a while. "Unsure. If there is a god, I've got some questions for him. Her. Or them, or whatever." I watch Noelle throw her head back and laugh at something her mom says; I feel myself smile a little at the way her laughter lights up her face. "I don't think she's wandered. I think she's…learned. Grown. She just believes a little differently than she did. Than you do.”

Nicholas regards me for a moment, thoughtful, even if I can’t discern what he’s thinking. “I suppose that makes sense. Brennan’s behavior was certainly inexcusable. It hurt her deeply."

A shout in the distance catches my attention: a pair of horses bearing riders are galloping this way, figures hunched over.

"Oh, there's the boys back from their ride," Nicholas says. "We can pick this up later. Hard to have deep conversations with those two knuckleheads around."

The riders haul the horses to a stop mere feet from the railing of the balcony, tossing the reins over the horses’ necks as they hop down. Her brothers are a little older than in the photo at her station. Tall, lean, athletic, and absurdly good-looking, the boys are dressed in joggers, sneakers, and T-shirts, with backward hats and wraparound mirrored sunglasses. While their clothes aren’t identical in color, they are the same style. Without different color clothing, I’d never be able to tell them apart at first glance.

They tie the reins to the railing of the deck, chattering at each other and over each other, bickering playfully about who won.

They tromp up the deck side by side, laughing—their laughter trails off when they see me.

"Holy shit, who the hell are you?" one of them says.

"Nathan Harper. Watch your mouth," Nicholas snaps without looking away from the grill.

"Sorry, Dad," the offender mutters; he's wearing gray joggers, a black shirt, and a black hat.

The other one, in black joggers, a white shirt, and a white hat, shoves his brother. "Yeah, Nate. Watch your mouth."

"Shut up, dweeb."

"Boys." It’s patient but annoyed.

They both go silent. I hold out my hand. "Bear Olafsson. Friend of Noelle's."

"What kind of friend? A special friend?" This is the other brother, Noah. The one in the white hat.

Noelle comes out with a giant glass bowl containing the salad she and her mother put together. "None of your business, Noah," she says. "Don’t be a buttinsky."

"You're a buttinksy," he snarks. "You've never brought anyone to a Saturday cookout before. Sue me for being curious if you're finally back in the saddle."

"About damn time," Nathan says.

Noelle sighs. "It's none of your business whether I’m back in the saddle ."

"You gave that cock—" Nathan cuts off, glancing at his father, who looks at him with an arched eyebrow. “That cock-a-doodle-dooo way too much your life. I'm just happy you're finally getting back out there."

Noelle smiles at her brother, setting the salad bowl down on the metal outdoor table. "Well, thank you, Nathan." She looks from me to her brothers. "Did you introduce yourselves?"

“Oh, shit—I mean shoot." Noah approaches me, hand extended. "Noah Harper. This is my twin, Nathan."

I shake his hand and then his brothers. "Bear."

"Bear," Noah repeats. "That's your real name?"

"Yeah, it is."

"Cool. It fits you."

Before I can think of a response, the sliding door opens and Noelle's sisters come out onto the deck.

Tall, slender, and classically beautiful, with long, swan-like necks and elaborately curled blond hair, they're both dressed professionally, one of them in a black pantsuit with a pale pink blouse, the other in a long red skirt, matching red high heels, and a white blouse, all but the top-most button done up modestly. Both carry expensive-looking purses and have an air of importance. Or maybe self-importance.

Their eyes widen as they see me.

"No-No, you brought a…friend?" The red-skirted one says.

Noelle joins me, tucking her hand around my elbow; the action has the air of her making a statement. "Yes, I did. Natasha, this is Bear. Bear, these are my older sisters.” She gestures at each sister as she names them. “Natasha and Nikki."

Nikki is in the black suit, and Natasha is in the red skirt.

I hold out my hand, and the women both shake mine—their grips are limp and delicate, so I only lightly clasp their hands before letting go immediately. "Nice to meet you both."

Their eyes scan me, assessing me—my clothes, my size, my tattoos, my hair, my beard. It feels like scrutiny and makes me uncomfortable.

Nina comes out, then, bearing a large wooden bowl covered with a cloth napkin. “Noelle, can you fetch the plates and silverware?"

It strikes me as odd that Noelle was summoned early to help, and even when the other siblings arrive, it's Noelle who's asked to set the table. None of the others so much as offers to help as Noelle carries a tall stack of heavy-looking, brightly-colored plates outside.

I hustle over to her and take the plates from her. "Let me help.”

She blinks at me. "Oh—um, yeah. I'll get the silverware."

I set a plate at each place as Noelle moves around the table behind me with the silverware.

"How are you doing?" she asks in a soft murmur pitched for my ears alone.

"Okay."

"Sorry about the third-degree," she says.

