Chapter 6 #2
“That’s why you’re hunting Mars.”
She nodded. “He’s taken everything. My brother. My parents, in a way—they were never the same after Gabe started using. And Mars is still at it. Selling drugs, running guns, destroying lives.” She met Jericho’s eyes across the space. “Someone has to stop him.”
He paused, as if considering his words. Then, “Not alone.” He started to reach for her, then seemed to catch himself, his hand falling back to his knee. “You don’t have to do this alone. Not this time.”
The fire popped, sending sparks up the chimney. Outside, the snow swirled, and in the kitchen, Kennedy laughed.
She stared at him. “This is my fight.”
“Is it?” He leaned back. “I remember that differently.” His mouth quirked then.
And she was right back there, watching him get out of the truck, coming at her full speed, charging Mars before he could hit her.
In truth, she’d been terrified. And yet, she’d never felt more protected.
“I never . . . I never thanked you.”
His eyes widened. Then, “I . . . I shouldn’t have yelled at you at the hospital.”
“You were right. I was . . . impulsive. And I could have gotten you killed.”
He cocked his head and, mercifully, didn’t say anything about today. Then, he drew in a rough breath. “And I was young and stupid and scared too. I said things—”
“It’s okay, Jericho.”
“No, it’s not.” He shook his head. “When your parents died—when my parents died—I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t stay.”
“I know. You were already deployed.”
His mouth tightened, and he looked at the fire. “Truth is, I was a wreck. I . . . ran.”
“And now?”
“I don’t know.” He ran a hand across his mouth, the gesture raking up the past. “I love SAR work. I was in combat SAR in the military, but . . . something happened there too, and I just thought, maybe I’ll train dogs.
And people. That way I can keep everyone safe without getting too close.
But after the avalanche”—he shook his head—“I don’t know what brought me back here, Harley.
” He turned to her. “I just am. And . . . I’m sticking around until we bring Mars to justice. Finally, right?” He smiled.
The honesty in his voice stripped her. Oh, she wanted to believe him. So, she smiled back. “Right.”
He met her eyes then, and she could see the flecks of gold in the hazel-blue of his eyes, the way they sort of shone. Her heart thumped under the bruise, her breath catching.
What if—
“Dinner’s almost ready!” Hudson’s voice broke the moment. He appeared in the doorway, wearing an apron that read “Kiss the Cook” and bearing sauce stains on his shirt. “I only burned the first batch of garlic bread.”
“Progress,” Sully called from the kitchen. “Last time he burned all of it.”
“You’re not helping,” Hudson shot back, but he grinned.
Jericho stood, careful to keep his distance. “You up for food?”
“I could eat,” she said softly.
He nodded, started to turn away, then paused. “Harley?” His voice dropped, meant for her alone. “I won’t let him hurt you. Whatever it takes, I’ll keep you safe.”
She wanted to tell him she didn’t need protection.
But . . . aw, she’d had that fight before.
And right now, exhaustion dragged at her bones and Orlando’s warmth seeped into her muscles and something about the way Jericho looked at her made her want to believe.
To hope. “Okay,” she whispered, the word barely audible over the fire’s crackle. “Thank you.”
He held her gaze for a moment longer, then held out his hand.
Fine. She let him ease her off the sofa, his hand warm in hers. “I got it from here.”
He nodded, let her go, and headed toward the kitchen, leaving her with Orlando’s steady presence and the unsettling feeling that she’d just agreed to far more than protection.
Maybe even friendship.
The fire painted everything in soft gold, throwing shadows that danced across the log walls. Through the kitchen door lifted the sounds of family—laughter and teasing and the clatter of plates. Normal things. Safe things.
And maybe that was the most dangerous part of all. Because she could feel herself wanting this. Wanting to belong here, in this warm space with its worn furniture and family photos and people who looked at her like she belonged.
Oh no. This was how hearts got broken. Not with violence or drama, but with quiet moments and promises that felt too much like hope.
She was in so much trouble.
HER SWEET LAUGH still had the power to crack his heart wide open.
Jericho leaned back in the rocking chair in front of the stone fireplace, watching Harley demolish his brothers at Monopoly, and something inside his chest shifted, like ice breaking up on the Copper River.
She’d always been lethal at board games—a tactical mind that always seemed to be a couple steps ahead of everyone else.
But when she coupled it with ribbing and a gleam in her eyes, she turned downright unbeatable.
The board, money, and cards covered the center coffee table. Sully was on one overstuffed chair, Harley on the other. Malachi and Hudson sat on the sofa across from them.
