58. Harper
HARPER
Igo back to the foreman’s house alone, leaving Luke and Mason to handle the three shooters.
The entire walk back, my hands are shaking—not from fear but from rage. It keeps running through my mind: three men, three rifles, coordinated positions.
This wasn't a warning. This was an execution attempt, and Cole Turner ordered it.
As I approach the bunkhouse, with the foreman’s house just beyond, I see my dad’s patrol car parked in front, another deputy’s SUV next to him.
My stomach drops. One of the ranch hands must have called it in.
Squaring my shoulders, I follow the sound of voices, around to the front of the barn.
Sure enough, my dad is there. Emma’s foreman, Jim, is talking to him. Emma stands to the side with Jake's arm around her, her face pale, her hand pressed protectively over her stomach.
She could have died. The baby could have died.
And in that moment, I know what I’m doing.
I'm choosing.
Between the law that protects men like Turner and the justice that stops them. Between my father's compromises and Luke's ruthless clarity. Between the badge I've worn for years and the men I've found at Blackthorn who do whatever it takes to right wrongs.
By the time I join the party, my decision is made. I just don't know if I can live with it yet.
I glare at my dad as I stop next to Emma. “Nice of you guys to join us.”
Jake watches me, his expression carefully neutral. "Harper, you okay?"
I meet his eyes and I think I see a hint of humor in the shadows. “I’m good.”
Dad steps forward, his hand resting on his duty belt as he surveys me. He looks relieved I’m intact.
No thanks to him.
For a moment, we just stare at each other.
When he speaks, his voice is controlled. "Harper, what happened here?"
Behind me, Jake shifts. I look at my father—at the man who taught me what it means to be a cop, who showed me how to read a crime scene, how to ask the right questions, how to see what people are trying to hide.
"Shots were fired from multiple positions," I say, my voice steady. "We took cover. The shooters fled before I could get a visual. When the shots stopped, I ran to see if I could track them."
It's not a lie, but it's not the whole truth either.
Dad's eyes narrow slightly. He knows I’m not telling him everything. I can see it in the way his jaw tightens, the way his gaze flicks past me to Jake, then back to my face.
Of course he knows. He’s known me all my life. He knows all my tells. At least, I hope that’s the reason and not because he knew of Turner’s plans and didn’t stop them.
"Anyone hurt?" he asks finally.
"No," Jake says from behind me. "We got lucky."
Dad nods slowly, his expression unreadable. "I'll need to take statements. Document the scene."
"Of course," Jake says. "But I’m taking Emma and Harper back to Blackthorn. For safety."
It's not a request. Everyone can hear it.
Jim, Emma’s foreman, clears his throat. “I’ll show you the slain animals, Sheriff.”
Dad looks at me again, and I see everything he's not saying. He understands what I'm doing, that I'm choosing Blackthorn's justice over his compromised law—and he's letting me.
My heart sinks, and in this moment, I know it’s definitely over.
"That's probably smart," Dad says finally. His voice is quiet, resigned. "I'll finish up here."
He turns to his approaching deputy. "Start documenting the damage. I want photos of every bullet hole, every broken window."
The deputy nods and heads toward the barn.
Dad looks back at me one more time. There's something in his eyes—regret, maybe, or acceptance. "Be careful, Harper.”
It's not a warning about Turner. It's a goodbye. Swallowing the sadness, I nod. "I will."
Jake steps forward, his hand on Emma's back. "We're leaving now."
Dad nods and steps aside.
I follow Jake and Emma out to the vehicles, my heart pounding, my hands still shaking, knowing there's no going back.