Chapter 9 #2
“Are you kidding? Of course I blamed myself. I’m your big sister. I spent my entire life protecting you—”
“You left for Juneau after Mom and Dad were buried.”
She stilled. Swallowed. She had. “I know. I was running, maybe. And that’s why I blamed myself for your . . . I should have stayed.”
“No. You had a life. That’s what I’m saying. You left, and I had to figure it out. And I did. I really did.” Gabe closed the gap, reaching for her. “But I never meant for it to turn out like this.”
She hadn’t moved, hadn’t walked into his embrace, her breaths slowing, the deep ache inside seeping through her. Her arms curled around herself. “Wow, I missed you.” Her eyes blurred. “I really missed you.”
“I missed you too.” Then his arms came around her, solid and warm and real. She couldn’t move.
But more of her anger fell away.
Fine. She put her arms around him, the stronger, older version of her brother, clearly reborn, and simply held on. Tears spilled out and then she started to sob.
“I’m so sorry,” he said as he put his hand on the back of her head and just held her.
She couldn’t seem to stop it, this sudden breaking of the dam, all of it pouring out as Gabe tightened his hold on her.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m so sorry.” He said it over and over.
The ache finally dulled, and she lifted her head. “I don’t . . .”
Gabe touched her face. “We’re going to fix this. You and me—”
“And me.”
She looked past Gabe to see Jericho standing in the door.
“Just making sure there wasn’t a murder being committed out here.”
She looked at him, shuddering. “You’re telling jokes right now?”
Gabe glanced at him. “I missed you too.”
And when Jericho held up a fist for Gabe to bump . . . yeah, maybe they would be okay.
“You’re really back,” she said softly.
“And freezing to death.” He grinned, and in it, she saw the past, and maybe the future.
Hope.
“There’s soup inside,” Jericho said.
Gabe turned to Harley. “You okay?”
“I’ll take it from here,” Jericho said even as Harley nodded.
Gabe pressed a hand to her cheek. Held it a moment. Then he headed inside.
Which just left her and Jericho on the porch. She stared at him. Then she turned and headed off the porch and plunged through the knee-deep drifts into the darkness.
“Harley!” Jericho’s voice cut through the howling wind. She plowed deeper into the forest, branches whipping her face.
Jericho’s hand caught her arm.
She wrenched away, spun to face him. “Do you know how many nights I laid awake wondering if I could have saved him?”
“I can imagine—”
“No!” She backed away. “No you can’t, because you weren’t there. And I get that—but . . . now you are and he’s here and . . .” Her eyes burned, and the words just . . . just shuddered out. “I’m so scared I’m going to lose you all again.”
He stared at her, his hazel-blue eyes hard. Then he caught her wrist, pulled her under the shelter of a massive pine. Snow fell in clumps around them, but here, the branches created a pocket of stillness, the wind’s howl muted to a distant roar.
“I’m here.” His ungloved hands framed her face, thumbs brushing away tears she hadn’t realized were falling. “I’m right here, Harley. I won’t leave.”
“You did before.” She hated that the words slipped out of her, but maybe the residue of the past didn’t fall away quite so easily. “You didn’t come home. You walked away. Gabe was right. I was so alone, and I’m still—”
“Stop.” His voice roughened. “You’re not alone anymore.”
His words jolted her to silence. She stared at him, breathing hard, the puffs of breath visible between them in the light of the cabin.
Oh, he was a handsome man. Fierce and strong, a silent presence in her heart, a bastion in her storms.
“Please don’t break my heart.” Then she stepped up and kissed him. And it wasn’t sweet or tentative but something of desperation and purpose and even hope.
And wouldn’t you know it, he was right there, ready, his mouth on hers, his hands on her jacket, pulling her close.
He kissed her as if he needed her to believe.
Maybe as if he needed himself to believe.
And it wasn’t a careful, controlled kiss either but something of passion, of fire, of . . . promises.
“Jericho”—she gasped against his mouth. “Promise—”
“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” He met her eyes, some unspoken emotion in them.
Then he leaned back in and kissed her harder, deeper, backing her against the rough bark of the pine.
One hand slid to her neck, his thumb brushing her pulse point.
The other curved around her waist, pulling her against him.
Her fingers curled into his coat. The taste of him—coffee and winter nights and coming home—swept over her. His breath caught as she held on.
Yes, Jericho was here. And maybe that was all she needed right now, despite his words.
He slowed their kiss just a little, deepened it, and in it she felt the strength of him, the sturdiness. The man she once trusted.
