Mine.
Lightning flashed again, illuminating his face just as his expression shifted into something primal and fierce. His jaw tightened, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
In that moment, I saw past the gentle giant everyone in town underestimated. I saw a man capable of violence to protect what he cared about.
It should have concerned me, that look. Instead, it sent heat coursing through my veins. I'd spent my life being the protector, the shield, the one who stood between danger and others. Having someone want to protect me, especially someone like Harlow, was as intoxicating as it was unfamiliar.
"We'll find them," I said, emphasizing the 'we' deliberately. "Together. But not tonight. Tonight, we both need rest."
Harlow nodded slowly, the fierce look gradually fading from his eyes, replaced by something softer but no less intense. "I'll be right across the hall if you need anything."
Something shifted between us in that moment, something fundamental and irreversible. As I watched him leave the room, I knew with absolute certainty that whoever had tried to kill me had made a fatal miscalculation. They hadn't just made an enemy of me. They'd made an enemy of Harlow McKenzie.
And God help them when he found out who they were.
The rain continued its assault on the farmhouse, each drop a tiny percussion instrument in nature's relentless symphony.
I sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the storm's fury and wondering if it was simply mirroring the tempest building inside me. Anger at whoever had tampered with my car warred with an unfamiliar warmth that had taken root when Harlow had carried me through that downpour. Both emotions demanded action. Both felt dangerously close to consuming me whole.
I hadn't expected Harlow to return after his mother's not-so-subtle dismissal, but ten minutes after he'd left, there was a soft knock at the door. He entered without waiting for my answer, a steaming mug in one hand and a battery-powered lantern in the other.
"Thought you might want some tea," he said, setting both items on the nightstand. "Ma says it helps with healing."
The lantern cast a soft golden glow across the room, illuminating Harlow's features in a way the harsh phone light hadn't. His expression was guarded but determined, like he'd made a decision he wasn't going to back down from.
"Your mother know you're back up here?" I asked, accepting the mug with a nod of thanks. The tea smelled of herbs and honey, comforting in its simplicity.
"No." A single word, but the way he said it—straightforward, unapologetic—caught me by surprise. There was a streak of defiance in Harlow McKenzie that nobody in town seemed to see, nobody but me.
He settled onto the bed beside me, the mattress dipping under his weight. His thigh pressed against mine, a solid warmth I could feel even through the borrowed sweatpants. Neither of us moved to create distance.
"Tell me about who might have tampered with your car," he said, his voice low but insistent. "And why."
I took a sip of tea, considering how much to share. In my three months as deputy, I'd learned that small towns had intricate webs of relationships and loyalties. The McKenzie family was at the center of that web in many ways. But something told me Harlow wouldn't appreciate being sheltered from the truth—he'd had enough of that in his life.
"I think someone's using your family's back acres for poaching," I said finally. "Been finding evidence of it for weeks now. Deer carcasses stripped of their best cuts, the rest left to rot. Shell casings from rifles that aren't registered to anyone in the county."
Harlow's brow furrowed, his jaw tightening. "Where exactly?"
"That's the thing—it's scattered. Near the old fire road that cuts through your south woods. By the creek that feeds into the Miller property. Always just inside your boundary lines, like they know exactly where your land begins and ends."
Recognition dawned in Harlow's eyes. "I know those places. Found some strange things there myself. Tire tracks that didn't belong to any of our vehicles. Beer cans that weren't ours."
I nodded, not surprised he'd noticed. "I think it's organized. Multiple people. Probably selling the meat under the table to restaurants over in Eugene or Springfield." I placed my mug on the nightstand, turning to face him more directly. "I started asking questions at The Edge about who might be coming and going on the fire roads late at night. Next day, my brakes start feeling soft."
"Someone at The Edge did this?" His hands clenched into fists on his thighs.
"I don't know yet," I admitted. "But I was getting close to something. Too close, apparently."
Harlow was quiet for a moment, processing. When he spoke again, his voice had that certainty I was coming to recognize asuniquely his. "I can help you find evidence. Once you're better. I know every inch of our land. Know how to track without being seen."
The offer shouldn't have surprised me, but it did—along with the fierce protectiveness that rose in my chest at the thought of Harlow putting himself at risk.
"It could be dangerous," I warned. "These people have already tried to kill once."
Harlow's eyes met mine, unwavering. "They were on my family's land. Using it to do something wrong. And they hurt you." He said it like that explained everything. Maybe it did.
Lightning flashed outside, momentarily brightening the room beyond the lantern's glow. In that brief illumination, I saw a determination in Harlow's face that matched my own. The storm had created a bubble around us, a private world where pretenses seemed pointless.