“I’m nearly broke!” Hudson groaned as Harley assessed the damage for landing on one of her properties. “I thought you were supposed to be concussed.”
“It’s like taking candy from a baby,” she said as he handed over his properties. “Too easy.”
“I hate this game,” Hudson said.
Malachi sorted through his dwindling pile of money. “I don’t know how you manage to run a profit when you do things like trade Park Place to Sully for Mediterranean Avenue.”
“That was strategic.” Hudson folded his arms.
“That was stupid,” Kennedy said from her perch on the arm of Sully’s chair. “Almost as stupid as that time you tried to fix the plumbing yourself.”
“Hey, I got it working,” Hudson said. “Eventually.”
“After you flooded the basement.” Malachi rolled the dice. “Six. Of course. Right to Harley’s Park Place. Perfect.”
Harley smiled, but Jericho caught the way she pressed her hand to her sternum, the slight tightening around her eyes. The bruising had to be brutal by now.
Orlando lifted his head from his spot by the fire, his gaze tracking between Jericho and Harley. The dog had barely left her side since they’d gotten home from the hospital.
Interesting.
“Pay up, Mal.” Harley held out her hand, then shifted in the leather chair, pulling up one of their mother’s knitted afghans. The movement cost her—color drained from her face.
“Speaking of paying up,” Malachi said as he counted out his rent money, “the pipes in the north wing are making that sound again. Like something’s trying to escape.”
“Probably all the bodies you guys have hidden in the crawl space,” Sully said, putting his arm around Kennedy.
“Only three or four.” Hudson rolled the dice and groaned. “I cannot escape the rule of the overlord.” He moved his wheelbarrow over to Atlantic Avenue and started counting out what he owed.
Jericho only half listened to their banter, his attention caught by the way Harley’s fingers whitened on the chair’s arm as she tried to sit up straighter. She was running on empty, pushing herself too hard.
He sighed. Some things never changed.
“And . . . bankruptcy for me too.” Hudson tossed his last dollar onto the board. “I’m done. Finished. Ruined.”
“So much drama.” Kennedy gathered the scattered money. “I can’t believe you handle the resort finances.”
“Hey, I take our real money very seriously.” Hudson stretched out on the hearth rug. “Although for some reason we’re way over budget on building supplies at the Eagle’s Nest. I’m starting to think maybe I need to finish the project on my own.”
“What’s left?” Harley asked.
“The boiler,” Hudson said. “We had to install a whole new system, and for some reason it’s not working.” He ran his hands over his face. “So much fun.”
Harley started to rise, and this time the tremor in her muscles was visible. Jericho got up and crossed the room in three strides, not caring if his brothers noticed his rush.
“I’m fine,” she said, but her voice betrayed her.
“I know.” He kept his tone light. “But maybe we should get you upstairs before you face-plant into Hudson’s property graveyard.” He held out his hand.
She ignored it and pushed herself up. “I can walk.” Except she took one step and swayed.
And he didn’t think, just swept her into his arms.
The sense of her, close, her body tucked to his chest, shuddered through him—her slight weight, the subtle vanilla-and-lavender scent that was purely Harley, the warmth of her body.
Everything inside him lit, and suddenly he was eighteen again, her head on his shoulder, her body next to his in the back of his truck, watching the half-lit night sky turn mottled over the mountains.
“Jericho—”
“Stop talking.” He started up the stairs. “You took a shot to the chest today. You’re allowed to need help.”
She didn’t answer, but rested her head against his shoulder, her breath warm on his neck. Heat rolled through him, dangerous and familiar.
The guest room door stood open, warm lamplight spilling into the hallway. Kennedy had worked her magic in here—a candle on the bedside table, a stack of books, a quilted throw in shades of blue and gray.
He set Harley down on the bed, and for a second, her fingers caught in his shirt.
He stilled and met her gaze. They were close enough to share breath, and the gold flecks in her brown eyes swept words away.
His gaze fell to her lips.
No. It was just panic, and the lingering image, back in his brain, of her lying on the ground.
He stepped back before he did something stupid.
“Thank you,” she said softly, leaning into the pillows.
Orlando settled on the floor next to her. Okay, he’d let the dog stay, at least until he checked on her.
“Get some rest.” He retreated to the door, pulse hammering. “Yell if you need anything. And I’ll be back in two hours to wake you up, so don’t hit me.”
She smiled. “You’re no fun.”
“No fun, all night long. Brace yourself, baby.”