Chapter 7
In all her wildest dreams, Harley woke up with Jericho Bowie sleeping next to her. Except, well, right now he was across the room. And in those dreams, they were also married . . . and really, she hadn’t entertained that thought in ages. At least . . . well, fine. More often than never.
But as she blinked awake, her breath caught.
Jericho slouched in the Queen Anne chair, one long leg stretched out, the other thrown over the chair arm.
His dark hair was tousled across his forehead, arms folded, head tucked into the crook of the chair.
Sleep softened the sharp angles of his face, stripped away the walls he’d built between them.
He looked so young, so vulnerable, and it might have been her mind playing tricks with her, really, but then memories of last night flickered through her mind—his low voice in the darkness, asking her name, the year, who was president.
His fingers brushing her forehead, checking for fever. The quiet assurance that she was safe.
“You’re still the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met,” he’d muttered during one check.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
His laugh had been soft, almost tender. “Go back to sleep, HT.”
And then she remembered venturing downstairs for water right after he’d tucked her in, legs shaky but mind clear enough to freeze at the sound of voices in the kitchen. His voice.
“Besides, today was a good warning of what I don’t want.”
The words felt like a fresh punch against her already aching sternum.
So much for thinking they might . . . what? Reconnect? Start over? Rebuild something from the ashes of their past? She’d seen glimpses of the old Jericho since she’d been back—his fierce protectiveness, his dry humor, the way he still knew exactly how to push her buttons.
But maybe that was the problem. They knew each other too well. Knew exactly where to find the weak spots, where to press to make it hurt.
What had she said to Winter—they needed to be different people for anything to actually work between them.
The sunshine crept across the frost-laced windows, painting the room in pewter shadows. The blizzard had softened to velvet flakes. She’d always loved this time of day in the dome, when the light had yet to break, when the world held its breath between night and morning.
Harley shifted against the down pillows and tamped down a moan. Thankfully, no more jackhammering behind her eyes, just the lingering ache of—
Okay, she needed to clear her head, stop thinking about what-ifs and if-onlys.
She eased off the mattress, careful not to wake Jericho as she grabbed Kennedy’s quilted robe from the foot of the bed.
The old pine floors creaked beneath her feet. Jericho stirred, and she held her breath. But his eyes remained closed, dark lashes whispering against his cheeks.
He wasn’t the villain she’d painted him as all these years. His words last night to his brothers—the guilt he carried about their father, his regret about staying away—had cracked something in the wall of her anger.
But that didn’t change anything for them. He’d made his feelings clear.
She eased her way down the stairs, the great room collecting a chill with the massive hearth unlit. However, the kitchen glowed with light and the scent of coffee and vanilla. When Harley entered, Kennedy stood at the massive griddle, pouring batter in circles.
“You’re up!” Kennedy’s smile warmed the room. “The guys have already left for the day. Well, except Jericho.”
Harley glanced at the clock. Nearly midmorning. What?
“How’s the head?”
“Better.” Harley sank onto a high-top stool, wrapping her hands around the mug of coffee Kennedy had slid her way. “Although I might have dreamed about Jericho waking me up every two hours to ask who the president is.”
“Probably not a dream.” Kennedy flipped a pancake. “He was worried. You know how he gets.”
“Actually, I don’t. Not anymore.” The coffee scalded her throat. “I’m not his responsibility.”
“Maybe. But according to Sully, you were his first love. And I don’t care how much time has passed. For a man, it’s yesterday. He still sees you as seventeen and irresistible.”
Harley couldn’t stop a sort of laugh. “I don’t think he ever saw me as irresistible. But I like your fantasy.”
“I’m telling you, some things don’t change.” Kennedy pulled plates from the cupboard, her movements precise. “Jericho’s eyes follow you when you walk into a room.”
“Kennedy—”
“Listen, I see things, you know. It’s what makes me a good researcher.” She smiled. “You didn’t see how he practically leaped across the room last night to help you up? The way he relaxed when you laughed?”
Um, no, she hadn’t. In fact, “Not to pick a fight, but I . . . I heard him last night. In the kitchen. He made it pretty clear I’m not what he wants.”
Shoot, this conversation went from lighthearted to too raw just like that. She needed to stop listening to her emotions because Kennedy stilled. “What exactly did you hear?”
