Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
LOUISA
“H oney, I’m home!” I coo as I slip in the front door and shut it quickly to stave off the winter chill. “Brr, it’s damn cold outside.”
I kick off my shoes and pad to the kitchen in my socks. I tug the refrigerator door open and pull out the sweet tea. God knows I could use some.
When nobody responds, I set the jug on the counter and wander down the hall. The light in Rosie’s room is on. That’s odd. We haven’t ventured into her space since the funeral.
I stop in the doorway to find Harry sitting on the floor, leaning against the foot of the bed.
Shit.
Closing the distance, I sink to the floor by his side. I nudge his shoulder with mine, and he turns to face me. He’s all tear-streaked cheeks, red eyes, and clenched jaw.
“Oh, Harry.”
An ache swells in my chest. He moves his mouth like he’s going to say something, but snaps it shut and snaps his gaze to the dresser. The way his stare burns into it, I’m surprised the old piece of furniture doesn’t burst into flames.
He holds out an envelope to me. Another sits by his other side, open, the letter underneath the cream envelope. I take mine from his fingers.
“She wrote me?”
He barely nods.
Sucking in a breath, I turn the envelope over. It’s not sealed. Maybe he read it. I don’t mind. I slide the letter from its casing and unfold it. Harry doesn’t move an inch as I read Rosie’s pristine handwriting.
To my dearest Louisa,
I can call you that, can’t I?
You are so precious to my Harry and me. And you have always felt like my daughter. I saw it, the connection between the two of you, the day you met. When we got home, I saw how my son lit up with the mention of you. Well, a mother knows these things.
The years you were gone were hard, I’m not gonna lie. And I understand why you left. Really, I do. More than you will ever understand. To be independent in this day and age as a woman, is truly admirable. Not everyone sees it that way, specially in these parts. I blame our mothers before us.
Enough of that.
I want to talk to you about Eddy.
And Harry.
I never told Harry about that night. Being a mother takes certain sacrifices. Some small and some much, much bigger. I have made my bed, and I’ll lie in it when my time comes. But I don’t regret dealing with Eddy, it needed to be done. It was the only thing I could give you two in the way of a real shot at a life together. He never would have allowed it. Well, you know the rest.
Now, to my darling Harry. He really is the most incredible man. I’m biased, as all mothers are, but I never could have asked for a kinder, harder working, more selfless son than our Harry. That man would give the air in his lungs for the people he loves. He’s always been able to read what people need. So, promise me, when I’m gone, you will take care of him in the ways a good woman does for her husband.
Now, don’t go getting all coy on me girl, we both know that is where you two are heading. And, on the off chance I don’t get to be there when you do, your something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue are in my top left dresser drawer in a box for you. Only, don’t look at them ’til that day. Do me that one little favor, sweetheart.
That’s all for now.
Yours,
Rosie.
For now. Like she’d planned to tell me other things. Like we’d have time to bond, mother to daughter. My chin wobbles as I stare at the paper in my hand. It blurs, the pressure building behind my eyes.
I sniff, trying my best to hold it together, and look up to Harry. His jaw is set, and hurt and pain lance through his deep blues.
His jaw feathers. “You knew,” he chokes.
Knew...
About Eddy.
That Rosie?—
And Harry mustn’t have.
Heavens above.
My heart cracks, and I reach for him as I nod.
The tears fall, warming my cheeks.
Before I can touch him, he jerks to his feet and stalks for the doorway.
“Harry,” I plead.
He throws a hand up, not turning back, and disappears into the hallway.
I bolt from the floor and take off after him. “Where are you going?”
“Fencin’.”
He shoves his hat on his head, tugging his coat from the hook. He slides his boots on. I slump against the corner of the hallway that meets the kitchen.
“Come on, you’ll freeze out there. It’s late. Too dark... Please stay.”
He doesn’t say a word.
The door slams, and the first sob tumbles from my twisted face. I slide down the wall and pull my knees to my chest. The pain that held him captive intensifies the ache in my chest. I choke on the slim wisp of air left in my lungs and rub my hands over my face.
Harry Rawlins.
My fire.
Always my ultimate demise.
We have always been strung too tight.
The crackling tension running between us has always been too much. We feel everything. We feel more than we should. Say things we don’t mean. Do things that hurt, things we would take back if we could.
Like the incredible highs can only be balanced by the lowest of lows. We, stupidly, let them take us there.
Nope, not anymore.
I push to my feet, march for the front door, and pull on my coat. Boots and my dress will have to do. I shove my own hand-me-down hat onto my head to keep me warm.
I push out into the dark and follow the echoing clangs of tools being tossed into the back of the old buckboard.
I find him gripping the workbench, bent over, shoulders heaving, head hanging. His rough breaths are the only sound in the large, frigid space.
I fold my arms over my chest when I file in behind him.
“Fine. You want to fence, we do it together.”
He turns back, arms hanging by his side. The fire in his eyes isn’t something I’ve ever seen directed at me before. I set my shoulders back.
He homes in on me. “You’re not coming.”
“Yes. I am.”
“I don’t need you, Louisa.” The second the words leave his mouth, his eyes dim, his body slacking. “I-I didn’...”
“I know.”
My chin wobbles again. He’s struggling with this. It’s hurting him, and there is so little I can do.
Eliminating the distance between us, I brush a hand over his jaw. “Yes, you do. You do need me. And I need you right back. So, we’re fencin’. I ain’t askin’.”
His face crumples, but he schools it back. His hand takes mine from his face, and he puts space between us and paces by the bench. It’s all I can do to watch him stew.
He stops and lifts the pliers from the bench. I follow the movement with the memory of the last time he held those stuck in my mind.
“You should have told me, Louisa May.”
I snap my gaze from the tool in his hand to his eyes. “No, I shouldn’t have.”
