Hetty's expression flickered between relief that I was leaving and that instinctive maternal concern she couldn't seem to help. "Doctor Miller says you should take it easy. No heavy lifting, no exertion."
"I'll keep that in mind," I replied, though we both knew I had my own ideas about what constituted "taking it easy."
She led me downstairs, her movements brisk and efficient. I took one last look around the living room where I'd spent most of my convalescence. The ancient couch with its sagging springs. The family photos on the mantel. The worn carpet where Harlow's heavy boots had left impressions coming and going. I'd memorized every detail of this house, cataloging them alongside my observations of the man I hadn't been allowed to properly talk to.
"Your department called the garage about your patrol car," Hetty said, filling the silence as we reached the front door. "Bob says it's totaled. Insurance should cover a replacement."
"That's good to know," I said, though I'd already received this information directly from Sheriff Hardesty via text. The car was the least of my concerns.
We stepped onto the front porch, the mid-morning sun warm on my face after days spent mostly indoors. The sky was clear blue, not a hint of the storm that had thrown Harlow and me together. A pleasant breeze carried the scent of freshly cut hay and distant wood-smoke.
"Well," Hetty said, her hands fluttering aimlessly before settling on my jacket, unnecessarily straightening the collar. "You take care, Deputy. Remember to take those antibiotics until they're gone, even if you're feeling better."
I stood still under her fussing, playing the role of gracious guest while my eyes scanned the property for any sign of Harlow. The barn stood silent. The tractor was gone from its usual spot by the equipment shed. The vast expanse of the McKenzie farm stretched out before me, but its most important occupant was nowhere to be seen.
"I can't thank you enough for your hospitality, Mrs. McKenzie," I said, the words practiced but sincere enough. Whatever her faults, the woman had opened her home to me. "Please extend my gratitude to your husband and to Harlow as well."
Hetty's hands stilled at the mention of her son's name, her eyes darting briefly to mine before she nodded. "Of course. I'm sure Harlow would want to say goodbye, but he's fixing fences in the north pasture. That boy works from sunup to sundown."
That boy. As if her twenty-something son was still a child needing protection from the big bad wolf at their door. Little didshe know, the wolf was already inside, had already marked its territory.
I was about to step off the porch when movement caught my eye—a flutter of curtain in an upstairs window. My gaze snapped up, finding exactly what I'd been searching for. Harlow stood in what must have been his bedroom window, his broad frame partially hidden behind thin fabric, watching our exchange with undisguised longing.
I paused deliberately, making sure Hetty was occupied with picking invisible lint from my sleeve. Then, with calculated precision, I looked directly up at Harlow's window. Our eyes locked across the distance, and I felt that same electric current that had sparked between us from the first moment in the sheriff's office.
Slowly, deliberately, I smiled at him—not the polite smile I'd been offering his mother, but something darker, more possessive. Something that promised rather than thanked. Then, knowing full well that Hetty couldn't see my face from her angle, I winked at him.
Even from this distance, I saw the flush spread across his cheeks, saw his massive hand press against the glass as if trying to bridge the gap between us.
Message received.
I turned back to Hetty, the smile transforming seamlessly into something appropriate for a departing guest. "Goodbye, Mrs. McKenzie. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again soon."
She nodded, clearly relieved that the awkward ordeal of hosting me was finally ending. "Take care, Deputy."
I walked to my truck with measured steps, conscious of both Hetty watching from the doorway and Harlow from above. Despite the lingering ache in my ribs, I maintained a confident stride, refusing to show any weakness. The truck door creaked asI opened it—I'd need to oil that hinge soon—and I slid behind the wheel with only the slightest wince.
As I started the engine, I allowed myself one last glance up at Harlow's window. He was still there, one large hand pressed against the glass, his expression a mix of longing and something that looked surprisingly like determination.
Good. He was learning.
I pulled away from the farmhouse, gravel crunching under my tires as I headed down the long driveway toward the main road. In my rearview mirror, I watched Hetty retreat into the house, closing the door firmly behind her. Harlow remained at the window until the trees obscured my view of the house entirely.
I smiled to myself as I turned onto the county road, heading back toward town and my empty apartment. Hetty McKenzie thought she'd won this round, keeping her precious son safely away from my corrupting influence. She had no idea what I was capable of when I wanted something. And I wanted Harlow McKenzie with an intensity that surprised even me.
She thought she was protecting him, sheltering him from desires she believed he couldn't understand. But I had seen the hunger in his eyes, felt the strength in his hands, witnessed the man beneath the gentle exterior everyone else chose to ignore.
Harlow McKenzie was absolutely mine. He might not know it yet, but that would change. I had claimed him in my mind from the moment he carried me through that storm like I weighed nothing, and I had no intention of unclaiming him now.
Hetty's protective barriers, the town's dismissive attitude, even Harlow's own hesitation—none of it mattered. I always got what I wanted.
And I wanted him.
Chapter Seven
~ Harlow ~
I watched Knox's hand brush against Newt's as they passed the coffee pot between them, that small touch making something in my chest ache something fierce. It wasn't jealousy exactly—I was happy for my brother—but more like looking through a window at something warm while standing out in the cold. Something I wasn't supposed to want for myself, at least according to Ma.