She took another sip of coffee and, of course, it turned bitter on her tongue.
“I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s fine.
It’s been seven years since I’ve seen him, even longer since we broke up.
I can’t expect him to show back up in my life and think, yeah, let’s start over.
” She shook her head. “And he’s probably right. ”
Kennedy made a sound, a soft hmm, from her chest. “Or maybe guys just get better at lying to themselves.”
She set plates on the island.
“How did you and Sully meet?” The question slipped out before Harley could stop it. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“I was tracking a wolf pack.” Kennedy’s smile held shadows. “Ended up tracking poachers instead. They didn’t appreciate the attention.”
She paused, checking a pancake for doneness.
“Sully rescued me, and . . . for a while, we were happy. But then I was discovered—or I thought so—and I was so sure my past would get Sully killed that I ran. Let everyone think I was dead while I hid in an art colony in the bush.” Her laugh held wonder.
“But love has a way of finding you. Sully never stopped believing I was alive.”
She flipped the pancake.
“God brought him back to me.” Kennedy’s voice softened with memory. “I was living in that tiny village, hiding from my past, convinced I had to handle everything alone. Then one day, he was there, like some kind of miracle.”
She plated the pancake, the sweet scent filling the kitchen.
“God showed me I didn’t have to run anymore.
Didn’t have to hide. That he was my protector .
. . and he’d sent Sully to help.” Her hands stilled on the counter.
“Even when things got dark—when I lost the baby, when Sully nearly died trying to save me—God had something better planned. He always does, even when everything looks impossible.”
Harley met her eyes, wanting to pull in the words, let them settle.
Kennedy slid the plate toward her. “Your turn. How did you meet Jericho? Really meet, I mean. Not just the next-door-neighbors story.”
Harley traced the rim of her mug. “Well, I mean, we always knew each other. We were always competing. Who could climb higher, run faster, get better grades. But he was also . . . there. You know? And then the chocolate milk incident happened.”
“The what?”
“I was eleven. Some kids were hassling me about my dad being sheriff. I was so mad, I threw my chocolate milk at them. A couple of the boys got really mean and that’s when Jericho stepped in, told them to back off.” She smiled at the memory. “I told him I could fight my own battles.”
“And?”
“And he laughed. Said anyone who’d waste good chocolate milk was probably out of their minds, and he needed to step in before I did something worse. Like throw my brownie at them.”
And right then she knew the ache in her chest had nothing to do with bruises.
“After that, I don’t know . . . he was always there.
When Gabe started using, when things got bad at home.
We had this signal. I’d turn on my lamp—this cute little daisy lamp I had from my mom—and he would see it and turn on his light.
And I felt . . . seen, I guess. Safe, maybe.
And then later—much later—we started sneaking out and staring at the summer sky on the dock.
He’d hold my hand. Took him years, however, to screw up the courage to kiss me. ”
Kennedy had plated a couple pancakes for herself. “What happened?”
She sighed. “He joined the military.”
Kennedy pulled hot syrup in a carafe from the microwave. “And? You could have waited. Or followed . . .”
She made a face. “I . . . I guess I saw it as betrayal. I always thought he’d stick around, take over the Bowie resort.
We’d live in that big house of his and .
. . I know. Silly. Because I also wanted to be a cop, like my dad.
I’m not sure where my brain was. I just knew that when Jericho came home with his enlistment papers, I was . . . I was hurt.”
She poured the syrup on her pancakes.
“Jericho told us this story about a fight between you and him—”
“Yeah. There was that. He was just trying to protect me, and I got scared. He was sitting there in the ER, his nose broken, and all I could think was how I could have gotten him killed. And then he basically said the same thing and it was a hot poker to my heart. I lashed out and left him there and by the time I got up the nerve to apologize, he’d left for boot camp in Anchorage. ”
“And you didn’t see him again until—”
She picked up her fork. “His parents’—our parents’ funerals. And even then, he didn’t talk to me. Just showed up at the service. I saw him at the back of the room. But he left before it was over and then . . . nothing. Not until two days ago.”
“Harsh.”
“Life. Different paths.” She shrugged. “If it was meant to be, it would have happened. At least that’s what my mom always said.”
“And now?”