Unrelenting Shelter (Harlow Springs Ranch #3)

Chapter One

FOURTEEN YEARS AGO

Claremore, OK

Marley

“Here, I have a pin. Turn around.” Wren twirls her finger in the air, as she digs in her clutch that is sitting on the bathroom counter with her other hand, head down, trying to see in the dark bathroom.

I spin around and face the mirror, leaning in to swipe my fingers under my eyes. It took me two hours to get my makeup just right after watching a dozen online tutorials to get the perfect smokey eye and I’m not going to let a little sweat from dancing make it run.

Opening my clutch, I pull my lip gloss out and swipe some along my bottom lip.

Wren tugs on the broken strap on my dress, tucking it into the hem along my back to pin it.

The short gold-sequined strappy dress hugs me like a glove, showing off all my curves while not accentuating my bubble butt like most of the other dresses I tried on.

“You should take this dress back tomorrow, it cost way too much for a broken strap after just three songs. We haven’t even had anything to drink yet.” The safety pin she’s holding between her lips while she uses her hands to tuck the strap is muffling her voice.

Stretching my lip taut over my teeth to make sure my lip gloss is even, I swipe my pinky along the edge of my bottom lip. “No shit. Not to mention that it cost a small fortune, and Opal had to drive me to ten different stores to find it.”

She looks at me in the mirror through her lashes and a shit-eating grin slices across her face when she pulls the pin out of her mouth. “I saw Ricky watching you when we were dancing before we came in here.”

The same shit-eating grin, but maybe a little bigger, splits my face, and I cock a brow. “I know. I was looking at him back. It’s about time, too, I’ve been flirting my ass off for months trying to get him to do something besides smile and give me a chin lift in the hall.”

“If you didn’t have a neon sign over your head that says ‘Mason Harlow’s sister’, he probably would have made a move sooner.” She says with a chuckle, her head ducking behind me to get closer to see better.

In such a small school, it’s impossible to not know who everyone is or who they’re related to. Hell, all the girls’ periods are probably synced up.

With a huff, I roll my eyes and look at her in the mirror.

“I know, right? I can’t seem to get more than a couple of dates once Mason finds out I’ve gone out with someone.

But I guess on the flip side, I know for sure that none of them were in it for more than a piece of ass or they would have stuck around. ”

“You sure about that? Mason probably scared the ‘stick around’ out of them.”

Leaning away from the mirror, I press my lips together and make a kissing face. “I don’t know, it’s kind of romantic to think that someone, someday, will have the balls to stand up to my brother.”

“There, fixed.” She takes a step back and looks at her handiwork. “You can’t even tell it broke.”

Turning to look over my shoulder in the mirror, I nod at her handiwork. “You know, if there’s a man out there who isn’t afraid of my brothers, he’s the man for me. This looks great, Wrenny, thanks.”

She rolls her eyes with a grin. “Such a hopeless romantic.”

Dropping my lip gloss back into my clutch, I give her a hug. “You love me anyway. I’m going to find Mason, he’s supposed to be smuggling in the drinks.”

“Oooh, I’m right behind you.”

We step from the restrooms and into the field house that has been decorated in every type and color of foil streamer known to mankind. The entire senior class is inside these walls and half of them are drunk already. I scan the crowd to see if my twin brother has made it in yet.

A sea of cowboy hats is floating around the room, but my brother is probably the only one who didn’t buy a new hat for the prom. He has been wearing the same old crappy hat for years, salt ring and all. He says it’s his lucky hat and tonight he’s hoping to get lucky.

He never sees a girl for more than three dates, because according to the great Mason Harlow, if she hasn’t put out by the third date, it just means they want very different things out of their ‘friendship’. I always follow that up with a laugh and call him a slut.

Then he says, takes one to know one.

But I’ve only been with two guys. The first guy who popped my cherry didn’t really count because I was kind of just using him to get that part out of the way, he was a one and done.

I’d even picked him up at an out-of-town baseball game and did the most cliche thing I could do. I let him nail me under the bleachers.

There was no romance, no thrill, no chase. His only requirement was that he seem to know what he was doing. I even provided the condom. Wham, bam, thank you, sir. Cherry gone and no worry about some asshole bragging to the whole school that he took my V card.

Mason would kill anyone who did that.

