Chapter 25
CONNOR
Iwas standing at the kitchen counter chopping carrots and celery for the soup I was cooking for lunch, the knife finding that familiar rhythm against the cutting board that usually helped me think, when I heard Anna's voice from the den.
“Jaxon! Harper and I are going back to our place for a bit. Girl talk. We'll be back in a couple hours!”
The announcement was casual, cheerful, exactly the kind of thing Anna would say on any normal day when she was stealing Harper away for wedding planning or boutique strategizing.
But something about Harper's silence and the fact that she hadn't come to say goodbye herself or poked her head into the kitchen to tell me directly, made unease curl in my gut like a living thing.
I set down the knife and moved toward the front of the house, my boots loud on the hardwood, just in time to see Anna's sedan pulling out of the driveway from where I stood in the front door.
Harper's red head was visible in the passenger seat, her profile turned away from the house.
Even from this distance, even through the windshield and afternoon glare, I could see the tension in her posture.
Her shoulders were hunched and her arms wrapped around herself like she was holding something in.
Something's wrong.
Jaxon appeared from the side porch, probably having heard Anna's call-out through the open windows. He gave me a questioning look, reading my expression the way only someone who'd known me for years could.
“Girl talk, apparently,” I said, my eyes still on the retreating car until it disappeared around the bend in the driveway. “But Harper looked off.”
“She's been off since the boutique,” Jaxon pointed out reasonably, settling into one of the porch rockers with the kind of ease that said he was planning to stay awhile. “That kind of trauma doesn't just disappear, Connor. Give her time.”
He was right. I knew he was right because I'd watched Harper struggle for three weeks now with nightmares that woke her gasping and crying.
Days when she barely ate enough to keep a bird alive, that distant look in her eyes like she was somewhere else entirely, trapped in whatever hell her mind had constructed.
Processing trauma took time, and three weeks wasn't nearly enough.
But this felt different somehow. More immediate. More urgent than the general anxiety that had become her baseline.
I pulled out my phone and sent her a quick text before I could overthink it, before I could talk myself out of it.
How's girl talk going? You okay?
The response came faster than I expected, the three dots appearing almost immediately.
Harper
Good. Anna's showing me some wedding stuff. Be back soon.
I stared at the message, reading between the lines the way I'd learned to do with Harper over the past few months. The words said one thing, but my gut said another. Something was off. Something she wasn't telling me.
But I couldn't push. Couldn't demand answers when she'd said she needed time with Anna, when she deserved space and time with her best friend without me hovering like an overprotective shadow.
I sent another text, trying to sound casual instead of worried.
Take your time. Love you.
Harper
Love you too.
Three words that should have reassured me but somehow didn't.
“You're worrying,” Jaxon observed from his rocking chair. His tone was amused in that way that said he was absolutely going to give me shit about this. “I can practically see the gears turning in your head from here.”
“I'm not worrying.” But even I didn't believe the lie, and from Jaxon's expression, neither did he.
I shoved my phone in my pocket and leaned against the porch railing, my eyes on the empty driveway like Harper might materialize if I stared hard enough.
“She’s been through so much. I hate when she's upset and I can't help or fix it for her.”
“Sometimes the best way to help is to give space.” Jaxon's voice held the wisdom of someone who'd learned that lesson the hard way with Anna, probably through multiple fights and misunderstandings. “Let her process whatever she needs to process. She'll talk to you when she's ready.”
“Yeah.” I scrubbed a hand over my face, feeling the stubble I hadn't bothered shaving this morning because Harper had been having a bad day and I hadn't wanted to leave her alone that long. “You're right.”
“I'm always right. Anna tells me so constantly.”
Despite everything, I cracked a smile. “Anna's a terrible liar.”
“Rude.” But Jaxon was grinning, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “So, Davies dropping that bombshell about Morgan this morning, you handling that okay?”
The reminder of this morning's conversation made my jaw tighten, and my hands curled into fists against the railing hard enough that the wood dug into my palms. Morgan had been feeding information to the people threatening Harper.