"Don't be. You brought home a convicted felon. He's gonna have questions."

She stands in front of me, looking up at me. “You're more than that, Bear. A lot more."

I allow a tiny smile—she likes it when I smile, I've noticed. Haven't had much reason to, but now, for her, I'm re-learning how to. "Thank you. I'm just saying, I get where he's coming from."

She shoots a sideways glance at her sisters. "Don't mind them. That's how they always are."

I arch an eyebrow. "Not sure what you mean."

She laughs, leaning into me. “Yes, you do." She pats my chest. "I appreciate you coming. I'm glad you're here."

"Thank you for inviting me. It's interesting to see your family. Where you grew up."

I feel eyes on us—Natasha and Nikki are watching us whispering to each other.

Noelle stares right back, not moving away from me; I get the sense that Noelle is using me to make a point of some sort. Something to ask her about when we're alone again.

The next few hours are…interesting. The food is amazing—the steak is the best I've ever had, not that I’ve had many: thick, juicy, well-seasoned, and perfectly cooked. With the meat are baked potatoes with all the fixings, corn on the cob, salad, rolls, and a homemade lemon meringue pie.

The one thing that bothers me, though, is my observations of Noelle's role in the family. Baked potatoes? Noelle made them. Dessert? Sliced and served by Noelle while everyone else sat around outside and chatted; once dinner was made, Noelle rose and served dessert automatically, and no one even offered to help her. When dessert was finished, who cleared the table? Noelle.

That's the last straw for me. As she balances a stack of plates in one hand and tries to open the door with the other, I look around the table, trying gamely to suppress a growl.

I don’t entirely succeed, and everyone, including Noelle, goes silent and turns to look at me.

I rise from my seat, take the stack of plates from Noelle's shocked and unresisting arms, and draw open the door. I set the stack in the sink, return to the outdoor table, and gather up bowls, dessert plates, and silverware.

Noelle frowns at me. "Bear, what are you doing? You're a guest. It's not your job."

I cast my baleful stare around the table. "Ain't yours either. Don't recall your name being Cinderella." A gasp comes from one of her sisters. I rake my eyes from face to face around the table. "Rest of you folks have hands. Maybe use 'em."

Stunned silence ensues, and I carry the dishes into the kitchen, set them in the sink, and head out the front door.

I don't like the burn of anger in my chest.

It's not safe. Not healthy.

For other people, I mean.

I sit in the grass under the old oak tree next to Panzer, who groans softly and rests his head on my thighs. I scratch his ears, letting the sunlight and warmth settle my nerves.

I hear her approach, feel her sit next to me. Let out a growling sigh. "Sorry, Noelle. Didn't mean to embarrass you."

She lifts my arm, ducks under it to put her head on my chest, and settles my arm around her waist, my hand on my hip. "You didn't embarrass me. You embarrassed my family."

“That’s worse. I just…" I shake my head, feeling the ridges of bark roll against my scalp. "Pissed me off how they all seemed to expect you to do all the work."

"That's how it's always been," she says. “I’m used to it."

"Shouldn't be. Least, how it seems to me. I ain’t ever had a family, so I guess I don't know shit about it, but it seems like everyone oughta help."

She’s quiet for a while. "Bear…" A sigh, her gaze going through the open front door to where we can make out movement in the kitchen. "They're in there doing the dishes together. It feels weird to not be the one doing it."

"I'm sorry for embarrassing them. I can walk home. Ain't that far."

I make to get up, but she doesn't move, instead pressing a hand to my chest, looking at me. "I'm not upset at you, Bear. I'm…I guess I'm realizing that you're right. It's been bothering me for a while, honestly, just…I didn’t want to feel it. I’ve always been expected to do more than my siblings. I don’t know why, it’s just how it is. It’s never been discussed or anything. Not in so many words. It just…it’s the way it is."

"But not how it should be."

"No, you're right." She tugs at my beard to get me to look down at her. "I've never had anyone stand up for me like that. Thank you."

"Got pissed off. Shot my mouth off."

"Bear, you're fine. It's okay."

I shake my head. "Worked hard to get rid of my temper. Got away from me today."

"You're the sweetest, gentlest man I've ever met," she says.

"Didn't know me, before."

"You're not that person anymore. If that was you pissed off, then I think you're in good shape."

“Wasn't my place to say anything."

She toys with the tip of Panzer's ear. "You're too hard on yourself, Bear." She gives my beard braid an affectionate tug. "Come on back inside."

"Gonna be awkward."

"What's life without a little bit of awkwardness?" She gets to her feet and extends both hands to me.

I take hers and give her a hint of my weight to pull at as I stand up. I follow her up the steps into the cool, dark foyer. Nina stands just inside at the base of the stairs, drying her hands on a pale yellow hand towel, her brown eyes thoughtful as Noelle and I enter.

