Pride swelled in my chest, unexpected but powerful. I might not be smart with words and numbers like Knox or artistic like Ransom or charming like Bo. But I was strong. Strong enough to carry a grown man through a storm without stumbling once. Strong enough to help when help was needed.
Deputy Dan's weight in my arms felt like trust. His breath against my neck felt like possibility.
The rain continued to pour down, soaking us both to the skin, but I barely noticed it anymore. All I could feel was the man in my arms and the certainty that bringing him home safe was the most important thing in the whole wide world.
My feet squelched through mud as I headed for the back porch, already rehearsing in my head how I'd explain finding Deputy Dan's overturned car. But underneath that practical thinking was something warm and bright and scary-wonderful. Something I couldn't put into words but felt all the way down to my bones.
Maybe Mama wouldn't approve of these feelings. Maybe the whole town would think someone like me couldn't possibly understand what love was supposed to be. But carrying Deputy Dan through the storm, feeling his heartbeat against mine, I knew that some things didn't need understanding. They just were.
And this—whatever was happening between us—just was. As natural as the rain falling from the sky or the worms coming up from the ground or the chickens knowing when storms were coming.
Some things you just know, deep down where all the important truths live. And I knew, without a doubt, that I'd carry Deputy Dan Latham through a hundred storms if he needed me to.
Chapter Four
~ Harlow ~
I pushed open the back door with my shoulder, water streaming off Deputy Dan and me like we were both caught in our own personal rainstorm. My boots squelched against Ma's clean kitchen floor, leaving muddy puddles with each step I took.
I held Deputy Dan tighter against my chest, worried he might slip from my grasp now that we were so close to getting him somewhere safe and dry.
"Ma!" I called out, my voice echoing through the kitchen. "I need help!"
Ma appeared from the living room, dish towel still in her hands. Her eyes went wide as dinner plates when she saw me standing there, dripping all over her just-mopped floor with a man in my arms.
"Harlow McKenzie! What in heaven's name—" The words died in her throat when she realized who I was carrying. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Is that Deputy Latham?"
I nodded, feeling water drip from my hair down my neck. "His car flipped over on Miller's Creek Road. I found him when I was checking the back acres."
Ma's face shifted from shock to concern in an instant. Her eyes darted over Deputy Dan, taking in the blood on his forehead, the way his eyes kept closing then fluttering open like he was fighting to stay awake.
"Bring him to the couch," she ordered, her voice taking on that no-nonsense tone she used when one of us boys was hurt. "Lord have mercy, he's soaked to the bone. You both are."
I followed her into the living room, careful not to bump Deputy Dan's head or legs on the doorframe. The warmth of the house felt good after the cold rain, but I was too worried about the man in my arms to really enjoy it.
"I found his patrol car upside down in the ditch," I explained as I eased toward the couch. "He said he hydro...hydro-planed." I still wasn't sure what that word meant exactly, but it sounded important to repeat it.
"Set him down gentle now," Ma instructed, already pulling decorative pillows off the couch to make room. "I'll get some towels and the first aid kit."
I laid Deputy Dan on the couch as carefully as if he were made of glass. His uniform was soaked through, clinging to his body and darkened with water and mud. His face was pale under the tan, making the streak of blood from the cut on his forehead stand out even more.
As I straightened up, Deputy Dan's eyes fluttered open, focusing on my face with what seemed like real effort. The warm brown of them made my stomach do that funny flip-flop thing again, like when the truck hit a bump in the road too fast.
"You made it," he whispered, his voice rough around the edges. "Told you I was in good hands."
Something warm bloomed in my chest, spreading outward until I felt it all the way to my fingertips. He remembered me carrying him, remembered me promising to get him safely home. And now he was looking at me like I'd done something amazing instead of just what anyone would do.
"You're safe now," I managed to say, my own voice coming out all scratchy.
His hand moved, fingers finding mine where they rested on the edge of the couch. He gave a gentle squeeze that said more than words could. "Thank you, Harlow."
The way he said my name made it sound different somehow, like it was something special. Not just the name Ma had called out when I was in trouble, or the name the kids at school had twisted into teasing. Just... my name, said with a kind of warmth I wasn't used to hearing from anyone outside my family.
Before I could respond, Ma bustled back into the room with an armload of towels and the old metal first aid kit that lived under the kitchen sink.
"Here," she said, thrusting a towel at me. "Dry yourself off before you catch your death. Then go upstairs and change into something that isn't soaking wet."
I reluctantly took the towel but made no move toward the stairs. "I should stay and help."