Shoot. Still trusted, despite the shouting in her head.
She’d missed this Jericho. The one who’d always seemed to know her, the light in the darkness, and once upon a time, the one who showed up to fight her battles, even if she hadn’t asked.
“Today was a good warning of what I don’t want.” The words flickered, then fell away. Clearly he’d been lying to himself, right?
She finally broke away, her heart thundering. Snow fell in thick curtains around the pine.
“I can’t lose anyone else,” she said, hating the terrible desperation in her voice.
He drew back just enough to frame her face again, forcing her to meet his gaze. In the strange, snow-filtered light, his eyes turned a midnight blue, fierce with promise. “You won’t lose me.” His thumb traced her lower lip. “Not again.”
His forehead pressed against hers, both of them breathing hard. “I was an idiot before. I didn’t want to fail you. Fail me. But . . . I’m done running.”
The blizzard raged on, but here in their pocket of stillness, time stopped. The past dropped away, the future nothing beyond right now.
All that existed was the warmth of his breath on hers.
“I’m here,” he whispered again, pressing a kiss to her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. “I’ve got you.”
And for the first time in years, she let herself believe it.
“PLEASE DON’T break my heart.”
Harley’s words, but the minute she spoke them, they’d landed in Jericho’s heart, thumped their way in and latched on.
Oh, he was headed for a world of hurt. Because he’d heard the promises issuing out of him, his heart speaking before his brain could catch up. “I’m done running.”
Now, he lay on the sofa, staring at the semidarkness, reliving last night’s drama.
Number one—the kiss. The kind that said, Hello, can we try again?
And number two—where he’d simply ripped his heart from his chest and handed it over to the girl most likely to shatter it.
“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” He pressed his hand over his heart, just to make sure it was still in his chest because . . . Really, Jer? There were some grand words spoken out there in the middle of the storm.
But in the calm of the morning . . . Sheesh, what—he was going to uproot his life and follow her back to Juneau? All he saw ahead were more broken promises, so that was a great way to start the day.
Movement on the ladder drew his attention. He looked over, spotted Winter climbing down. Harley had taken the other single bed in the loft, and with the wind still moaning outside and her previous night’s scattered sleep, maybe she’d sleep deep into the morning.
They needed to dig out Winter’s plane though.
Winter hit the floor, tiptoed to the stove, and opened the front door.
Jericho sat up and she jumped.
“Sorry.” He was fully dressed, of course, but pushed off the wool blanket. “I’ll get some fresh wood,” he whispered, then headed for the door.
Orlando had gotten up from his perch near the fire, followed.
Jericho grabbed his coat, slid into his boots, added a hat and gloves, and headed outside.
The sun was trying to bleed through the dour clouds but making feeble progress, the wind lessening as it whipped up snow and threw it across the lake. Orlando ran through the white, trying to catch the flakes.
He should have brought the ball out for him. Frankly, he didn’t know how to help Orlando, not when he seemed to have stopped responding to his training.
The dog bounded over, snow covering his dark muzzle. “I know you love snow, buddy. If I could, I’d let you stay out here, but there are wolves and bears and . . .” Trouble.
His gaze fell upon the tiny nest under the snow-laden pine tree where he’d kissed Harley last night.
Really kissed her. Maybe the kind of kiss that did promise forever, and . . .
Maybe he could stay. Stop running.
He walked over to the woodshed and found a stick.
Orlando’s tail wiggled his entire body, and he barked.
“Okay, okay.” He lifted the stick and threw it. Orlando scampered away.
The door to the cabin opened, and Topher stepped out carrying the log strap.
“Hey,” he said, plunging through the snow, following Jericho’s trail to the woodshed. “Thought I’d help.”
With his light brown hair and thin beard, Topher had always been a peripheral friend, even though they’d played hockey together, and in a small town like Copper Mountain, everyone knew each other.
“Thanks.” Jericho scanned the lake as he waited for the man. Winter’s blue-and-white plane sat on the ice, on skis, half drifted in the fresh snow. So, that would take a hot minute to dig out. But if the sky kept clearing, they’d probably be out today.
And then he had to track down Mars Sorros. That promise, he made to himself.
Topher came up to him. Set the wood caddy on the snow. “You get any sleep?”
Jericho thumped a log into the caddy, reached for another. Topher, beside him, did the same. “I don’t know. I can’t tell.” He drew in a breath. “But it is good to be back here. I missed Alaska. The snow. The quietness. Harley and I . . .”
He stopped.