"What did you say your dog's name was?" she asks.

"Panzer. Means tank," I answer.

She watches out the screen door as a robin hops, utterly without fear or concern, an inch past Panzer's nose as it hunts for worms and bugs in the grass. "I don't want to be afraid. I love dogs."

"Panzer is the gentlest soul you'll ever meet, Mom," Noelle says. “Except maybe for Bear."

Nina's hands shake as she squeezes the hand towel in both fists. "Could…could you call him over here, please? I'd like to try to meet him properly.”

"Panzer," I call; his ears perk up and his attention laser focuses on me. "Komm."

He bolts to his feet and trots across the lawn and up the steps. I open the screen door for him, and he enters the home, tail swaying side to side, a big puppy grin on his face. He nuzzles Noelle's hand with his nose in greeting.

"Panzer—sitz," I command. His butt plops to the floor. I look at Nina. "He won't hurt you. Let him sniff the back of your hand."

Nina inches toward the massive creature, who watches her, tail starting to thump. She holds out her hand to him, and he sniffs it, and then nudges her palm with his forehead, begging shamelessly for ear scratches.

Nina laughs, giving him what he wants, earning a happy groan and a noisily thudding tail.

"Awww," she says, bending over to accept a slobbery kiss on the cheek. "He really is a dear, isn't he?" She straightens, meeting my gaze. "You were right, you know. We've taken our darling Noelle for granted for a long time." She pats my shoulder. "I think my husband would like a word. He's out in the barn with the boys."

I nod. "I'll go talk to him." I look at Noelle. "Tell him to heel. You remember the word?"

She scrunches her brow in thought, then nods. "Panzer. Fuss."

Panzer circles around behind Noelle and stands at her right leg, looking up at her expectantly.

"Remember the other commands I've used?" I ask.

She nods. "I think so."

I look at the dog. "Stay with Noelle."

He gives a single short bark in response and leans his weight against her thigh. "Good boy."

His tail thumps.

I go through the house, onto the deck, and across the yard toward the big red metal structure. There is a large, rolling, overhead door for admitting tractors or boats or whatever and a smaller person-sized door; the former is closed, the latter open. I enter—buzzing fluorescent lights cut the gloom within, illuminating a green and yellow riding lawn mower, a larger red tractor with some sort of mowing implement hooked to the back, an old, dusty, battered red Ford pickup with the hood open, random detritus piled in the bed; piles of reclaimed wood, stacks of cedar shakes, rolling tool chests, coils of hose lay scattered here and there…wherever I look, there’s more stuff. There’s another large rolling door in the back wall, also closed; along the left wall near the back are a pair of stalls, presumably for the horses, built out of two-by-fours and black powder-coated steel.

Hay bales are stacked against the wall next to the stalls in serried ranks, reaching fifteen overhead, along the wall, and dropping down to the height of a single bale. Nicholas is restacking bales, throwing them up toward the back wall to make room near the front, condensing the footprint.

I watch him for a minute and then move up to help. Each bale of ripe, pungent green hay is bound with parallel bands of dull red twine. Nicholas grabs a strand in each hand, heaves the bale up to his hips, ducks to get under it, and tosses it up to the next rank.

The bales must be heavier than they look—Nicholas is lean and strong, despite being at least sixty.

"Got it," I say.

I grab a bale in both hands and heave—I estimate it weighs at least fifty pounds, if not closer to sixty. Easy. I toss the bale up to the next rank and then grab a bale in each hand, tossing them simultaneously into place.

Nicholas snorts, watching. "Alright then."

Two by two, I move the stacks upward and back toward the wall until the lowest stack is chest height.

Nicholas pats my back. "That's good. Appreciate it." He laughs, shaking his head. "Woulda taken me all afternoon to do what you did in ten minutes."

I shrug. "All good." I dab at my upper lip with my sleeve and then use the hem of my shirt to dab at my forehead. "About what I said, Mr. Harper."

"Nick, please." He crosses to the rear door and presses a button—the door rolls upward, emitting a sliver of sunlight that expands into a huge, blinding square.

A few feet away, the boys are brushing the horses as they nibble at the grass, the saddles, blankets, and bridles nearby.

He watches the boys groom the animals and then turns to look at me. "You care about my daughter."

"I do."

He nods. "She'll give till she doesn't have anything left to give. She's got the most nurturing spirit of anyone I've ever known. Instinctively takes care of people. Wants to please everyone."

“I’ve seen that."

"We all sort of let her take on that role, I guess. Got used to it." He looks at me again. “The situation with Brennan did a number on her."

"I think she's okay."

He bends and plucks a bent nail from the ground, twisting the rusty tip between his finger and thumb. "You're not who I would have picked for her."