Had accessed ranch records that gave them everything they needed to plan attacks.
Had sat outside the boutique in her expensive car and watched while someone destroyed everything Harper had built.
Had been complicit in terrorizing the woman I loved.
“I'm handling it,” I said, though my hands betrayed me by curling tighter. “Barely. If I ever see Morgan again—”
“You'll let Davies handle it,” Jaxon finished firmly, his voice taking on that commanding tone that said he'd physically stop me if necessary.
“Because losing your temper and assaulting her won't help Harper.
It'll just land you in jail and leave Harper without protection. And then what good are you?”
He was right. Again. I hated when he was right, which was unfortunately most of the time.
“I just want this to be over,” I admitted quietly, the words coming out rough. “I want Harper to feel safe again. To see her smile without that shadow of fear in her eyes, that look like she's waiting for the next disaster. To plan a future without constantly looking over our shoulders.”
“It'll happen. Davies is close, I can feel it.
They'll catch whoever's doing this, and then you and Harper can focus on building that future instead of just surviving.” Jaxon paused, studying me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
“You have been thinking about the future, right? Like…long-term future? The kind that involves rings and vows and forever?”
The question made heat creep up my neck. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Jaxon's grin was knowing, the bastard. “Connor, you've been in love with that woman for years. There’s no way you’re not fast tracking this.”
I shot him a look that would have made lesser men back off.
“Learn from my mistakes,” he continued, undeterred.
“Don't wait. You never know how much time you have with someone before they're gone or before life gets even more complicated.” He stood, stretching with a groan that said he'd been working hard in the barn all day.
“I'm going to head back out, check on the horses.
Give you time to pace and worry in peace like I know you're dying to do.”
“I'm not going to pace.”
“Sure you're not.” Jaxon clapped me on the shoulder as he passed, his grip firm and grounding.
“Just remember, whatever Harper needs to talk about, she'll tell you. Trust her timing, even if it drives you crazy.” He headed toward the barn, leaving me alone on the porch with my spiraling thoughts and the setting sun.
I tried to take his advice and go back inside to finish lunch prep, losing myself in the mechanical tasks of cooking that usually helped me think.
But my mind wouldn't settle, wouldn't stop.
It kept circling back to Harper's tense posture in Anna's car, to the carefully neutral tone of her text, to that bone-deep feeling that something significant was happening and I wasn't there for it.
An hour passed.
I checked my phone obsessively, even though I'd turned the volume all the way up and would hear any notification from across the property. Sent another text that felt too needy, too clingy, but I couldn't help myself.
Everything okay? You've been gone a while.
No response.
The silence stretched, each minute feeling like an hour, each hour feeling like a day. I tried to focus on lunch, stirring the soup that was simmering on the stove, checking the bread in the oven, setting the table even though I had no idea when Harper would be back or if she'd even want to eat.
Normal tasks. Normal routines. Anything to keep my hands busy and my mind from constructing worst-case scenarios.
What if something happened? What if Silas or Armand found out Harper left the house? What if they were waiting, watching, and saw an opportunity? What if—
No. Harper was safe. She was just having girl talk, probably discussing wedding plans or boutique insurance or any of the hundred other things that filled her days now that she couldn't work.
But the unease wouldn't leave, wouldn't ease its grip on my chest.
By the time I heard Anna's sedan returning, pulling up in front of the house, I'd worked myself into a state of barely controlled anxiety that would have been embarrassing if anyone had been around to witness it. I moved to the front window, watching as the car parked, as both doors opened.
Harper climbed out, and even from here I could see something was different. Her movements were careful, deliberate, like she was carrying something fragile. Her hand pressed briefly to her stomach in a gesture I'd never seen before, protective and unconscious. Her face was pale but her eyes—
Her eyes held something I couldn't quite read. Fear, yes, that had become her constant companion. But also, something else.
Anna said something to her, I saw her lips moving, saw Harper nod, and then they were approaching the house. Harper's steps were slow, measured, like she was walking toward something momentous instead of just coming home.