“Why not? Hey?” His voice is rough, anger and torment twisting the tension in it until it warps. When I hesitate, he paces again. Lifting the hat from his head, he runs a hand through his hair.
“It wasn’t my secret to tell, Harry,” I say softly.
He spins toward me, fire in his eyes. “What the actual hell, Louisa!” he roars.
I flinch.
Harry’s never raised his voice at me. He curses, sure. Loses his temper occasionally at some unsuspecting fence. But never before has his anger been directed at me.
The bridge of my nose prickles, tears burning the back of my eyes.
Ugh, not now.
I push a little taller and take a determined step toward where he seethes.
“You talk to me like that ever again , Harrison Rawlins, and they’ll be the last words you ever say to me.” Fire courses through my veins, tears burning still. I am his equal. His captain, if Rosie gets her way. This is not happening.
So, I say everything I’ve wanted to since the day Rosie defended me in their old living room when Eddy went rampant.
“He was hurting you, Harry. Hurting you both. Your mother did what she could to keep you safe. To keep us safe. She sacrificed everything so you would have what you want. She did this for you !”
He starts to shake.
His jaw slackens before he gasps on a breath he can’t seem to capture.
Oh god.
His hands curl to fists before he turns away, closing in on the workbench. Both fists land with a bang. The heartbreaking groan that follows has the tears I’ve been fighting back spill over.
“Har—” I hold out a hand.
Wanting so badly to touch him. To take away the pain that the man who should have loved and protected his only son gave him in spades.
“She couldn’t let him hurt you anymore,” I whisper at his back.
He turns, so slowly. Silver lines his eyes.
“I know that!” The words are a mangled mess of tortured emotions. “You think I don’t know what he was capable of?”
His chest heaves. He rips the hat from his head, and it falls to the ground as he rakes both hands through his hair. “It should have been me! I should have knocked the old bastard off years ago. Hell, the whole town knew he was one drink away from a fatal accident. It wouldn’t have even been hard. Instead, my frail goddamn mother who wouldn’t hurt a fly had to do it. Because I couldn’t.”
A broken sob falls from my lips, and I press them together to stem the flow. Reaching for him with a shaking hand, I take a step.
He shakes his head and falters sideways.
“No, Lou. I wasn’t man enough to do what had to be done to protect the both of us. Now, Ma’s died with it on her fuckin’ conscience.”
My own body burns, each breath so choppy my chest aches. As if Harry’s pain radiates through me.
He burns, I burn.
Hauling air in through clenched teeth, he falters backward and hits the bench. His legs buckle and I lunge for him, doing my best to hold him up. Grappling at his face, I try to rid his face of the tears streaming over his cheeks. He chokes, slumping against the lower shelf of the bench.
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. Harry.” I’m shaking my head so fiercely, tears fly from my chin and soak into his jacket. “You hear me. Your parents made their own choices. Your father?—”
Deep blues lift to my face.
“He was a monster.” A faraway look descends over his gaze. “I should have done it. I should have saved her.”
“Then you and I would be having this conversation through plate glass,” I say, tilting my head, giving him a wry smile. The best I can force right now. Nowhere good enough for the pain he is in.
His breathing settles, and I shift onto his lap. Sliding my hands beneath his jacket, I huddle into his chest for warmth. With the tension dissipating, the chill is relentless, finding us instantly.
“You’d still be around if I went to prison, Lou?”
I huff a strangled laugh. “I don’t think I have any choice at this point.”
I lift my head to give him a cheeky smile.
His mouth comes down to mine before my lips even have the chance to tip up. Hands moving up his chest, I let my fingers travel over the pounding pulse points in his neck. Closing my palms over his jaw, I open for him.
Like I ever had a choice.
Dizzy from his heat, his kiss, I break away. His forehead rests against my own. We breathe heavily, the air from our lungs mingling like we could never be untangled ever again.
“Since we’re makin’ the most of things,” Harry says, but swallows hard. “I want to name the ranch after Ma.”
I nod, and the tears prickle the bridge of my nose again.
I couldn’t think of a more fitting sentiment.
“What are you thinkin’ we should call it, then?” I ask.
“Rosie’s Ranch?”
I scrunch my nose up, and he loses a strained chuckle.
God, the sound is like coming up for air after the last hour.
“No, my love. That’s not it.”
“Alright, Captain, what do you think we should call it?” He raises a single brow.
I let my attention wander around the old, weathered barn, like the words will reveal themselves. It finally snags on the two sagging wooden doors. The tight grain of the hardwood that has stood the test of time speaks to me.
“Rosewood,” I breathe.
Harry’s gaze tracks to where mine stays stuck. “I like it. Rosewood Ranch.”
“You’re going to need a new sign,” I say, shifting my focus back to those deep blues I love.
“ We are gonna need a new sign.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Louisa May, you were right the first time.”
“I don’t understand...”
“Neither of us have a choice at this point. So, your name is going to have to be on that sign somewhere, too.”
I scoff a laugh. “Alright, if you say so.”
“I do, woman.”
The phrase takes my breath away.
I do.
Except this time, the thought of being tied to Harry Rawlins for the rest of my life feels like my greatest adventure to come. The thrill it brings is overwhelming.
He sighs, and it’s exasperated.
“What is it?”
“Roundup in a few days. We’re gonna have to make it count, or we won’t get the chance to rename the ranch, let alone hang the sign.”
I slump into his chest.
Right, the mortgage payment.
Dammit.
“We’ll figure it out.”
“I damn hope so,” he says, letting his head fall back onto the lower shelf. His Adam’s apple bobs as the veins in his neck pound away. The life force of Harry Rawlins.
We can’t lose this place.
Not now.
That would break this man.
After everything he’s been through, there is no way this ship can sink. It just can’t.