Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
HARRY
L ouisa May bucks against the old workbench underneath me. Her sweet pussy milks my cock so fuckin’ hard it takes all I have to stay upright and not succumb to the stars invading my vision.
Heat splashes up my lower spine, balls cinching tight as I shoot hot ropes of release deep inside her. I growl her name, gripping her hips in a bruising hold.
I meant every damn word I said. She is mine. Always has been, always fuckin’ will be.
If she ever runs again, I’ll drag her back here, kickin’ and screaming, like the caveman she turns me into. Because without her I’m a man lost and wanderin’, not seeing a way forward. No direction.
Hell, Ma was right.
She usually was.
My forehead meets Louisa’s spine, me spent and wantin’ to be folded around her, and she turns her head. Green eyes flutter open, and it’s in them I see something I have never seen before in her.
Contentment.
This may be the first moment of Louisa’s life that she’s not caught up in her head. Second-guessing every decision, every thought.
I did that for her. We did that.
“Satisfied looks good on you, darlin’.”
She scoffs a light laugh. Her head hits the bench as her breathing slows. Still inside her, I don’t want to pull out. If we could stay joined together for the rest of time, I’d take it.
“Harry?” My name is a breathy whisper.
“Yeah, Lou?”
“I need my hands.”
I chuckle as she holds them up. I flick the knot loose and slide the rope from her reddened wrists. As she turns back to face me, I pluck them up, kissing the soreness on each one. Fuck. Hurtin’ her wasn’t my plan.
I don’t think there was anywhere near enough blood in my head to think much through, to be honest. She rubs a thumb over the red area, and my brows fall.
“It’s okay. I wanted it as much as you did,” she offers.
“Somehow, I doubt that.”
Her arms slide over my shoulders and curl around my neck as she pushes onto her tiptoes. Her nose brushes mine before she pecks a kiss to my lips. “I have no doubt about you. And for the record, Harrison Rawlins, I couldn’t run from you again, even if I wanted to.”
I can’t respond. My throat is thickened to the point of strangulation.
She cups my face, hands on my jaw as she studies my face. A shiver shudders through her body.
“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” I take her hand, pulling my jeans up with a hand. Half-naked and shaking from the cold and the last twenty minutes, we head into the house. Down the hall, I turn on the shower and test the water. When it’s hot, I usher Lou into the steaming water.
“You too,” she says.
I lose the jeans and boxers and step into the stream. Instantly, she presses against my chest, her palms at my collarbones. I fold around her. This is how it is supposed to be. The two of us, building something incredible.
I will fight with every last breath I have to make sure she has the life she wants.
Every single one.
* * *
Sitting in the bank manager’s office on Thursday morning, I tug at the collar of my shirt. Shoving my hat between my hand between my legs as I lean forward, I watch the man in front of me tally away. For the first month of winter, it’s far too hot.
Maybe it’s the fact we are about to receive the first mortgage repayment request. After the deposit, sale of two of the smaller blocks, and Louisa’s installment, I managed to scrape together a minimal extra payment to prevent the shock of a larger quarterly payment.
Nothing prepares me for the figure typed onto the slip of paper the manager slides over the desk to me. If Lou wasn’t sitting beside me, I would have stormed out, letting the frustration get the better of me.
But she is.
So, I don’t.
She has a way of making me want to be a better man. This situation, as disheartening it is, is no different. I shift on my seat, hold my damn tongue, and take a deep breath.
“It’s more than you thought?” Lou leans over, speaking softly.
“A little.” My brows drop and I spin my hat between my fingers, sending the brim around.
“Interest rates have moved. This is in line with the current mortgage rates. If it’s going to be a pro?—”
“No. We’ll be fine. How many days ’til it comes due?”
“Tomorrow fortnight. You have fourteen days to find the money, Rawlins.”
Fucking hell.
Louisa’s worried gaze swings between me and the bank manager. His attention turns to her, a smirk on his ruddy face as he says, “Hear you’re buyin’ out the Mancinis. I know at least three investors wantin’ a piece of that place. Play poker Thursdays with them, you see.”
“Sounds like a boy’s club. I wouldn’t know anything about those,” Lou says, her expression unreadable.
He shifts on his seat. “How New Age of you, Miss Masters.”
It only takes a split second to recognize the sarcasm in his condescending tone. To my surprise, Lou rallies.
She gives him the most insincere smile I’ve ever seen bless her beautiful face. “Well, you know what they say, if you can’t grow a pair. Outbid them.”
