I reached for his hand, my fingers wrapping around his much larger ones. His skin was warm and calloused, the hand of someone who worked the land and understood its secrets.
"You're nothing like people say you are," I said softly, the words escaping before I could censure them.
He stilled, eyes fixed on our joined hands. "People talk a lot," he replied, the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Most of them don't know much."
The simple wisdom in his response made me laugh, a genuine sound that surprised both of us. Harlow's smile grew, transforming his face in a way that made my chest tighten.
We sat in comfortable silence for a while, shoulders touching, hands still linked. The rain drummed steadily against the window, a natural metronome marking time in our private sanctuary. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt this at ease with someone, this content to simply exist in shared space.
"Harlow?" His mother's voice called up the stairs, breaking the spell. "Everything all right up there? Is Deputy Latham settled in?"
Harlow tensed beside me but didn't pull his hand away. "Yes, Ma," he called back. "Just making sure he has everything he needs."
There was a pause, then, "Well, come on down when you're finished. It's getting late."
The command was clear, even wrapped in politeness. Harlow sighed, reluctantly releasing my hand and standing. The loss of his warmth beside me was immediate and unwelcome.
"I should go," he said, though his body language suggested the opposite. "Ma will come up if I don't."
I nodded, understanding the politics of the household I'd landed in. "Thank you for the tea. And the company."
He moved toward the door with that careful grace that seemed at odds with his size. Before he could leave, I stood—ignoring the protest from my ribs—and caught his wrist. The solid thickness of it in my grasp sent a jolt of desire through me that had nothing to do with the case or the storm.
"Harlow," I said, my thumb finding the pulse point at his wrist, feeling it quicken at my touch. "Thank you for finding me today."
His eyes darkened, pupils dilating in the dim lantern light. "I'd always find you," he said, the words simple but loaded with meaning.
"I believe you would," I replied, reluctantly releasing his wrist.
After he left, I stared at the door for a long time, listening to the storm and replaying his words in my head. Two realizations crystallized with perfect clarity: someone was using McKenzie land for illegal activities serious enough to attempt murder, and despite the danger surrounding us, I'd never felt more alive thanwhen Harlow looked at me like I was something he'd cross a storm to find.
I settled back onto the bed, my body aching but my mind strangely at peace. Tomorrow, we would begin hunting whoever had tried to kill me. And maybe, in the process, I'd figure out what to do about this unexpected connection with a man everyone in town had underestimated.
Including, perhaps, himself.
Chapter Six
~ Daniel ~
I shifted uncomfortably on the McKenzie family couch, the ancient springs digging into my back like they had a personal vendetta against law enforcement.
Hetty McKenzie hovered over me with the determined focus of a battlefield medic, her fingers prodding at the bandage on my forehead with more force than necessary.
I bit back a wince, refusing to give her the satisfaction. Three days in this house, and I was already going stir-crazy, trapped between four walls with a woman who clearly wanted me gone and her son who clearly didn't.
"You're healing nicely," Hetty said, though her tone suggested she found this fact mildly disappointing. "Doctor Miller says those stitches can come out in another few days."
"I appreciate all you've done," I replied, the polite words automatic but hollow. What I appreciated was Harlow's gentle concern, his quiet presence in the room, his eyes that followed me with an innocent hunger he couldn't quite disguise.
Speaking of Harlow, he stood in the doorway, filling the frame with those broad shoulders, watching our interaction with careful, calculating eyes. For someone everyone in town dismissed as "simple," he missed absolutely nothing.
"Ma, do you need help with anything?" His deep voice sent an involuntary shiver down my spine.
Hetty's head snapped up, her hands stilling on my bandage. "No, honey. Why don't you go check on those fence posts in the north pasture? Your father mentioned they needed mending."
I watched the conflict play across Harlow's face—the desire to stay versus the lifetime of obedience to his mother's commands. Our eyes met briefly, and I tried to communicate without words: I'm not going anywhere. Not really. Not for long.
"Yes, Ma," he finally said, his reluctant gaze lingering on me for one more heartbeat before he turned and disappeared from the doorway.
