Newt glanced back at the station, then nodded quickly. "Good idea."
Once we were seated in the truck, a strained silence fell between us. I waited him out, recognizing the signs of someone gathering courage for a difficult conversation. Finally, he took a deep breath and turned to face me.
"What exactly are your intentions toward Harlow?" he asked, the directness of the question surprising me.
I raised an eyebrow. "Did Knox send you to ask me that?"
A flicker of annoyance crossed his face. "I make my own decisions, Deputy. And I care about Harlow too."
Fair enough. I studied him for a moment, recalibrating my assessment. Despite his slight build and nervous mannerisms, there was steel in Newt Bridger. I could see why Knox had fallen for him.
"Harlow interests me," I said finally, choosing my words with care. "I'd like to explore whether there's something we could build together."
"Interests you," he repeated, his tone flat. "Like a hobby? Or a curiosity?"
My jaw tightened involuntarily. "Like a man I'm attracted to."
Newt's eyes narrowed slightly, assessing me with unexpected shrewdness. "People in this town have a way of underestimating Harlow. Treating him like he's a child."
"I'm not people in this town," I countered, a edge creeping into my voice.
"No," he agreed. "You're not. That's why I'm here." He shifted in his seat, his gaze drifting to the station before returning to me. "You need to understand something about Hetty—about Ma McKenzie."
I bit back a less-than-diplomatic response about exactly what I thought of Hetty McKenzie's methods. "I'm listening."
"She loves Harlow fiercely," Newt said, his voice softening. "When he was a kid, the other children were cruel. Adults weren't much better. They'd talk around him like he couldn't understand, or worse, talk to him like he was a toddler. She fought those battles for him day after day."
I remained silent, unwilling to concede any ground on this topic. Newt sighed, reading my expression correctly.
"I'm not defending how she's treating you, or him," he continued. "But her protectiveness comes from love, not a desire to control. There's a difference."
"Is there?" I challenged. "Because from where I'm sitting, the result looks exactly the same—Harlow being denied the right to make his own choices."
"You're right," Newt admitted, surprising me. "And she's wrong about this. About you two." He paused, his fingers drumming nervously on his knee. "I know what it's like to have people decide who you should be without asking what you want. My whole family did that to me before—" he stopped abruptly, then continued more carefully. "Before I found Knox."
I watched a subtle transformation come over him as he mentioned Knox's name—a softening around his eyes, a newfound confidence in his posture. It was the look of someone who had found their center, their safety.
"Knox stood up to his family for me," Newt said quietly. "It wasn't easy. There were ugly arguments, days when Hetty wouldn't speak to him. But eventually, she came around. Not because she changed her mind about what was 'best' for her son, but because she saw how happy he was."
The implications hung between us. I considered his words, turning them over in my mind. "You're suggesting if I openly pursue Harlow, his mother might eventually accept it."
"I'm suggesting that Hetty McKenzie loves her son more than she loves her own ideas about his life," Newt clarified. "It might take time, but she's not your real obstacle."
"What is, then?"
"The same thing that held me back for years," he said, his eyes suddenly direct and knowing. "Fear. Harlow is terrified of disappointing his family. Of being seen as 'bad' or 'wrong.' He's spent his whole life trying to be good enough to make up for being different."
Something twisted in my chest—a sharp, protective pain I wasn't accustomed to feeling. "He doesn't need to make up for anything," I said, the words coming out rougher than intended.
"I know that," Newt said. "And I think you know that. But does Harlow?"
I fell silent, considering. Through the windshield, I could see the sun beginning its descent toward the horizon. In less than two hours, I'd be meeting Harlow at the river bend—if he showed up. If he found the courage to defy a lifetime of careful boundaries.
"I appreciate you coming to talk to me," I said finally, meaning it. "But I'm not sure what you expect me to do with this information."
Newt opened the truck door and slid out, then leaned back in to meet my eyes one more time. "Just be patient with him. And with Hetty. They're both doing the best they can with the tools they have."
I didn't respond. We both knew patience had never been my strong suit.