I stifle a laugh, poorly disguising it with a cough. “Right, we must be done here.”
I stand and offer Lou my hand. She pushes to her feet, but her heated stare weighing on the oversized bank manager doesn’t waiver.
“Two weeks, Harry. Default, and we go to auct?—”
I let the door slam behind us, cutting him off. Who kicked his fuckin’ cat? Last time, when I was buying, he was all smiles and handshakes. Now, he’s like the repo man turned mean.
Nice to know the coin can flip so quick. Not surprising, though, round these parts. People’s demeanor changes with their loyalty. My bet is someone made him a better offer.
Over my dead body are they taking our future away.
The muted midmorning sun slaps me from my mental loathing. I take stock of the steady workings of Main Street, shoving my hat onto my head as Louisa’s fine hand slides into mine.
“We’ll figure this out. One way or another.”
I flick my gaze to her worried face.
That right there, that look, is what I never wanted to see.
The last thing I want to do is give Louisa May another reason to fret. I’m supposed to be providing her with a good life.
Dammit.
This is not the start for us I imagined. Already on the back foot and having to make hard choices.
I freeze up on the sidewalk. All thoughts of grabbing some lunch fade with the last of my stupid hope.
She’s wrapped around me a second later. I dip my head, my hat hiding us both away from the world. “We get through the next few weeks, do the best we can.”
Her words are small comfort when I’m tryin’ to build something that’ll make her stay. For good.
Something she can’t walk away from.
As if our relationship, my worth, is intricately tied to the life I can produce, the empire I can found. A scoff rattles up my throat.
The Rawlins Empire.
Hilarious.
One foot in the door on a run-down ranch and a half share of a tiny restaurant is no empire.
“...Harry?”
“Hey, yeah?” I snap my gaze from the distance, where I wasn’t even aware it drifted to. Louisa comes into focus, her face is close, warm hands cupping my jaw.
“Where did you go?” she says with a chuckle.
“Sorry, tryin’ to figure this all out.”
She tilts her head, as if reprimanding a small child. “Harry Rawlins, that is for the both of us to work out. You’re not in this alone anymore. Or have you forgotten that singular detail?”
Her eyebrows are raised as she waits for me to respond.
“No, ma’am,” is all I can manage.
I’ve gone from a one-man operation to the luckiest man on the planet in a matter of months. And I know she’s here. And things are new. But what about when things are hard? When life seems impossible. Will she sta?—
“Come on! Lunch, before I fade away to a shadow.”
What else can I do but follow? A beat later, Lou opens the door to Darla’s Diner. I hesitate, and she turns back. “You’re not hungry?”
“I am, but?—”
She smiles at me, the kind of smile to carry me through the worst of days just by remembering the warmth it brings to my chest. The noise of the busy diner filters through the half-open door.
“You sure, Lou?”
“Our money is good as any here. Besides, I don’t hold grudges.” She winks at me and disappears through the door. I tug it open and walk inside. Cynthia is chatting to Lou as she drops into the last booth on the left. My old spot.
I slide in opposite and remove my hat, tossing it to the seat. With a nod to Cynthia, I shift my eyes to Louisa’s. Despite the bank and the hard week, and the fact she is scraping by with the restaurant, she’s all sunshine.
We order and Darla brings out our food herself. She and Louisa have a short chat about menus and local gossip. It’s all I can do to watch Lou in her element. Food, eating, cooking, talking about it, teaching it. That’s her callin’. There’s no denying it.
We get stuck into our lunch, and I’m done before too long. Leanin’ back in the old booth seat, I slide a toothpick from the center container on the table. I bite down on it with my molars, mulling it over like a cow chewing its cud as I let the thoughts of what life could hold for Louisa and me run rampant.
For the umpteenth time since Ma passed, I grapple with the things she told me. What life will mean if I have this incredible woman by my side for the rest of my days. The long, hard days. The cold, dark nights. The moments of pure, unbridled pleasure we bring each other. How many of those we could make.
“What on earth are you thinking about, Harry Rawlins?” Louisa giggles.
My face falls. I must have had a ridiculous look on it. I clear my throat and lean over the booth. “Fencin’.”
Louisa blushes instantly.
“There’s so much of it we need to do. All that lost time to make up for,” I say, each syllable a low, raspy noise.
Her lips part, eyes burning into mine.
