Chapter 29
HARPER
Iwoke up to the sound of the shower running in Connor's bathroom. The early morning light was just beginning to paint the room in shades of soft gray and gold.
For one moment, I was just a woman waking up in the bed of the man she loved, listening to him shower, thinking about the baby growing inside her.
The shower shut off, and I heard Connor moving around in the bathroom.
The sounds of him drying off, brushing his teeth, the cabinet opening and closing.
Normal morning sounds that should have been comforting but instead just reminded me how fragile our normalcy was, how easily it could shatter like glass.
The bathroom door opened, releasing a cloud of steam that smelled like Connor's cedar soap and he emerged wearing only a towel around his waist. Water droplets clung to his chest and shoulders, his brown hair was damp and tousled like he'd just walked out of some kind of sexy shower commercial.
Then he saw I was awake, and his expression shifted into something that was pure love and desire mixed with the ever-present concern that had become his unfortunate default setting since I'd become a walking target.
“Hey,” he said quietly, moving toward the bed with that easy grace. “I didn't mean to wake you. You should sleep more.”
“I'm awake now.” I pushed myself up slightly against the pillows, the sheet falling to my waist. I was wearing one of Connor's t-shirts since I'd turned into one of those girls who wore her boyfriend's clothes. “Come here.”
He didn't need to be asked twice. Connor crossed to the bed and lowered himself beside me, his body still warm and damp from the shower, smelling good enough to make my pregnancy hormones do backflips. His hand immediately found my stomach, covering it gently.
“How's our blueberry this morning?” he asked, his voice tender in a way that made warmth spread through me.
“Still there. Still safe. Still the size of a small fruit.” I covered his hand with mine. “Connor, we need to stop being so afraid every second. The stress isn't good for any of us, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to give myself an ulcer before this baby even gets big enough to kick.”
“I know.” Even though his jaw tightened in that way that meant he absolutely was not going to stop worrying. “I just…every time I close my eyes, I see worst-case scenarios. I can't lose you or this baby, Harper.”
“You won't.” I turned to face him fully, my hand moving to cup his jaw, feeling the stubble he hadn't shaved yet rough against my palm. “We're going to be okay. We have to believe that or we'll drive ourselves crazy. Well, crazier than we already are.”
“I'm trying.” His eyes met mine, brown and intense and full of emotions he couldn't quite articulate, which was fine because I couldn't either. “God, Harper, I'm trying. But you and this baby—you're my entire world. If something happened—”
I kissed him to stop the words, to chase away the fear that was consuming us both like some kind of emotional parasite. His response was immediate. His arms pulled me closer, and his mouth opened against mine, deepening the kiss from comfort to need in about half a second.
Connor worshipped my body slowly, carefully, his hands gentle on my body like I was something precious that might break. Which was sweet but also kind of annoying because I wasn't made of glass, but I wasn't about to complain when his touch was reverent and perfect as he moved inside me.
“I love you,” he whispered against my lips. “Harper, I love you so much.”
“I love you too.” My nails dug into his shoulders as pleasure built, as we moved together in the early morning light. “Connor—”
He swallowed my cry with his kiss as we both found release, clinging to each other like we could keep the world at bay through sheer stubborn determination.
Afterward, we lay tangled together, Connor's hand splayed possessively across my stomach, both of us breathing hard.
“We should get up,” I said eventually, though neither of us moved. “You have that feed run this morning.”
“Don't remind me.” Connor's voice was rough in that post-sex way that made me want to go another round. “Harper, when's the last time you slept more than a few hours?”
The question made me stiffen. “I sleep fine.”
“No, you don't.” He propped himself up on one elbow to look at me with those knowing eyes. “I hear you pacing at night. Feel you startle awake at every sound. You're exhausted, and it's not good for you or the baby.”
“I sleep enough.” The lie felt wrong, but admitting I was barely sleeping felt like admitting defeat.
The truth was he was right, I barely slept at all.
I startled awake at every creak of the house, checked the locks obsessively at two in the morning, and my anxiety was a constant companion that followed me even into what little sleep I managed to get.
“You're not fine.” Connor's hand moved to cup my face, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. “Harper, maybe you should call Dr. Nysor. Tell her about the stress. Make sure it's not affecting the baby.”