"Of course not." I know I shouldn't say what comes to mind next, but I do anyway. "Brennan was. Look how that turned out. Maybe let her decide."

He snorts, nods. "Wise words." A glance at me. "Her sisters won't be easy to win over."

"Not tryin' to win anyone or anything, sir. She's my friend."

"In my experience, son, there's no such thing as a purely platonic relationship between a heterosexual man and woman. I know she's friends with Thomas and Colin, and I know that's different."

"Up to her to tell you what she and I are or aren't, sir."

He snorts again, smirking at me with a shake of his head. "You're no one's fool, are you?"

"Hope not, sir."

"Boys!" Nicholas calls. "Make sure they have hay and water when you're done."

"We know," Nathan yells back. "Ain't our first rodeo, ya'll." The last part is in a fake southern drawl.

I follow Nicholas back to the house, pausing at the base of the steps leading up the deck, turning to take in the sweeping, peaceful view of their property.

I like it out here.

Another hour or so of chit-chat in the kitchen, and then Noelle declares that we need to go.

I'm on the front porch with Panzer, waiting for Noelle to finish her goodbyes. The solid inner door is open, just the screen door preventing bugs from getting inside. Which is how I overhear Noelle getting cornered by her sisters.

"Noelle, wait." Sister One—no clue which; her voice has a slight rasp to it.

"We need to speak with you for a moment." Sister Two; her voice is smoother and more articulate.

Noelle sighs; it sounds annoyed to me. "Yes?"

"This…friend of yours." Sister One, raspy. The doctor. Natasha?

"What about him, Nat?"

"What are you doing?" Nat sounds…almost disgusted.

"Indeed," Sister Two says—Nikki, the news anchor. "I know the breakup with Brennan was rough on you, getting dumped like that. But you can do better."

"He's a criminal ,” Natasha says.

"We thought you had standards." Nikki.

My stomach twists, acidic. My impulse is to bolt before I hear anything else, but I resist it. My footsteps will tell them I'm here, listening to their conversation. Also, I'd like to know what Noelle says in response.

Her pause before answering is long and tense. "I don't expect either of you to understand. And I don't need your permission or your approval."

"But surely you value our advice," Natasha says.

"We only want what's best for you," Nikki adds.

"Okay, several points," Noelle says. "Number one, Brennan did not dump me— I left him . He was cheating on me. He is a lying, cheating scumbag, and I hope he gets STDs. Screw Brennan Engler. Number two, Bear is more than just a friend. I care about him… a lot . Number three—I can do better? Go to hell, Nik. He can do better than me . Number four, he’s not a criminal. You know nothing about him—if you’d taken even five minutes to talk to him, to get to know him, you'd know he's smart, kind, gentle, caring, and thoughtful." She lets out a breath. "I feel safe with him. I feel seen. And he makes me feel brave."

"You barely know him." Nat.

"We just want you to be safe." Nik.

"And he doesn't seem very…safe." Nat.

Noelle laughs, and it's not exactly a kind sound. It’s sarcastic, biting. “As I said, I don't expect either of you to understand. You don't know me. You don't know my life." Her voice nears the door. "Now, Bear and I have other things to do. I'll see you later." The door opens and she sees me standing there. "Bear, um…”

Her expression is troubled and concerned. I touch the small of her back. "I heard. It’s okay. Let's just go."

Once we're in the car and heading back toward town, she looks at me apprehensively. "Bear, about my sisters."

"They care about you." I wave a hand. "I understand their concerns. It's okay."

"But…they were being judgmental. It's not okay." She takes my hand. "They should give you a chance."

I shake my head. "They had valid points. I may not be a criminal anymore, but I was. We haven’t known each other very long. You can do better. They have every right to express their concerns to you. Maybe even an obligation."

She lets out a harsh breath. Shakes her head again. “I guess you’re right about most of that. But I take issue with the idea that I can do better than you."

"You're smart. Beautiful. Hard-working. Successful. About to own your own business." I swallow bitterness rather than let it infect my words. "I'm an ex-con working demolition. My record ain’t going anywhere, Noelle. You may see more in me, and that means a whole fuckin' lot to me, but not everyone else will. I get that. Can't change it, and neither can you."

Noelle squeezes my hand. "My sisters are good people. They just… sometimes have their own way of expressing themselves about things. They’ve also been through a lot of their stuff. They meant well."

"I know. Can't say it doesn’t bother me a little, but that's on me. They didn't say anything that wasn't true. The part about you being able to do better is subjective." I let out a breath. "I like spending time with you. I wanna get to know you. We can back off on the physical stuff till you're comfortable with it. You wanna keep hanging out with me, I'll gladly take all the time you're willing to give me."

She smiles. "I like spending time with you, too, Bear. Very, very much. So you'll see a lot more of me, okay? Promise."