Chapter Nineteen
~ Harlow ~
I wiped my sweaty palms against my jeans for the hundredth time, my stomach twisting itself into knots that would make Pa's fishing line look organized. Dan hummed along to some country tune on the radio, tapping the steering wheel with his fingers like he didn't have a care in the world.
That made one of us.
My heart hadn't stopped hammering since we'd left town, and now that we were only minutes away, I thought it might beat right out of my chest.
"You okay over there?" Dan asked, glancing away from the road to flash me that grin that still made my insides flutter after all these months. "You look like you're waiting for a firing squad."
"I'm fine," I lied, my voice coming out rougher than I intended. "Just thinking."
"About?" he pressed, one hand leaving the wheel to squeeze my knee briefly.
I shrugged, not trusting myself to speak without giving away the surprise. Three months since Dan had been shot, and I'd somehow managed to keep the cabin a secret the whole time. It hadn't been easy, but my brothers had helped whenever they were free.
The truck bounced over a rut in the road, and Dan winced slightly, his free hand instinctively going to his chest where the bullet wound was still healing. The gesture made my own chest ache in sympathy.
"Still sore?" I asked, grateful for the change of subject.
"Only when I breathe," he joked, dropping his hand back to the wheel. "Getting better every day, though. Doc told me before I left the hospital that I'll be cleared for light duty next week if everything looks good at my checkup."
Pride swelled in my chest. Dan had pushed himself hard in recovery, determined not to let Collins win by keeping him down. It was one of the million things I loved about him—that stubborn streak that matched my own.
"So, you gonna tell me where we're headed?" Dan asked as we approached the long drive that led to the McKenzie homestead. "Or is this one of those 'trust me' situations?"
"Trust me," I said, managing a smile despite the butterflies wreaking havoc in my stomach. So many things could go wrong with what I was about to do. What if he hated it? What if he thought it was too much, too soon? What if—
"Always do," he replied simply, and the easy certainty in his voice settled something inside me. Dan trusted me. That was the foundation of everything between us.
As we neared the turnoff to the main house, I sat up straighter. "Don't turn there," I said quickly. "Keep going straight."
Dan's eyebrows shot up, but he did as I asked, continuing past the familiar driveway. "Getting mysterious on me, McKenzie," he said, his voice playful. "I like it."
I pointed to a narrow track that branched off the main road about a quarter mile past the house. It had been little more than a deer path when I started this project, but Ransom and Quiad had helped me widen and grade it until it was passable for a truck.
"Turn there," I instructed, my voice betraying more nerves than I wanted it to.
"A surprise?" Dan's eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas. "I love surprises!"
His excitement made me smile despite my nerves.
That was Dan all over—facing down armed criminals without flinching but lighting up like a sparkler over the smallest gesture of thoughtfulness.
It was why I'd worked myself to exhaustion over the past months, pushing through the pain of my healing burns to get the cabin ready in time for his hospital release.
"Where exactly are we going?" Dan asked as the truck bumped along the new road, trees closing in on either side to form a green tunnel. "I didn't even know this road existed."
"It didn't, until recently," I admitted. "Just a little further."
The trees thinned as we crested a small rise, and then there it was—the old hunting cabin, transformed from a dilapidated shack into something that might actually be worthy of the man sitting beside me.
My heart lodged somewhere in my throat as I saw it through Dan's eyes for the first time: the fresh cedar siding gleaming in the afternoon sun, the wide front porch with its twin rocking chairs, the stone path leading to the door, the clearing around it that offered a perfect view of the valley below.
"There," I managed, pointing toward the cabin. "Park there."
Dan pulled up in front of the cabin and cut the engine, his expression curious but trusting.
Before I could reach for the door handle, he was out of his seat and circling around to my side of the truck, moving with an energy I hadn't seen since before the shooting.
He pulled my door open, his hand extended toward me like some old-fashioned gentleman from one of those movies Ma liked to watch.
"Come on, come on!" he urged, practically bouncing on his toes. "What are we looking at? What is this place?"
I took his hand, letting him pull me from the truck, though my legs felt suddenly shaky beneath me. The moment of truth had arrived, and there was no backing out now. Everything I wanted for our future was tied up in this cabin—in Dan's reaction to what I'd created for us.