“The baby is fine. I'm fine. We're all fine.” But even as I said it, I felt the exhaustion bone-deep, felt it in every cell like my body was made of lead. “We just need to get through this.”
“Which is why we're being careful. Why we have security. Why—” Connor stopped, his jaw clenching. “Why I hate that I have to leave you today even for a few hours.”
“You have to go.” I placed my hand over his heart, feeling the steady rhythm beneath my palm.
“Connor, the horses need feed. The ranch doesn't stop just because we're scared.
And I won't be alone. Felix is here, the deputies are still patrolling, Emma's in the cabin probably having her own PTSD nightmares. I'll be fine.”
“I don't like it.” But I could see him wavering, the responsibility of the ranch warring with his need to wrap me in bubble wrap. “Harper, maybe you should come with me. We could—”
“No.” My voice was firm. “Connor, I can't live like this. I can’t be so terrified that I never leave your side like some kind of clingy barnacle.
That's not living, that's just existing in fear.” I moved my hand to my stomach.
“I won't raise our baby in that kind of fear.
We have to find some normalcy, even if it's fake normalcy that we're pretending really hard to believe in.”
He studied my face for a long moment, then sighed in defeat. “Fine. But you stay inside with the doors locked. You don't answer for anyone except me, Jaxon, or Davies. If anything feels wrong, you call 911 first and me second. Understood?”
“Understood.” I kissed him softly. “I promise I'll be careful. It's just a few hours, Connor. What's the worst that could happen?”
Famous last words, real smooth. The question hung between us, both of us thinking the same thing but not saying it because saying it out loud felt like tempting fate.
“I'll be back by noon,” Connor said, already moving to get dressed, his reluctance evident in every movement. “Three hours, tops. Keep your phone on you. Check in every thirty minutes.”
“Connor—”
“Every thirty minutes, Harper. I mean it.” His voice held that commanding tone that said this wasn't negotiable, that he'd turned into a tyrannical text dictator. “Text me. Let me know you're okay. It's the only way I can leave here without losing my mind.”
“Okay. Every thirty minutes. I promise to text you my boring updates about reorganizing your pantry and watching terrible TV.”
He dressed quickly in jeans, a work shirt, and boots that were worn from ranch work.
He kissed me once more, deep and desperate, like he was trying to memorize the taste of me in case the world ended in the next three hours, and then he was gone.
I listened to his footsteps on the stairs, heard the front door open and close, heard his truck engine start and fade into the distance.
Suddenly, the house felt too big and too empty and too quiet in that creepy horror movie way. Chester appeared in the bedroom doorway, his tail wagging, sensing my anxiety with his uncanny dog superpowers.
“It's just you and me, buddy,” I said, patting the bed.
He jumped up immediately, curling against my side like a furry security blanket.
“Think you can keep me from going crazy for three hours?
Because honestly the odds aren't great.” His tail thumped against the comforter, and despite everything, I smiled.
I tried to stay in bed and rest like Connor wanted.
But after twenty minutes of staring at the ceiling while my brain helpfully provided a highlight reel of every possible disaster scenario, I gave up.
I showered, dressed in jeans and one of Connor's flannels that smelled like him, and headed downstairs.
The house was quiet aside from the creak of settling wood louder than it should be, every whisper of wind against windows sounding like footsteps or breathing or an axe murderer.
I tried to distract myself with busywork because apparently, I'd turned into my mother.
I started laundry and cleaned the kitchen that didn't need cleaning after I unlocked the sliding door and let Chester outside to get some fresh air.
Anything to keep my hands busy and my mind from spiraling into full panic mode.
My phone buzzed on the counter with a text from Connor arriving exactly thirty minutes after he'd left because the man was nothing if not punctual.
Connor
Status check. You okay?
Fine. Currently reorganizing your spice cabinet. You have three containers of garlic powder. We need to talk about your shopping habits.
Connor
That's concerning for many reasons. Stay inside. Love you.
Love you too. Stop worrying.
But even as I sent the text, I was worrying enough for both of us and possibly several neighboring states.
Another thirty minutes passed. I texted Connor unprompted this time, knowing he was probably watching the clock like a neurotic hawk.