I chuckle, plucking the toothpick from my teeth. I dump it to my empty plate. “That is, if we can make this work.”
I’m not talkin’ about us anymore. Or maybe I am. Still.
There is still a part of me waitin’ for her to realize where she is. Who she’s with. That tiny part of me expects her to hightail it outta this map-dot town as fast as she can. I’m yet to remove the last sliver of doubt.
God knows I want to.
I need to.
I’m just not there yet.
“Oh shoot!” Louisa jumps up, rounding the small booth table. “I’m late.” She grabs her bag, dotting a peck to my temple. “I’ll see you at home, okay?”
“Sure thing, darlin’.”
I smile as she leaves, but when the diner door swooshes shut, it falls.
First the mortgage payment, then my stupid damaged heart attaching a financial outcome to the love of my damn life leavin’. I push to my feet and pay the bill, leaving Cynthia a good tip.
The trip home is too quiet.
Just the old truck and me. It’s too familiar. A reminder of what my life was not so long ago.
Before Lou blew back into town.
I make the ranch and pull into the driveway, parkin’ by the house. The soft glow of the kitchen lights Louisa leaves on tugs a smile to my lips. As if she is privy to how this mind of mine works, and this is her way of showing me she’ll be back. Killing the engine, I make my way inside.
The warmth of our home lures me to a calmness I haven’t felt in months. Not since before Ma passed. And my thoughts wander to her.
Before I realize, I’m standing in the doorway to her bedroom. Lights off, it’s as if she’s just out with Evelyn, and I’m due to head to town and pick her up.
It’s when I flick the light switch and the room bursts with brightness that I see every detail that reminds me she ain’t coming back. The brush and mirror on the dresser. Her nightgown folded and tucked under the pillow on her side of the bed. Her floppy hat, sitting on the old wooden chair that used to be in my room. The one I made in shop back in high school, all those years ago.
I step inside.
The neat space smells like her perfume, the cheap floral scent she always wore. Her ivory hair clip sits in a small, clear glass bowl. The tarnished mirror, edges decorated with some old-world ornate trim, leans against the wall. I catch a glimpse of my reflection before I spot two letters leaning against the right-hand side of it.
I lift the ivory stationery from its spot. Sliding them through my hands, I study Ma’s elegant handwriting. The first envelope is addressed to me. The second, to Lou.
“Huh.” I step back and sink onto the edge of the bed.
I open mine. Hands shaking, I stare at the paragraphs before reading a word.
What could she possibly say I hadn’t already heard?
My darling Harry,
I know you would tell me it’s morbid to write letters to people while you’re still alive and well. But, just in case, because this is too important, I am doing it anyway.
I know you have worked yourself ragged to keep me housed and fed over the last decade. I also know you think it is expected of a son to do so for his mother. I disagree.
I have wished every day for things to change for the better.
I’d almost given up hope. Then, one morning, as I trawled the aisles of the grocer, she appeared.
Your Louisa.
I can’t tell you how happy that made this old lady’s heart, my sweet boy.
Because her being here with you, I have a feeling about this, is the key to everything changing.
Everything.
Now, I can’t promise I’ll be here to see the two of you through it all, but I want you to know I have done everything in my power to make sure you stand a chance at this life you want so badly. So, you give it your best shot.
I’ll be watching. Good things are coming your way, mark my words.
And I love you more than life itself. You are the best thing I have ever done.
Ma xx
P.S. You make sure Louisa gets my letter.
P.P.S. What you’re needing is in the small velvet box, top right drawer. You’ll know when it’s time.
Moisture drops onto the page. The air in my lungs fights its way upward past the stone occluding my throat. I swipe at my face as tears fall, drenching my stubbled jaw. I fold the paper in half and return it to the envelope. It slips from my hand onto the bed. Louisa’s sits in my lap.
Staring at the wall, I slide off the end of the bed to the floor. I work a finger under the flap of Louisa’s envelope. I shouldn’t read it.
It’s to her from Ma.
It’s not for me.
But I can’t help myself. It’s the last bit of her left behind. Reading her words is like hearing her voice.
I flip the flap open and slide the letter out. I open the paper with a hand and skim over the curvy handwriting. I won’t look at it properly. Just a quick look.
That’s what I tell myself.
The quick skim screeches to a halt when I see my father’s name.
That’s the last person I thought Ma would be writing Lou about.
When I comprehend the sentence in full, the letter falls from my hand.
Fuckin’ hell, Ma.