I led him to the front of the truck, our fingers still intertwined, and toward the cabin's porch. The sun was beginning its descent toward the mountains, painting everything in warm golden light that made the moment feel dreamlike and surreal.
"Harlow?" Dan prompted, his voice softening as he must have sensed my anxiety. "What is this place?"
The words stuck in my throat, caught behind a lump of emotion I couldn't swallow down. Three simple words that carried the weight of everything I felt for him, everything I hoped for our future.
"Come with me?" I finally managed, my voice barely above a whisper as I tugged him gently toward the porch steps.
My knees shook so bad I had to lock them just to stay upright as we stood on the wide porch overlooking the valley. The sun hung low on the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink that reflected off the river below.
It was the perfect view—the whole reason I'd picked this spot—but my heart was pounding too hard to appreciate it properly. Dan stood beside me, his shoulder brushing mine, his face turned toward the sunset with an expression of wonder that made my chest ache.
"Look at that view," I managed, pointing toward the horizon with a hand that trembled despite my best efforts to steady it.
The valley stretched out below us, the McKenzie River winding through it like a silver ribbon.
From here, you could see all the way to town on a clear day, and the lights of the farmhouse glowed warm in the distance.
Dan glanced at the view, but his attention quickly returned to me, his eyes narrowing slightly in that way they did when he was piecing something together. "Is this the old hunting cabin you told me about? The one where you and your brothers used to stay during deer season?"
I nodded, swallowing hard against the dryness in my throat. "It was. But we, uh, we changed it."
"Changed it how?" Dan asked, his head tilting to one side, curiosity lighting his features.
The words came out in a rush, like I needed to get them all out before I lost my nerve.
"Fixed it up. Rebuilt most of it, actually.
Added plumbing and electric. Put in new windows.
Expanded the back. Ransom helped with the design.
Knox and Quiad did most of the heavy lifting while I was still healing.
" I paused, drawing a breath that didn't seem to fill my lungs properly.
"Pa donated the land. Said it was long past time for me to have a place of my own. "
Dan's eyes widened as understanding began to dawn. "Harlow—"
"It's not much," I cut in quickly, moving toward the door, my hand settling on the brass knob. "Nothing fancy like those places in town. But it's solid. Built to last."
Dan followed, his steps light and eager behind me. "When did you do all this? How did I not know?"
"Started planning it after you got shot," I admitted. "My brothers helped me." The secret project had been the one thing keeping me sane during those long months when Dan was healing, when I couldn't be with him as much as I wanted.
My fingers tightened around the doorknob, but I couldn't seem to make myself turn it. This moment—this threshold—felt too important to cross without making sure Dan understood.
"Listen," I said, turning to face him fully, my voice dropping low with sudden seriousness. "Whatever you decide about this place—about us—it's okay. There's no pressure. I just wanted to..." The words failed me, too big and important to squeeze through the tightness in my throat.
Dan's expression softened, his hand coming up to cover mine on the doorknob. "Show me," he said simply.
The warmth of his touch gave me the courage I needed. I pushed the door open, the hinges silent thanks to Knox's careful adjustments, and pulled Dan inside with me.
The interior was bathed in golden light from the setting sun streaming through the west-facing windows, illuminating all the work we'd poured into the space. The main room was open and airy, with exposed beams crossing the ceiling that Ransom had insisted on keeping from the original structure.
To the left, a river rock fireplace dominated the wall, with two comfortable armchairs positioned before it—one oversized to accommodate my frame, the other a perfect match for Dan's more compact build.
The kitchen area was small but efficient, with bright blue cabinets that Quiad had painted by hand and butcher block countertops that Pa and I had crafted from trees felled on our own land.
A round dining table with four chairs sat in the corner, the wood gleaming with fresh polish—salvaged furniture from Granny's attic that I'd refinished myself during those long summer evenings when Dan had been in the hospital.
Colorful rugs dotted the hardwood floors, adding warmth to the space. Each one had been chosen with care—blues and greens that reminded me of Dan's eyes when he laughed, rich browns that felt like home.