The other guy I thought I liked, we dated for about three months. He gave me his class ring to wear and said pretty things, but other than being fun at parties and making everyone laugh, there weren’t really any sparks. To be honest, he was kind of boring when it was just the two of us.

When we had sex, I never experienced the sparks that some of the other girls talked about. I was starting to wonder if that was just something girls say to make themselves feel better about not feeling much. I was kind of disappointed, to be honest.

I want sparks. Lots of sparks.

I finally catch sight of Mason’s dirty black hat, with the gray salt ring around the band, across the dance floor where he’s laughing and whooping with some of his friends. He’s obviously already been drinking, now I have to catch up.

Sidling up next to him, he looks down at me with a big smile and drapes his arm across my shoulders. “Sis! There you are, I’ve been looking for you.” He hands me his big gulp cup and my esophagus burns as the liquid that I pull through the straw slides down my throat.

“For fuck’s sake, Mason, what did you put in that? Is that straight liquor?” A cough escapes my burning throat, the nasty taste of whiskey on my tongue.

He just smiles and kisses my head before he whispers in my ear, “Lightweight.”

I cough again, tears stinging my eyes, before I say, “Ugh, fuck me, that’s just gross.” Pinching him in the side, I ask, “Did you get what I asked for?”

He laughs and I jerk my head away as he tries to give me a noogie. “Hey! No!” I point my finger at him with a laugh as I take a step back. “I worked on my hair for an hour to make it this perfect.”

“Fine, here.” He sets his truck keys, with the little die hanging at the end of a chain, in my hand with an eye roll and a chuckle. “I left your bottle of girlie wine-punch in the floorboard under the passenger side.”

I look around for Wren, but she’s on the dance floor with Dustin. Ugh, fine, I’ll just go out by myself, it’ll only take a minute. I turn back to Mason. “Did you get me anything to put it in?”

He gives me a face like I’m asking him a ‘duh’ question.

“Yep, there’s a cup of ice in the cupholder.

” I start to walk away, and he says, “Hey, don’t spill any of that grape juice shit on my seats.

” I flip him off over my shoulder without turning around and then he yells, “And hurry up and bring my keys back, I’m grabbing my date and leaving soon. ”

The parking lot next to the field house is full and I have to walk around for ten minutes trying to find Mason’s truck.

He parked in the grassy area behind the football bleachers and my heels are sinking into the soft ground.

It rained yesterday and all the cars driving around looking for places to park have only made the surface muddy.

“Fuck, I’m going to have dirt all over my heels by the time I get back in.” I mumble to myself and try to walk on my tiptoes. “Of course he wouldn’t give me a damn heads-up.”

He probably didn’t think twice about it, he’s always knee deep in dirt, horseshit, and dirty hay with his Future Farmers of America club. He doesn’t care if his boots are dirty, he can just squirt them off with the hose.

But I know if he had thought of it, he would have told me to be careful. Mason would do anything for me just as I would for him, he’s the best brother I could ask for.

Flipping through his keys, I find the door key and slip it in the lock to turn, being careful not to miss the keyhole and touch the paint. Mason’s old ‘78 Chevy K-10 is his baby and he will definitely find a way to get revenge if I scratch his paint.

Leaving the keys in the keyhole, I swing the old door open with a croak. Setting my clutch in the seat, I pat the floorboard under the seat until my fingers find the cool bottle laying on its side.

“Hey Marley.” I jerk up and see one of the Juniors from my science class.

“Oh, hey, Keith. What are you doing here?” I look around to see if he’s with anyone else, but he’s alone.

Keith always flirts with me, but something about him gives me the creeps. He’s always finding excuses to touch my arm or my hand or hair. On more than one occasion, I’ve caught him staring at me in class. Once, he even leaned over and smelled my hair.

He asked me out a few weeks ago, and I nicely told him I wasn’t interested, he seemed to take it well, but I’ve been avoiding him ever since anyway.

What hasn’t set well with me is that even though I’ve been avoiding him, he seems to show up in places that I wouldn’t normally see him. I’ve considered saying something to Mason about it, but I don’t want to make something of nothing, because Mason will definitely make it something.

Tilting his head back to look up at the sky, he slips his hands out of his jeans pockets to let them hang at his sides. “Oh, I thought I would just check things out.” He looks down at the seat where my hand is resting. “What’cha got?”